Precursor

by C. J. Cherryh

  It was encouraging that when, unable to resist temptation, he keyed in the E10 material and hopscotched around the content of the archive, it was accessible as promised. He found unguessed gems, a fabulous treasure of micro-imaged books, an encyclopedia he had never seen, languages he could by no means read, but which some isolated families on Mospheira might even recognize. Certain households had maintained knowledge and recorded it, recreating some things that Mospheira had lost, and scholars would have entire careers comparing the two… granted the world survived the next several difficult centuries and developed the leisure.

  He scanned that material until the headache he attributed to the thin, dry air had reached an acute level, and bed began to seem a very good notion.

  But before he did, he made one more call to Cl, and to Mogari, and executed another send and receive.

  A message from Tabini took priority on his list: We congratulate you and your staff on a successful flight. We have received your prior message and await word of your progress. With it came more files that needed examination, but they had the common prefixes of committee reports.

  From his own office, in the Bu-javid, his head of the clerical staff: Toby Cameron has called us three times and we have attempted obfuscation and delays. What shall we say?

  There was, in effect, nothing to say. Until he received clear word that the populace knew where he was and there was no problem with revealing that fact, there was nothing at all he could answer, but an enigmatic: I am answering Toby Cameron’s messages myself. Thank you for reporting them. You may ignore any future ones that do not evidence an emergency, but relay them all to me for my action.

  And an even more enigmatic message to his brother.

  Toby, I’m receiving you at a considerable delay. I’m off on assignment and I can’t reach you directly.

  Understatement. He erased his signature and added:

  Please write. I’m very worried for Mother and for you. How is Barb? Don’t forget Shawn. He could rely on Shawn Tyers, personally.

  His response didn’t help Barb. Toby’s letter didn’t answer how she was and he had no idea why Toby didn’t tell him that one simple piece of information: maybe because Toby thought he didn’t want to involve himself with Barb’s worries, or because he’d asked Toby to handle their mother’s worries and Barb was one of them… God knew. The potential reasons were legion. The headache reached a lancing crescendo, riding just behind afflicted sinuses.

  Humidity. When atevi had the station in their hands, humidity had to be higher than it was. Temperature was bearable, but the air was incredibly sterile.

  Why in bloody hell didn’t Toby put simple facts in a letter?

  Is she alive, Toby? Is she doing any better? For God’s sake, Toby…

  He made what he foreknew would be another no-information attempt, through Cl… wanting some sort of consolation before he attempted sleep: Toby, I’m sorry, but I need a specific answer, no matter what it is. Do you have any information on Barb?… with all its attachments and addressing.

  Don’t give her any encouragement about our relationship. That’s over. We do care about each other. I care how she’s doing. I don’t know how you can convey that.

  Hell, don’t tell her. Just tell me how she is so I know how much I have to worry. Don’t you pay for those plane tickets. I will.

  “Cl, I have another send. Please transmit.”

  “Yes, sir. Done.”

  “Is Jase Graham reachable yet?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Yolanda Mercheson.”

  “No, sir, they’re both on duty.”

  “Relay the following message to both: Call when you can.”

  Debriefing, still, doubtless both called in, both going over a recording of everything he’d said to Ramirez and possibly all he’d said to the Mospheirans… no linguistic barrier stood between the Guild and the Mospheirans.

  And not mentioning the chance the Mospheirans had wanted a second conference with the Guild, after the agreement he’d asked of them, untidy as dual agreements might become… there was never a thing done on Mospheira but that someone wanted another study… would they do differently up here?

  The headache was splitting. He searched into a drawer, where personal belongings had miraculously appeared, located a headache medication, and took it with the remnant of a cup of tea.

  After that he called Bindanda and Kandana and went to bed, arranged with every comfort, with every indication from his hosts that things were on schedule. Banichi reported no fault with anything he had read. I see no flaw, Banichi said. One might mention there must be an administrative Guild establishment on the station.

