Touching one wire to the nub on the wall had no effect. But placing one against the nub and the other on the plate caused a spark that startled her briefly. Setting her teeth, Maia leaned forward to better see the paper sheets, and started tapping — creating a spark for each black square and resting a beat for each white one.
She had no idea whether this was doing anything but draining the batteries. Theoretically, she should be able to restore them by putting the game board in the window, to absorb sunlight. But in fact, she might be ruining them for nothing.
It was hard keeping track of her place, staring closely at row after row of hand-blackened squares. Despite the cold, she soon had to blink away beads of sweat, and at one point saw that she had skipped an entire line! There was nothing to be done about it. One error like that ought to leave the message readable, but she could not afford to let it happen again.
Finally reaching the end of the last row, Maia sighed in relief and sat back, stretching her arms. A break in time would let the other party know a termination had been reached. But the savant probably had been taken by surprise. So after a short breather, Maia bent forward to repeat the entire exercise.
Is anything getting through? she wondered. I've forgotten what little I knew about voltages and such. Maybe I needed to make a resistor, or a capacitor. Maybe I'm just pouring electricity into the ground, without creating sparks anywhere else.
Click, click, pause, pause, pause, click . . . She tried to concentrate, keeping a steady rhythm as the savant had. This was especially important counting the long pauses making up margins on both sides of her simple message. Talking aloud seemed to help. Inside she kept hearing the message she was trying to send, as if part of her was broadcasting by force of will.
I'm Maia . . . I'm Maia . . . I'm Maia …
This second time was much harder. Her fingers felt on the verge of cramping, her neck ached from leaning forward, and her eyes stung from sweat-salt. Still she kept at it stubbornly. Comfort held no attraction. What mattered was the slim chance of talking to someone.
Please hear me … I'm Maia … oh, please . . .
By the time she finished the second transmission, her hands were too numb even to let go of the insulated wires, so she just sat there, staring at the blank stone wall, listening to the tension in her spine slowly unwind. There would be no third attempt. Even if she and the batteries had the stamina, it would be too risky. The guards might be accustomed to one set of clicks in the night, like a friendly cricket. But too big a change in routine just wouldn't do.
A sudden spark made her jump. It took a moment to realize she hadn't caused it by misplacing the wires. No, it came from the wall! More sparks followed. Maia scrambled for her pencil and pad.
Each tiny arc illuminated her accompanying slash-mark. Darkness she noted with a dash. It was easier work than sending, though her eyes now hurt worse than ever. With rising excitement, Maia realized this was no repetition, but an entirely new message. She had gotten through!
Then, as abruptly as before, it ended, and she was left in silence, staring at several sheets of mysterious code.
Frustration made her already tense muscles quiver. Even if she carried the game board up to the window, there would not be enough light to reassemble it properly. Not until morning.
I can't wait till morning. I can't! Maia fought down a strangling wave of impatience. You can do whatever you have to do, she answered herself, and forced her taut body to relax, one muscle at a time. Finally, she was breathing evenly again.
Well, at least I can tidy this up, she thought, looking at her scrawled transcription. Standing, Maia took a few moments to stretch, then carefully climbed her pyramid of boxes toward the slit.
Durga was no longer in sight. A lesser moon, Aglaia, shone barely bright enough for her to work. Gradually, line by line on a fresh page, she drew each "click" as a black square. Each pause translated into a blank one. At the end of the first row of fifty-nine, she moved up to the next and began snaking backward again. This way, if she succeeded in repairing the game device tomorrow, she'd be able to load the starting conditions right away, and quickly set the game in motion to read the message.
It was hard work. After this she might even be able to sleep.
So intent was she on copying squares in long rows that she failed to notice the difference in the pattern for some time. Finally it occurred to her. Unlike before, the "clicks" seemed to come already clustered in tight groups. Blinking, Maia pulled back, and saw —
. . . m IVIAIM. rrauKU. – HCINIMM . . .
Of course. She answered the way I sent, without coding! I can read it tonight!
Maia quickened her pace. Two rows later, the message could be read.
… HI MAIA. T'MORO. – RENNA . . .
