Convergence

by C. J. Cherryh

  “You’re being mysterious. Is it something with Tabini? Or something that happened up there?”

  “Up there,” he said. “My mind is stuck somewhere between the kyo—and atevi—and ship-folk and stationers. I need this passage. I need to take a few slow breaths and reconnect with Mospheira. I need to speak Mosphei’, and hear the accent.”

  “We don’t have an accent,” Toby said. Old joke. Toby was trying to drag him back to sense. Which was what Toby could do.

  “Unfair to ask you,” he said to Toby. “Unfair to involve you.”

  “Don’t even consider it. You know damned well I’ll involve myself.”

  And Barb? he asked himself. And Barb?

  Barb hadn’t understood him when they’d been lovers, hadn’t understood the involvement in politics, hadn’t wanted to understand. Now she was his brother’s partner, face going weathered with the sun and the wind, those kind of lines that came with the sea and constant travel. There was no nightlife, there were no glittering parties, there was not even a house or an apartment—just Toby, and Brighter Days, and the attachment that never had quite gone away, but had never been unfaithful to his brother, either, never said no to a risk or a crisis—just somehow stood her ground, in her own way, staunchly attached to Toby, who was the soul of calm, not a shred of glitter about him.

  Separate them? No. He couldn’t. What he did to Toby, he did to Barb. He couldn’t claim otherwise. And he was sorry, at least as sorry as he needed to be.

  “I’ll warn you, if I do tell you—it is something you can’t tell Barb.”

  And what did Toby do to that? He gave a silent little laugh. “There’s a raft of those. Barb says, you fix it. That’s what she’d say, if I offered to tell her. You fix it. No, she knows. There are things I do for Shawn, for the government—I had that discussion with her back when we began to take our boat on little trips to the mainland, back when you were off at Reunion. I’d say, Barb, this is what we’ve got to do, and she’d say, Are they going to shoot at us on this one?”

  “God.”

  “They did, now and again. There was a time we had a pursuit on our tail and she was at the helm. Someday I’ll tell you that one. But tell me your secret, brother. And I’ll keep it even from the President. If it’s the sort of thing you lose sleep over, she’d hit me if I told her.”

  He let go a long, slow breath. “I met the kyo’s enemy. They’re human.”

  Toby frowned. “From where, for God’s sake?”

  “From the other side of kyo territory. They’re original human—they’re what Phoenix went out to find. That’s why the kyo hit Reunion. Phoenix went nosing into kyo territory from that station, and the kyo mistook them and their origin as their enemy running around their flank. Likely they had Alpha under observation, too. I don’t even want to think how close we may have come here, on this world, to seeing a kyo strike.”

  Toby considered that in a long moment of silence. “What’s in the treaty?”

  “A firm promise to keep out of each other’s territories. They won’t come here until their war is over. And we won’t go there. The ship-folk have agreed. They’re relieved to have an answer. And not to have to take on the kyo bare-handed.”

  “And you got this.”

  “I got the treaty. We won’t go that direction. The kyo won’t let those humans come here. And humans on our side aren’t to know what’s on the other side. The man I met—one man—” Deep breath. “I told the kyo not to let him go. Not to let him tell the humans beyond their territory that we’re here. I took that on myself, my decision, solo, on their ship. I didn’t like my choices. But I taught him the basics—how to talk to them. I gave him that. And the kyo have every interest in keeping their agreement with me—not to release him. The last thing they want is humans trying to make contact with each other in kyo space.”

  “God.”

  Bren gave a shrug. He wasn’t sure the burden was lighter, having put it onto Toby’s shoulders. But the world seemed a little saner, given Toby’s predictable reactions—entirely predictable. Like the next question.

  “So are you going to tell Shawn?”

  “Tabini knows. The dowager knows. And Jase knows. I think he may have told the other three captains. At least two of them. His reaction is simply—now we know. Now we know. The ship’s overriding question is answered, and there’s no reason to go there.”

  “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “They don’t want to be under some authority. They don’t want to go wandering into a place where they’d be a historical curiosity. They’re a ship designed to seed colonies. That’s their mission, as Jase sees it. That could move them from here again next year—though I don’t think it will. There’s that other starship we’re building, and this colony, in their view, is still a work in progress. So there’s reason for them to stay a while. Maybe a hundred years. Maybe until the kyo end their war out there and come calling again. That’s what we hope, at any rate. I gave the kyo a human who wants to communicate. And what they can build, I don’t know. What they will build, I don’t know. But far more than two hundred years separate us from original humans. They don’t know us. We’ve got our own troubles. And we don’t want their war.”

  “We damned sure don’t want their war, no question.”

  “So that’s it. That’s the thing I don’t know if Shawn needs to know. That’s what I can’t decide. Does he really need to know it? Does he need to factor it into his decisions? I don’t think so.”

  “But you told me.”

  “In case I start factoring it into mine. In case . . . they don’t settle their war. Right this moment—I’m more at peace with what I’ve done than I have been. Far more at peace.”

