Divergence

by C. J. Cherryh

  The train had not speeded up or slowed down.

  “We expected some sniping,” Jago said, likewise joining them, with Tano. “But they do not hold any of the major points. We are near the port, the difficult area. The city is reported to be quieter. The Guild issued a shelter order at the outset of this.”

  Ordinarily atevi quarrels tended to bring citizens to the streets and to rallying points, and Guild, if engaged, did not endanger them. A shelter order, however, was martial law, everyone ordered home or to the nearest public building. And as long as this had gone on—people in compliance had to be less than comfortable. It could not continue indefinitely.

  “Regarding the situation at the railyard,” Banichi said. “We have word we are clear to come into the passenger terminal, and that the area is in our hands, but one fears we will draw detritus of the port action into the city with us.”

  Comforting. More rounds hit the car, harmless.

  A tremendous explosion.

  “That was ours,” Banichi said.

  That was good to know.

  The train continued at its steady pace. They no longer had the mobile unit to watch for trouble.

  Something hit the train with a thunderous impact, possibly striking the Guild car forward. The pace of the engine did not change.

  Another explosion rocked the train.

  “That was also ours,” Algini said.

  “The track is obstructed some distance ahead,” Banichi said. “Guild units are in process of clearing it.”

  The train jolted and something scraped past the outer wall, conjuring an impression of metal wreckage. Bren set a hand on the wall. It was not all that violent—but unsettling in the extreme. If someone had damaged the rails, it would strand them at the port, where clearly not everything was settled. His heart beat faster. But there was nothing he personally could do. Further forward in the train, Bregani’s car must be closer to whatever was going on up there. He and Machigi and Nomari were certainly getting the full effect of it.

  They were now discernibly gathering speed.

  He became aware that his aishid had been standing close about him and the table, and that he and the teapot and his papers were currently pent fairly neatly into the dining nook.

  “We are not expecting to crash, are we?”

  “We hope not,” Banichi said. “We trust not. But we are now in the city, and almost anything is possible.

  They had gathered ordinary traveling speed and now held it.

  “The plow on the front is intended for rural obstructions,” Tano said. “We are given a takehold.”

  Takehold. A word from the space station.

  Bren felt his heart rate approach the tempo of the train.

  There was a massive jolt, a scrape, a series of scrapes, one that screamed past their own outer wall.

  “A city bus,” Algini said.

  God. “Unoccupied, one hopes.”

  “We likewise hope,” Algini said. “We are now in the city.”

  They ran for a time more, in what now seemed freedom. Banichi, listening to his earpiece, said, “We are into the city and are approaching the station, Bren-ji.”

  “Resistance?”

  “The regular communications indicate not. A plan is evolving. We still do not assume the railyard is safe—”

  Banichi broke off in mid-sentence, listening, and that listening went on for some time, while the train continued its rapid progress, thump, thump and thump on the joints of the track.

  Their hold on the situation was certainly not perfect, if someone had gotten a city bus onto the tracks. There still could be problems ahead, if the Shadow Guild was organized—but there was plenty of evidence in the arrival of a second train to persuade the enemy that escape would not be a lasting opportunity.

  The Shadow Guild was not given to self-sacrifice. Their training was tactical, theoretically serving command, but with a man’chi to a cause lost once when the regime went down, and with man’chi to this and that commander or unit leader, but with no true lord. Tiajo could inspire no one, Shishogi was dead; and Geidaro, if she had ever been a factor, was lately murdered by that very organization, whether in disgust or the realization extracting her was impossible. After Shishogi, indeed, they seemed down, militarily, to a cabal of discontented commanders, none of them able to field an army, all of them potent enough to be locally dangerous. Banichi had taken down one such personally, when the Kadagidi clan lord was set down. Other leaders had died in various set-tos, all over the map. Geidaro’s brief rise was over.

  But one never dared say there might not be something more at the heart of it, someone of consequence, and going into the Dojisigin to try to find it was not Ilisidi’s plan. It was the dowager’s immediate purpose to secure Senjin, not fight a war. Her plan was to concentrate the waning Shadow Guild in the Dojisigin, where they could find themselves cut off from rail and from sea, with their elite membership growing older—or growing no older at all, if they set themselves in regular Guild sights.

  It made sense. And helping their enemy leave made sense as part of that plan, no matter what the rank of Shadow Guild they had to let slip through the net. There might be persons they indeed could wish to lay hands on. But the longer they could keep them contained, now with Lord Geigi’s ability to watch—and strike—from orbit—they would find themselves less and less relevant, and even the Dojisigin’s mountains might become less protection, if every truck and every walker could be spotted.

  Times indeed were working against the rebels.

  The train sounded its horn, three distinct blasts. Warning of collision? Bren wondered, hoping not.

  “We are coming into the station,” Algini said, “and we are advising our allies. Any enemies in the city must also know a second train has arrived, and that it is not on their side.”

  Indeed, they began to slow down. The joints of the track came slower and slower. A second set of blasts sounded, as if anyone in the area could have failed to hear the first.

  They were stopping. Motion ceased. And it was both a vast relief—they had arrived safely—and a sense of dread for what came next.

