Convergence

by C. J. Cherryh

  It was something, to know that there had been an outside reason Ajuri kept losing lords. He understood that now, if Nomari had not made it all up.

  But nobody had made up Shishogi, who really had set up terrible things, and killed a lot of people. That people in Shishogi’s own clan had had most to fear—enough to leave and go into the guilds—he could believe that. But Shishogi had done all his harm just by putting people in positions to do very bad things. He’d been in charge of Assassins’ Guild assignments, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t ordered certain people to go into other guilds, to position them to do things useful to him. So how many Ajuri who were scattered out in the guilds were honest folk, and how many were there because Shishogi had put them there, and knew where they were, and where their relatives were, and knew how to threaten them into doing things?

  How did they straighten all that out? How did they find the bad ones, and save the good ones?

  And there they were, with a white rag on the gate, Guild on alert, and Tirnamardi settling in to defend itself, the same as when riders with swords and lances had fought outside the hedges.

  He had just been in space, where they could see the whole world without borders of any sort, and where light webbed the civilized areas at night, so that Mospheira glowed bright all about its coasts and the aishidi’tat had just scattered bright stars across the land.

  He had seen that. And he would never, ever forget it.

  Now he stood at windows that still could close defensive iron shutters, thinking about people creeping through the hedges and attacking the house. They should have gotten beyond that. They should get beyond it.

  That was the world he wanted to make. A fair one. Fair for the towns and the people and the guilds.

  Was that too much to expect?

  10

  There was a visitor wishing to come up, the phone call said, one Dr. Shugart, who claimed to have an appointment.

  Absolutely, Bren said, to front door security, and asked Narani to stand by with hospitality at the ready, which put Jeladi to arranging tea and Narani waiting by the door for Kate’s arrival.

  One knock, and that door whisked open, admitting an old ally, leg cast, crutches and all. Ponytail style with a black bow. Gray going over to streaks of pure white. White tee, ample pink skirt over the cast, with an odd space-age unit attached to the casted ankle. Thong sandal on the other foot. Tanned. With a fitness a twenty-year-old could envy. All Kate lacked of the Port Jackson tourist was the straw bonnet and the sunglasses. Small wonder the front door had called to ask.

  “I didn’t dress,” was Kate’s opener. “Can’t find a pair of pants that I can get on. Two more weeks in this damned cast. How are you?”

  “I love you,” he said, laughing. “Come in, sit down, trust Narani with the crutches. I thought it was just the ribs?”

  “Would you believe the hospital steps?” she said. “Stupidity which cost me the chance of a lifetime. Gin’s gotten close to them twice.”

  The kyo, Kate meant.

  “I come bearing compensation. I’ve got an interesting job for you. If you can be pried loose from company work.”

  “Street sweeping could pry me loose from the damned company. The president’s a fool. Not Shawn. The company president.”

  “Would you take on the University president?”

  “University. You’re not going to stick me in a classroom.”

  “No. Absolutely not. I want you to run a village that the University, particularly Linguistics and State, are both going to want to take under their own wing—and shouldn’t. A village that may grow a bit, connect to Crescent Island, occasionally raise a few eyebrows, and attract the interest of the Heritage Party in a major way.”

  “You’re bringing down the Reunioners.”

  “God, am I that transparent?”

  “What do you want me to do for them?”

  “Everything. I’m calling in Tom Lund and Ben Feldman. These people are coming down with the knowledge two hundred years of independent science and the experience of another solar system could give them. Not mentioning a decade of stubborn survival after the kyo strike. Some of them have access to science; more have awareness of materials and processes they may have used at an operational level, as techs and maintenance. Some are outright thieves. Some have mental problems. Some are children. Families and friendships among these people were broken by a terrible loss of life. And all of them were exposed to an event that ought to go into the University’s memory as accurately as the record can be assembled—because our knowledge of the kyo is locked up in those memories. Not anything we’re going to see again soon, we hope . . . because the kyo have their own problems to work out. They regret the attack. That’s the bottom line. But we’ve potentially engaged with all that’s out there. Anybody out there with sufficiently high tech can see us, in ways probably no news to you, but a revelation to me. And whatever’s out there may one day come here. We have one population who’s lived through it and made some serious mistakes. We can learn from them. We can learn about them. And meanwhile we can’t confine them as a laboratory experiment. Three of the kids may become my replacement, in due time.”

  Kate listened, with that intensity that could make techs fear for their lives, while Kate was thinking. Curiosity was an intoxicant to Kate. Boredom and routine was hell.

  Kate gave him that underbrow look that said she had a target in view, a program, an objective.

  “Funding.”

  “Shawn’s backing it. So is his Cabinet. You’ll have total control. You won’t be under the University. You’ll be the Reunioners’ defender—you’ll appoint people, you’ll fire people, you’ll work them into Mospheiran life and you’ll extract every piece of information they don’t know they have. Plus protect them from the unscrupulous—cushion their entry, help them fit into Mospheiran society.”

