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visibly blanched before this assault.
    “Atlantis can no longer afford you, Sabian. Too long hast thou allowed thy indolent fancies to make thy office that of a figurehead.” Her eyes turned to the Minister for Transport. “Thou, Timeus, art now Minister for National Preservation as well.”
    Sabian had turned the color of chalk. The other ministers now avoided his gaze. He stammered a moment. “May I leave, Majesty?”
    “None too soon to suit me. Go to, man. Thou canst not even preserve thyself.”
    Sabian seemed to dwindle in size as he slunk out of the room.
    Hardly waiting for the door to close, Salustra turned to a tall, thin man with a nervous mouth. “And what say you, Matthias?”
    The Minister for Communication was ready. “No sooner did reports come in, Majesty, that ships and vehicles of various types had lost power not only to navigate but to communicate than I established a system of couriers by foot and horse for land communication, and semaphores, used long ago by our ancestors, for sea communications. But, alas, we are handicapped at sea by the uncertainty of the sun playing on our mirrors, and by limited visibility. Meanwhile, we still try to penetrate the atmosphere, but our radio signals fall dead. It is as if the mist had laid a blanket on the atmosphere, blocking off all electrical frequencies by which the vibrations of sound, light and movement are carried through the atmosphere.”
    Salustra had listened intently. “You do well, Matthias. Others might take a lesson from thy resourcefulness.”
    Matthias made a modest inclination of his head. “I do what I can, Majesty, but a bold adversary could slip through our hampered defenses without our knowledge. Our advance-warning system is nonfunctional. Nothing shows on our telesound screens, not even the bouncing waves.”
    Grimly Salustra turned to her two Ministers for Science. They blandly expressed hope that the mist would soon dissipate and the sun once more show itself.
    Salustra regarded these men of science dryly. “And what would you scientists recommend, that we appeal to the High Priestess Jupia, so that she may intercede with the gods in our behalf?”
    The ministers blushed.
    Bronko, the science coordinator, was a burly figure with a deep voice. “I will gladly resign if your Majesty thinks another may do better.”
    She gave him a friendly smile. “I do not blame any of you for that beyond thy sphere. But what can be done that thou dost not do I shall hold in account. Atlantis is still the last bastion of civilization, and must be preserved.”
    The ministers were seeing a side of the Empress that the revelers and libertines of the court had no inkling of.
    “All will do the best they can,” said Mahius, sounding the optimistic keynote.
    “Go to, then, and show our adversaries that we are not yet ready to play dead.”
    As they filed out singly, the Empress motioned for old Mahius to remain.
    She sipped slowly from a glass of wine.
    “The seven-colored crystal my father bequeathed me,” said she, indicating the jewel around her neck, “has been pressed to keep up to my own energy demands of late.”
    Mahius managed a smile, but he minced no words. “Even without Signar,” said he soberly, “Atlantis is in a critical situation.”
    She looked at him thoughtfully. “We could always go back to fossil fuels—coal, oil and natural gas—even though these primitive carbons take up so much room and pollute the environment.”
    “It would mean bringing back the internal-combustion engine on a large scale, and other archaic mechanical devices powered by such fuels.”
    She nodded. “Then so be it—give the necessary instructions to Gobi, the Minister for Science. He added naught to the meeting today, and should be glad to prove that he is not as decadent as that precious sister of his, who is known far and wide for the calluses on her back.”
    Mahius suddenly felt drained. “Is there any more, Majesty?”
    “Yes, I would have