  “First,” Banichi said, “the hindmost car will disgorge its transports, weapons, and supplies with which we can defend the train. We will be looking for local transport we can take to reach the residency. We will initially be sending various of our units out to contact sector officers and get a report, so that we can extend secure communications to the hill, the radio station, but I, going with Lord Bregani, will be doing the same for the residency. This is Cenedi’s direction. Are you still determined to go?”

  “Unless my aishid has an extremely strong new reason against it.”

  “We do not. Let us assume we will be there unsupported for a time. We have the place under guard. But operations there may bring trouble to us.”

  “One understands.”

  “You should dress plainly,” Banichi said, “and do not expect the paidhi’s colors will be a protection. The vest—absolutely. At all times.”

  Historically, and by tradition, white protected the paidhiin. It would only make him a target for the Shadow Guild, and he unfortunately glowed like a candle in atevi company, even in plain clothes.

  “I have the vest.” He rapped it for proof. “Narani has not let me go about without it. And I shall obey my aishid’s instructions. I swear to it.”

  “They are saying the city is quiet, compliant with the order,” Algini said. “And the first-in has several agents out attempting to provoke reaction. We drew a few out of hiding when we came past Lusi’ei, and teams are on the move to find them.”

  “With one success so far,” Tano added.

  “So, well,” Bren said, “we simply stay ready, one supposes.” He in particular had nothing to do, no way to distract himself. His job was to sit still, not distract his staff, and when they
did move, to try to stay as inconspicuous as a pale, small, neutral and generally uninformed human could do. The pistol was a last resort.

  So he sat, letting Narani and Jeladi choose what to pack in the way of baggage—nothing that was as difficult of access as the baggage car, only the ordinary—for this.

  They packed one case for him. And then began collecting their own, for a second case.

  “Rani-ji,” Bren said, rising. “You are not required.”

  “Nandi,” Narani said. “If you please. Bindanda will not let you eat there, but what he inspects it; and we have a care how you impress these folk. If you will, nandi.”

  “I would not risk you.”

  “We would not risk you attempting to press a coat, nandi. And I am taking an iron. Jeladi is taking the signing-kit, in case someone has made off with one. Bindanda is bringing supplies, and your tea, and for the dowager, if she decides to come.”

  The dowager was the deciding point. Bindanda between him and mistakes in the kitchen, and between the dowager and deliberate acts.

  “Advise Banichi, Rani-ji. Please take things for your comfort. We do not know what the situation up there may be. And pack my medicines. And put all my papers under lock. You know where. I shall be taking my small writing kit.”

  “Yes,” Narani said, much more happily.

  Narani and Jeladi had been with him on the riskiest moves, and this might be a soft berth in a governmental residency, or it might be chaos up there. Bindanda’s presence was a reasonable, even an essential precaution, though if the dowager did come she would come with staff dedicated to her comfort and her protection.

  Still . . . he had started with a party of five, which would fit in one of their transports. Now they were a very infelicitous eight, if any of them were superstitious.

  God knew, no risk had ever stopped the dowager.

  The train sat.

  And there was the sound of footsteps in the passage, and Narani and Jeladi moving suitcases about.

  Something thumped. Bren looked up, wondering if something had hit the train.

  No one reacted. He sat frowning, wondering.

  Jago looked his direction. He threw a glance aft, a question.

  “Vehicles,” Jago said, “are being offloaded.”

  “For us?” he asked.

  “No,” Jago said. “We have located a small bus. It is being moved in. We shall have mobile units for escort all the way, and we will be loading and moving fast, before our enemies have too much time to make decisions. We are taking our essential baggage, food and water.”

  “Is it intact up there?” Bren asked.

  “Intact, yes. The residency has been locked down, with only essential personnel, a few residents, and a handful of staff. There are staff and guards at local banks, technical staff and security guards at the water plant, and at the power plant: the Guild has cleared them and provided them communication for direct contact if they have a problem. Local enforcement is taking a stance at shops and taverns. Senjini security stayed at their posts, with their own communications; and the Guild is in cooperative contact with them. Local rumors are hindered by the lockdown, but three are circulated: that Lord Bregani departed on the Red Train and is on his way to Shejidan; that he is with his cousin in the broadcast center; or that he is dead and Tabini-aiji has sent in the Guild force to prevent a Dojisigi takeover. Additionally, the Guild has left the road to the port undefended, encouraging Dojisigin forces to take that route. There are mobile units dealing with any attempt to head into the hills.”

  At least it was not warfare in the streets, and it was limited, with local forces attempting to do their jobs, and the northern Guild not challenging them. If it had been Mospheira, citizens would have scattered in skirmishes and upheaval—but citizens and civilian property were completely off limits in a regular Guild operation, and when the head of government or clan could not be found, and in the absence of their own orders, they had thousands of years of reasons to stay low and wait for someone official to stand up and deal with what was going on. If no one could be found, then—

  Then the sun would come up on restored order, all the same, just a different order, and not necessarily one they would have chosen, but one that worked fairly well the same as the old one—with different people. The shopkeepers and the craftsmen would take visual inventory and get back to work. Eventually word would get around the streets—or from the broadcast center—from whoever was in charge, now, and ordinary people, who belonged to a clan but did not govern it, just waited to hear how their clan leadership had come through the crisis. It was a civilized way to deal with an atevi sort of problem, and rare, very rare, that a clan was badly enough done by that new clan leadership could not work something out of the chaos.