  “Did you have to ask me to know you were right? Of course you’re damned well right, brother. We don’t need their war. We’ve already got two species who’ve worked long and hard to cooperate as well as we do. There’s no way we’d ever want to leave here and go somewhere else. I’m not even sure that atevi at this point would like to see us go. We’re not what we were. Either of us. And what we are, we haven’t even explored yet. So, no. Whatever they are, we’re not quite them. And don’t want to be a drop in somebody else’s ocean. No. You did the right thing. What do the atevi say?”

  “That I did the right thing. I think—I think I wanted to hear somebody born on Mospheira say it.”

  “Well, I do say it. How was this fellow you met?”

  “I can’t say I know. But smart. Thank God. Motivated. Mentally resilient, or he wouldn’t be sane. He’s on that ship out there, leaving us without ever knowing there was a world or a station involved in that meeting. I told him we’re a small group of humans that happened among the atevi, who, like the kyo, don’t want to have visitors who bring a war with them. He understood that.” He leaned on the rail, looking out at the sunlight dancing on the water. “He’d be a foreigner here. We’d be foreigners there. And whatever his people are, they need him. I get the feeling they may be outmatched. The kyo’s technology is way above ours. Fortunately for all of us, they’re not keen on this war, either.”

  “So there’s hope of settling it.”

  “There’s hope.” Water raced under the hull. The offshore wind helped them along. “But telling Shawn—who can’t choose his employees, who has elected officials with relatives in certain posts . . .”

  “Shawn’s office has leaks. He knows it has. You know it has.”

  “He has a legitimate right to know, on the one hand. On the other—what good can he do with the information? Mospheira as a whole may find out someday, in which case they’ll curse my name . . .”

  “That’s not a given. On either count. That they’ll find out. That they need to find out. I’ll give you your question back: what good can they do with the information? And if these alien humans do come, we’ll likely see the kyo first—or the kyo may bring
them. And how much like us will they be then? People will take a look at that technology and say, It’s a real good thing they didn’t come here shooting at each other.”

  He laughed silently, imagining that day, with Prakuyo an Tep and Guy Cullen in the mix. But not likely in their lifetimes or his.

  Need to know? He felt more at ease with the decisions he had made. As long as the atevi, who didn’t have a hand in that fight, knew that the kyo’s quarrel was with humans, and that they hoped to find a settlement—that gave them a record, a history, to start from at whatever time the kyo contacted them again. And they would start with a knowledge of the language—and possibly, if Cullen did what he hoped, the kyo would understand humans . . . and make peace.

  “In that case I’m carrying,” Bren said, “I’ve got the language records. The beginnings of a grammar. A vocabulary. I’m going to turn it over to the University—and hope.”

  “For the Linguistics Department?” Toby’s tone was not respectful.

  “Have they given you trouble?”

  “Oh, not so much. Nothing direct. I’ll have the usual report to fill out, for my little stay at Najida, for any communication I may have had—did I pick up any new words? Did I exchange any goods? Did I have any personal relations with atevi? Give their names. I don’t fill those out honestly. Presidential orders. But Shawn can’t exempt me from them without blowing my cover.”

  “As a harbor rat?” Bren was amused.

  “An unemployed harbor rat, with funds enough to maintain a yacht. The tax folk are sure I get my funds from you. And they’re sure I don’t report all of it.”

  “I think this year’s gifts amount to free lodging, boat services, and a bilge pump.”

  Gentle laugh. “Port gossip is, I’m smuggling. The fact I fill out the University forms keeps the tax people and the harbor police off my case. I really don’t want to have Shawn have to pull strings.”

  “So am I going to blow your cover?” He was a little distressed about that.

  “Not in the least. I’m your brother. I was replacing a bilge pump at Najida. You wanted passage for yourself and your people. Perfectly reasonable you’d commandeer my boat.”

  “I do want you to make that call for me.”

  “No problem. What do you want me to say?”

  “Tell Shawn the treaty’s coming. That I’m on a state visit, with my aishid, with staff, that I need a secure residence, no news folk, no cameras chasing us every moment, but I will accept a request for a news conference, but conforming to arms regulations, and having monitoring in my quarters is right out. When I officially represent the aiji, I need the same protocols the aiji would receive.”

  “I think I can convey that idea.”

  “Tell him he has to decide where to put us. Wherever he can manage those things. And we need to make that call as soon as we clear the bay. Catch Shawn in prime office hours. Give him time to set things up.”

  “You’re going to create a sensation, you know that. What do you want me and Barb to do while you’re getting all the attention?”

  Bren dipped his head slightly, toward a gray shadow out across the water. “Pull out of port for the duration, out beyond the harbor. That gunboat, and that pursuit ship—will be under Tabini’s orders. They’ll respond to Guild inquiry. My aishid will be in contact with them, either directly, or through Shejidan, before we leave the bay.”

  “Over there, their communications won’t work.”