  By that Banichi meant his own Guild, which attended all civilization; and in the security post they had established, he supposed they had made a start on that. Their section might well become the core of it. And when the Pilots’ Guild knew that, there might be arguments.

  There might well be arguments. But he would not bring it up tomorrow.

  He listened to his staff coming and going in the hall, beyond the open doorway, on some business one thread of his thoughts found both mysterious and ordinary.

  He was very sure his security was on watch, completely in control of their small section of the station, while he listened to the slight sound of conversation in the hall, a little louder than the fans and the movement of air. Banichi’s Guild was here, watchful and protective. Certain things the Pilots’ Guild didn’t need to know until Banichi’s Guild office was a fait accompli and the Assassins were there to keep atevi mannerly and sensible. Banichi was right. Atevi respected their own institutions, and that had to be part of the plan. The Assassins’ Guild, in fact, was one of the only neutral institutions on the mainland, and engaging them early in the negotiations, getting them to establish that presence on the station… that was a very good idea. It would reassure the provinces that no one’s office was getting the advantage, and it was an obvious first, not technical but essential, silent, but needful he make an official approach to the Guild leadership. Banichi was very right to say so. He could begin that, immediately as he reached the planet.

  But that was tomorrow. Days from now. Best approach that Guild, because as in every operation atevi undertook, it had someone involved. In this case it had four of the best, and probably Bindanda… if Bindanda wasn’t a Messenger, which was also possible. It was a Guild almost as secretive.

  He couldn’t get to sleep on questions within his reach. He preferred to think about the archive until the possibilities overwhelmed even Toby’s difficulties and Barb’s, and when his mind grew foggier and foggier, he played red-and-blue economic graphs in his head all the way to sleep, simultaneously hoping the spaceport was another few feet of runway toward completion.

  He waked confused in the morning, couldn’t find the edge of the bed for a moment, or where the walls were… but there was the comforting smell of breakfast and the same stir in the hallways.

  He sat up, heaved himself out of bed, and wandered to the computer and the communications setup, where he keyed up communications and called Cl, the same as he’d done last before going to bed.

  “Any answers to my messages?” he asked Cl aloud. “Any word from Graham?”

  “No, sir, I don’t have any messages.” It was a new man.

  “Link to Mogari-nai,” he said, and the new man on shift wanted to get clearance.

  “Confirm it,” he sighed, brusque before morning tea. It had been so convenient to have Cl cooperating yesterday. “Do it on a priority. This is Ramirez’ orders. We were doing it all yesterday.”

  “I have to check, sir,” the answer came back, on the suspicious edge of surliness, but cautious in tone all the same, and a moment later, far more officially: “Yes, sir. I’m putting you through.”

  Bren let go a pent breath. The computer and the wall unit squealed and spat at one another, an affliction to the nerves.

  “Sir,” Cl protested.

  “That also is cleared,
Cl. It’s the ordinary. Also I want a confirmation that my messages are getting to Jase Graham’s quarters. Can you assure me of that?”

  “Yes, sir. Just a moment, sir.” Again a surly tone: it seemed one of those unfortunate voices that had to make whoever heard it bristle. And the man was, of course, in charge of communications. “I’m putting the message through myself, sir.”

  Bren made not a sound, and pulled his temper back from the brink.

  And the answer came back: “Jase Graham isn’t in his quarters. System says he’s on call, backed up personal messages.”

  “Yolanda Mercheson.” The man was informative. Bren liked him better of a sudden. “Can you reach her?”

  “Just a moment, sir… No, sir. She’s got messages, too. She’s in conference.”

  “I’m expecting a call through from Captain Ramirez, or his office.”

  “Let me check, sir.”

  A lengthy wait.

  “I don’t find anything, sir.”

  Well, he said to himself, keenly disappointed, the date had been soft. Maybe the two days included this day. If there was an inherent imprecision in the language, it was counting the day one was on… or not counting it. And Ramirez had been deliberate in not being more deliberate. The man wanted room.