  Kate laughed. “I don’t fit into Mospheiran society.”

  “That makes you perfect for the job. You’ll be dealing with every type, every level.”

  “You mentioned kids. I hate kids.”

  “These kids have met the kyo.”

  Instant focus.

  “Three kids,” he said. “One of whom effectively has no parents. Bright. Incredibly bright. Tabini-aiji wants them educated as paidhiin, but allowed to be human. You can imagine the number of people who’d like to direct their education.”

  “I’m not the motherly type.”

  “You’re the type that can keep them safe.”

  “God.”

  “Tea,” Bren said, and signaled Jeladi.

  Jeladi and Narani served, quickly and with economy. And Kate sipped tea, staring off at the balcony, at potted plants, rooftops, and a sliver of ocean. He knew what was out there, but it was not, he was sure, what Kate was seeing.

  He drank his own cup, waiting.

  “You want me to play god for them. Five thousand people. And three kids.”

  “You won’t be the only one. Ben Feldman to deal with specifics, Tom Lund to be sure where the Reunioners do interface with the corporate powerful, they don’t get robbed. You, to define the boundaries and make sure who gets in contact and deals, in either direction. Parents of two of the kids are coming down with them—good people. I have somebody in mind to teach them how to cope with day-to-day living and get some sense of normalcy in their lives. The main establishment, the seed of my idea, is a simple apartment building within University housing. Initial community of three households, maybe a few more each month, progressing toward independent living—you’ll arrange that too. I neglected to mention a fourth youngster under the aiji’s protection, whose father is tied up in an investigation of improper dealings with Asgard on station, something Tillington had his fingers into.”

  Mikas Tillington, ex-stationmaster, was the person Kate herself had been intended to replace, if Kate hadn’t fallen o
ff a mountain and then broken her leg. Gin Kroger had stepped into that position, another of the old team, the team that had gotten the space program flying, supplied the station, gotten it populated in the current arrangement.

  “I personally,” Bren said, “don’t particularly get along with the boy’s father—he’s got a temper and a number of issues—but I don’t think he’s a criminal. He had the foresight to salvage Reunioner company processes, and offered them to Asgard in return for jobs for him and his wife and an education for his son, and in the atmosphere Tillington created, I don’t blame him for the way he went about it. He had the resource, and he used it, and a Mospheiran company’s got a process Reunion developed. It’ll be under litigation, but I’m hoping they’ll settle it and straighten it out. I’m getting Tom and Ben involved in that issue. You won’t have to touch it. And I’m not that sure that family will be one of the ones coming down. They might. But likely there’ll be others in industry or technology, people who will be screened for problems.”

  Kate heaved a sigh. “You know Gin and I were already campaigning to get the Reunioners down here. The Maudit deal never was going to work. Everybody who knew anything knew it was politics, not a program.”

  “I know. I hate it about your leg, but honestly, it may have put the best woman for the job right where she can do what others wouldn’t have the fortitude to try. And I mean you, Kate.”

  “Bren, you are a golden-tongued bastard.”

  He shrugged, smiled, reacting, after days of exposure, in human modes of expression—which he would have to shed, going back to the continent. Soon, he devoutly hoped. “Kate, you know you want it. When Gin wants a year or so on the planet, who knows? You’d slip right into place up there. And vice versa.”

  “I’ve been so damned frustrated. Bored. Bored of meetings. Bored of board meetings. I’d cheerfully just not show up in my nice river-view office tomorrow. Or ever. I at least have to advise the board I’m leaving. Two weeks.”

  “Deal?”

  “What do I answer to? Not the University, you say.”

  “State, most likely. Shawn, in effect. They’re not officially citizens, except in Shawn’s declaration that they are. Their citizenship has to be made official. But we have to move faster, get them down here for security reasons while the legislature’s still arguing. And those three kids are under the aiji’s personal protection. So State is who should be involved, and if I have my way, because it is a matter of working new citizens in, that’s who’ll manage to stay involved.”

  “Deal. I’ll do it. You knew I would.”

  “Of course I knew. Absolutely I knew. I’m sorry to approach you like this . . .”

  “No, you’re not. I pick my own staff?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Held to civil service qualifications?”

  “Absolutely not. No civil service, no education certifications required. I’m also available if you need me. I’ll come over for you, if ever you need me.”

  “Do I get a trip to Najida?”

  He had no authority to promise that. But he also knew Tabini wouldn’t choose to notice it.

  “Research,” she said blithely. “I need to know what conditions those kids experienced on the mainland. Don’t I?”

  He smiled, automatic and unthought. “There’s a reason I put you in charge. Of course you need that experience. As you say—informational.”

  “A substitute for meeting the kyo,” Kate said. “Probably with much more freedom.”

  “I can promise you that’s true. Guest treatment. Trip to a neighboring estate. Meeting the original inhabitants of Mospheira. Local food. Good wine. Give or take the alkaloids. What else can I offer?”

  “A ride on a mecheita.”