  “We’ll manage, at least in our immediate vicinity. That’s also a question of protocols. No interference with our communications. Add that to your list for the President.”

  “Will do,” Toby said, and looked up at the sail and the rigging, squinting in the sun. “Good wind for the passage. Forecast is in our favor. Just laze about and enjoy the sea air. I’ll tell Barb as much as she needs to know. And make that call. Fishing gear’s in the locker. Fair weather. Sunburn lotion might be a good idea. It’s with the fishing gear.”

  • • •

  The sun slipped below the sea-flat horizon and the stars spread out across the sky, suns like so much dust. The mind reeled when one remembered traveling that void, and seeing them as suns, which one did, in the heavens. Now progress was measured much more slowly, on an earthly wind, on a finite stretch of water, such a little distance, seen from the space station looking down. Now that gap took time to cross, and the closest stars on either hand were the lights of two naval ships, one on the portside horizon, the larger one to starboard . . . doing nothing, never contacting them, just there, watching.

  Ramaso had sent them food, plenty of it. “We won’t even need to pick up supply at Port Jackson,” Barb said. “We’ll be well-set to wait it out and fish.”

  They sat about the benches at the stern, with three bottles of wine to go about the nine of them—even Guild could partake, thus isolated, guarded, and running under clear skies. It was, after the haste, hurry, and desperate tension of the station, a time to relax, and not to think too much, at least for a while.

  The call to Shawn had gone through. Toby had delivered the message that he was coming, and had the treaty in hand, and would be a party of seven needing a place to stay, and a place for conference with him. Not to mention adequate security for their docking, which would not allow news to get near him, and transport with high enough overhead for atevi.

  Shawn had, Toby said, taken all that without objection, and said he would call back.

  The Grandview was Bren’s estimation of the best solution. It was the largest hotel in Port Jackson—at least it had been some years ago, and if the usual situation held true, corporations, one of which owned the hotel, held several top floor suites, very frequently unoccupied, in order to move high level personnel about. He’d be very happy to find out what one of those looked like.

  But he trusted Shawn to figure something out, and what Shawn did figure out would set the tone for the visit. That part wasn’t his to do. He wouldn’t demand, not in that matter. Shawn knew his own political climate, what was best to do for his own survival. He’d have time to warn people who needed warning, and time to prepare a response.

  He told himself he should put on a heavier coat, go up to the bow by himself and think, for a while, of what he would say when he did face the inevitable Mospheiran cameras.

  But Barb asked him, “What were the kyo like?”

  He looked across at Barb and Toby in the slight glow of the running lights, and thought that, too, was something people wanted from him. Common sense. Eyes on the problem. What were they like? What did you see, representing us? What can we expect to happen now? What does this mean for us and our kids and our future?

  In all the hurry and necessity of political entities, that question, the needs of ordinary citizens for reassurance, should not fall by the wayside.

  “Reasonable folk,” he said. “But different. Large. A little taller than we are. Heavy-set. I helped rescue Prakuyo, back at Reunion. He got upset during the trip and I felt it . . . a boom that went through his body and mine, like a shock, like an explosion. Several kyo together could make a whole room uncomfortable. So they’re never unarmed, so to speak. But once they knew I had trouble with it, they muted that, considerably. They like sweets. They’re real fond of sweets.”

  “We’ve got that in common,” Barb said with a laugh.

  “Prakuyo brought his son,” Bren said. “The lad’s twice Cajeiri’s age, but they got along quite well. Filled out the dictionary, between them, while I was organizing the treaty. The department’s going to owe a bit to that kid.”

  “Kid,” Toby said with a gentle laugh. “That’s a surprise.”

  “Surprise to us, too. I have pictures of them. I’ll show you.”

  Showing involved the computer, and a lengthy session, and another bottle of wine.

  It was, in its way, stranger than where he’d been—showing his
family pictures of a trio of kyo, while sitting on the deck of a sailing ship crawling its way over the strait between the atevi mainland and the Mospheiran island. In this strait, old conflicts between human and atevi had set the boundary, back before airplanes, before computers—because a lost starship had arrived in that sky up there, and left off colonists who flung themselves down to an Earth they didn’t own . . . and could not then leave.

  They’d had to find a way to coexist, and they had.

  Humans had likewise flung themselves into kyo territory, with a less happy result . . . now mediated, they sincerely hoped.

  Their kyo visitors hadn’t stayed. Might not ever come back. But they’d always know the kyo were out there, more advanced than they were, able to have done them terrible damage, and choosing not to.

  It was a vast universe. But they couldn’t think of neighboring space as empty any longer. There was a border up there they must not cross, a direction they must not go.

  And that changed the way they looked at the sky at night.

  4

  The gathering was in Father’s dining hall, twenty-seven guests, fortunate three times fortunate nine. Kabiuteri, the arrangers of felicity and good auspices, had done their best, with the arrangements, the china, the arrangement of dishes. But it did not produce happy faces.