  “Cl. Thank you.”

  “Yessir.”

  Bren heaved a third sigh, went off to dress, settled to work after breakfast, and waited, continually expecting a call.

  At mid-afternoon he put through a call via Cl: “This is Bren Cameron. Could you confirm the meeting we have arranged with Ramirez’ office?”

  “I don’t have it on schedule,” the answer came back from what turned out to be not Ramirez’ aide, but an aide to whatever captain was on duty.

  Push too hard, too fast could blow things.

  “I expect a call,” he said, “and a firm time.”

  He expected a call back from someone. It didn’t come.

  Before supper he did a send and receive via Cl, and discovered more committee reports.

  But there was, too, a message from Toby: Barb is recovering from surgery. Mother wanted to be there.

  He was appalled at his brother. Is that all, Toby? Is that it? What’s going on, here?

  Toby was angry at him. Angry, and picking a damned bad time for it. That had to be the answer. He couldn’t think of any other.

  After breakfast, the servants moved about very quietly, with downcast looks: the word was clearly out, a small indiscretion of the staff, that there was to have been a meeting of very great import; and one had not materialized.

  Bren attempted to lighten the mood. He felt the failure, if it was a failure, on his own shoulders. By now he suspected Ramirez of placing far too much confidence in the agreement of brother captains. He suspected Ramirez had tried some sort of maneuver that had failed, and that was all right. Ultimately it had to succeed, since there was no other sane course for Phoenix to take. He refused to be glum about it, but the silence wore on his nerves.

  “I haven’t heard anything, either,” was Kroger’s response, frankly delivered via the intercom. She might be relieved to know, at least, that he wasn’t meeting in secret with the Guild Council. “The downlead’s complete,” Kroger told him. “We’ve been in communication with Mospheira. It’s hit with quite a commotion.”

  “I’m very happy,” he said.

  “It’s one thing we’ve done,” Kroger said. “One benefit from this.”

  At least they weren’t working at cross purposes. He wasn’t sure about Ramirez and his brother captains.

  He tried to convey the Mospheiran indecision about days-one-was-on versus days-ahead to Banichi and Jago, after supper, and succeeded in astonishing them, though they had made a close study of humans and their ways.

  “I know,” he said. “I find it alarming, too. I find it disturbing that there’s not at least an advance notice about the precise time of the meeting. But the fact is though we said two days, we didn’t set one. I suppose I should have made sure of a date; but our calendars aren’t congruent. And it was a signal not to push him.”

  Jago and Banichi alike had worn their most formal looks all through the day, all through dinner. Now they asked their questions.

  “Is Jasi-ji safe?” Jago asked first.

  “I think that he is.”

  “Is Ramirez attempting something we should know about?” Banichi asked.

  “I wish I knew.”

  “Does not this great ship work by numbers, and precise numbers?”

  “One would think so. But humans work by less precise ones.” He could not keep his security ignorant of his worries, but he had no idea how to give their innate sense of precision a real appreciation of what was going on with the ever-lengthening two days, except to say, “This is a game. It’s a game as humans mean it, the sort one plays with one’s enemies, not yet to fight, but not to agree, either.”

  That enlightened them. There were looks of complete comprehension.

  And in fact, atevi were quite good at such games: Bindanda’s presence was such a move, which must not be challenged.

  “One does see,” Jago said, seeming much more relaxed.

  “I find it exceedingly annoying. It’s a signal to me to back off. I perceived that when he chose to be that vague; I took it for something that might shift, and shift it has. But I will not let this situation go much further.”

  “And then?” Banichi asked.

  “Our greatest risk is my annoyance and his, at this moment; and the aiji’s, if I don’t bring him back to the table before I leave, which seems what this game is about. I don’t think the captains want to get to specifics yet, they want as much as they can get, they think a little more time might solve their problems, and among us… Nadiin-ji, I think the trouble is that some of them want agreement with the Mospheirans and the Mospheirans aren’t interested. I think that’s quite upset certain officers of this Guild.”