  Even Ajuri’s shopkeepers and tradesmen and the like, in repeated chaos, with lord after lord murdered and the administration in chaos, had generally come through it all. Dojisigi fishermen just kept flinging out their nets. Hasjuran would fix its transformer and hope the new agreement would bring more traffic, but meanwhile the hunters and the tanners and the leatherworkers would keep at their trade, and the Transportation Guild would go on wondering what else would come through.

  Clan lord was a fine honor in peaceful areas.

  The problem that Bregani and the Senjini had—the unenviable problem—was sitting between two powers, the Taisigi and the Dojisigi, one of which was allied to the aiji-dowager and the other of which was her bitter enemy—while nothing so law-conscious and careful as the Assassins’ Guild enforced the rules the Dojisigin lord managed to set.

  But the Assassins’ Guild was involved now, and the local constabulary, untrained citizens, and the local security, hired to watch doors and boxes, was no more inclined, apparently, to quarrel with the original Shejidani Guild than with Tiajo’s Shadow Guild.

  That was not all of it, however. There was sentiment, and a lord who could not muster it one way or the other was on shaky ground. The next salient question was whether Bregani would retain the man’chi of his people, going into a new alignment with regional powers—or whether Tiajo could cause him enough problems to make everything fall apart. The Guild and the lords might win conflicts; but it took the people’s will to keep the peace. And if it cost too much, if Tiajo was too scary—Bregani could lose. And well knew it.

  “We are ready, nandi,” Narani said. They were packed. Bindanda would join them from the galley, bringing essentials. Presumably their passengers were similarly preparing to move out, and doubtless in both trepidation and determination, with man’chi driving him to protect and hold, Bregani was preparing to bring his family home.

  13

  A quiet had settled, after the racket of the train.

  Then there was the faint sound of an engine, and the higher, more strident sound of several lighter vehicles.

  “The bus is moving in, with the escort,” Tano reported. “We shall board from the other side of the station building. We shall debark from the Red Car. The galley will be sending supplies over first.”

  That was as expected. The body of the train would stay locked tight. And Ilisidi would remain in command aboard. They had heard nothing to the contrary—but likely there had been strong discussion two cars away.

  Algini and Jago got up as he did, gathering up rifles in the process. Bren had his pistol, and with that weight went an unsettled stomach. Peace in the streets was one thing. The ability of opposing forces to lurk and snipe at other forces was entirely another.

  They made their way through the passages, through Cenedi’s car, and Ilisidi’s, and the galley, as far the Red Car, where Bindanda waited beside a stack of boxes. A number of galley staff and Ilisidi’s own bodyguard were actively moving out boxes.

  “The others are coming,” Tano said. “We should go on. Guild will board first.”

  The passage door of the Red Car had shut and the si
de door was open, with the supplies being moved out. The open door let in the first splash of shaded daylight they had had since Hasjuran.

  And compared to where they had been, compared even to last night on the coastal plain, the air that came in, fuel-laden and moist, was warm, but not too warm, a temperature that made Bren’s middle-weight coat a sensible choice, and the close armor of the usually objectionable vest not that great a trial.

  Jago went down first off the single step, and reached up to assist. Bren took her hand and landed on the concrete of Koperna’s train platform, facing a last-century style facade, well-kept; and a door of glass panes, through which the box-carriers were moving. Banichi, Tano and Algini followed, with Narani and Jeladi and Bindanda close behind.

  The glass-paned door let them into a large waiting room with a number of seats and an unoccupied ticketing booth. Murals adorned the walls, frescoes of people a hundred years ago, stylish and prosperous, ghosts of the Marid that had used to be, in the days when peace with the north had been briefly effective. Renovation had given the place a modern door on the other side, all glass, and at the moment it was propped open for them. Two regular Guild stood by to indicate the way, and they hurried along to another platform, where a bus waited, engine running.

  Plain concrete stairs brought them down to its level. The place was entirely deserted except for Guild presence. And for the briefest of exposures, there was a view outward, above low rooftops, in sunlight, glorious, clear, southern sunlight, with wooded hills and the gray haze of the snowy peaks beyond a Marid style of city . . . a sprawl of pale weathered stucco and red tiled roofs. The whole city flowed over several hills in the distance, rising slightly to the north and south, divided by—one knew this from the map—a moderate-sized river to the south. The city bus, sky blue, decorated with an antique sailing ship and a pleasant shore, waited—a sizeable bus, of older vintage than, say, any airport bus in Shejidan, probably half a century old, and noisy in its running. Its cargo compartment stood open, as Guild shifted boxes into it. Its passenger door stood open, offering knee-high steps, typical of every conveyance Bren had faced on the mainland, but without a handrail where he expected it.