  “To what extent, nadi?”

  “To the extent that they’re running this operation like a committee. I think Ogun joined Ramirez and the two moved too fast for the other captains’ liking. What weighs on my thoughts most is that if I’ve made a grievous error and offended them by dealing with Ramirez and Ogun, then it’s my doing for pressing it too fast, and I have to take the entire responsibility for it.”

  “Would they agree with Kroger in some secret matter?”

  “I can’t conceive of what it would be since, in plain fact, Kroger can’t give them what they want, and if Kroger claims she can pull something out of nothing, that doesn’t bode well for their understanding. I think they know damned well she has nothing substantive to offer. As for confidences I’ve shared with her, I don’t worry about her telling the ship-humans all we’ve said. That can’t affect what the captains think.”

  “Would it not affect Mospheira?” Jago asked.

  “Oh, very much so. It’s more to Mospheira’s advantage to keep the details hidden from their own more radical elements—to which I still think Kroger may have some ties in the first place, but if there’s one way to create political furor on Mospheira, it’s to suggest mass emigration and coerced labor. It’s just not going to happen.”

  “The captains can’t insist.”

  “No.” A thought occurred to him as it had occurred earlier in the day. “If she’s gotten anxious, if she’s simply asked Ramirez for a delay or posed some kind of problem, there’ll be annoyances and expressions of annoyance, and I’ll be damned mad; but that’s nothing to the difficulties we’ve sorted out on the planet over the last two hundred years. We’ll sort this out. We will get our agreement and take it home with us.”

  “One worries,” Jago said.

  “The signs that worry me are that my calls to Jase aren’t going through; my calls to Yolanda, none successful; I haven’t even been able to get through to Kroger at will. The young gentleman in charge of communications doesn’t have authorization to connect us, but more to the point, hasn’t gotte
n it, and that means he hasn’t gotten it or hasn’t asked for it.”

  “Blockage at a low level?” Banichi asked ominously.

  “I certainly hope not. This may be the action of subordinates instructed to cover for Ramirez. It may be the action of subordinates set as obstacles by someone opposing Ramirez.

  I’m not going to take any action. I am going to advise them how provocative this is.“ Not least of all, meeting times among atevi held numeric keys to fortunate or unfortunate numbers.

  “They should not do the like with the paidhi-aiji,” Jago said.

  “We’ve had persistent difficulties. Three years of difficulties on this point,” he said in some exasperation. Ramirez had persistently failed download appointments when they had dealt with him via Mogari-nai. He’d excused the behavior and allowed Ramirez to get away with it; he’d told Tabini it wasn’t unknown among humans. He’d wanted to get the agreements that were otherwise in jeopardy. Now Ramirez was doing it again, in an environment where safety might be at risk; that would not do.

  He went back to the console after he and his security went to their separate quarters, and sent a message to Ramirez, who—not surprisingly—proved unavailable.

  “That’s fine” he said to Cl. “Record a message. Captain Ramirez, contact me at earliest, at whatever hour. Thank you, Cl.”

  There was no call in the night. There was no call at all.

  Before dressing in the morning, Bren punched in Cl. “Get me Ramirez.”

  “Sir, I can’t do that.”

  “I want Ramirez, Cl, and I want him now. I’ve waited all night. I’m not in a good mood.”

  “Just a minute, sir.” A several moment delay: Bren sat down and turned on his computer, set up files, shivering in the cold air, before tea, before breakfast.

  “Mr. Cameron? What may I do for you, sir?”

  Different voice. Female.

  He rose. Faced the wall unit. “Where’s Cl ?”

  “This is Sabin. What’s the problem, Mr. Cameron?”

  “Captain.” He adopted a quiet, reasonable tone. “Thank you. You and I haven’t had a chance to talk. Have you a moment today?”