  “I’ll work on it.”

  “Sold,” Kate said. “I’ll call people I have to call.”

  “Don’t quit until I get the absolute go-ahead. I have the plan drawn up. I’ve got to talk to Gin about the schedule, shuttle space, who else might go—if the kids have relatives or close friends, they’d be a potential first-down. After that, Gin’s using the lure of a lottery.”

  “Lottery.”

  “For free housing and goods, possibility of jobs. People-moving, housing and supervision is your problem. Free transport, help settling. We anticipate a few at first. Good reports will draw the others. The happiness of the experience is yours to arrange.”

  “Thieves, you said.”

  “You’ll have a few problems. We’ll try not to send those unidentified. And definitely not in the first few waves.”

  “I’d so appreciate that.”

  “I do love you, Kate.”

  “Flattery to boot. How could I refuse?” Kate accepted another cup of tea. “Seriously, I can’t wait.”

  • • •

  “They have found confirmation of major things this visitor has said, nandi,” Jegari said, in their suite, where Cajeiri had gone to change clothes and put on a cooler coat. Only Antaro and Jegari had come up with him—considering that just going up to the suite, with Eisi and Liedi in attendance there, did not require his whole aishid. “The accounts the Guild has are good so far as they go. And Rieni has asked us to make a particular request. He believes this person would give you certain information . . . if you would ask him. I have a list.”

  “Give it to me.”

  Jegari drew a folded paper from inside his coat and handed it to him. Cajeiri stood in shirt sleeves, beside Boji’s cage, as he read the missive, paper tilted to use the window light. Rieni’s hand was old-fashioned, and not easy to read. Boji reached out a little paw to try for the sheet, and chittered at him. “Hush,” he said, moving the paper slightly out of reach—and Boji made a try for his shirt cuff instead. “Little pest. Did we bring his toys?”

  “I am sure,” Antaro said, and went to look, while Eisi arrived with the requested change of coats. Cajeiri offered an arm for the coat, still reading the list, then traded arms.

  “Do we have his toys?” he asked Eisi, the person who should know most. “He sees a hundred things he would like to get his hands on, and none of which he can have.” The ornate furnishings and vases, the high ceiling, the hanging lamps . . . one could only contemplate the disaster. “We cannot have left that box.”

  “I have it,” Antaro said, bringing the box over. They let Boji choose, offering his treasures close to the cage. Boji put out a hand and took a rope ring he liked, which would not fit through the bars. Eisi took it and delivered it through the feeding gate, and Boji immediately flung it onto the floor, bounded onto the bars and put out his arm for another.

  “Spoiled creature,” Eisi said, who had done the spoiling. “Here.” Eisi delved into the box for an old sock with a knot in it, which he also delivered through the feeding gate. Boji picked it up, and began to run the knot over the cage grillwork, making a soft music, chittering the while, amused for the moment.

  Cajeiri went back to his reading, standing in the light of the tall window, trying to memorize the list. He could hardly interview his so-named cousin with a paper of questions in hand. Thirteen questions. He could remember them as fives and a three, and he understood the gist of them. Several were to test Nomari’s knowledge inside Ajuri, several were to gain names of his contacts, and others were specific as to the whereabouts and routes of those associated with him.

  Boji threw the sock down and bounced on the perch, screeching at the top of his lungs. Uncle, fortunately, was not upstairs at the moment.

  Eisi slipped him something small, which Boji took and popped into his mouth.

  “Are you giving him fruit drops?” he asked.

  “Nandi, it keeps him quiet.”

  There was that to say for it. But sweets often sent Boji bouncing about for hours.

  “None of those too late in the day.”

  “The house is short of eggs,” Eis
i said. “They were to go to town today. And did not. We have enough for today and tomorrow, but nothing to spare.”

  Inconvenience shed its problems in unexpected places. If they had to ration Boji’s eggs, there would be complaints. “See what the house can manage,” he said, and pocketed the list. “Fruit. Fresh fruit.” Of that, with the orchard, Tirnamardi had no scarcity. “He may have that. He likes it over-ripe.”

  He could remember the list, he was sure. He understood what the Guild wanted: names, places, times, and they would probably welcome anything extra he could get.

  Boji wanted out of his cage, a privilege denied him in this fragile and beautiful suite, and by now, in a very boring little room, certainly his cousin did.

  • • •

  Front door security called with another query. A woman with a package who, yes, was on the list, but she didn’t want to open the package. Was she permitted to bring it?

  “Yes,” Bren said. “Absolutely.”

  Sandra Johnson. With a package. One couldn’t imagine. Well, one could—Sandra had been responsible for the spider plant that had festooned his cabin on Phoenix and grown during ship-moves to an amazing swaying curtain.

  “Nadiin-ji,” he said, “Sandra-nadi is coming.”

  The teakettle went into service, Narani took his position by the door, and Banichi and Jago, Tano and Algini, all waited for a woman who had been his sole staff when he had had an office on Mospheira.

  The door opened. Sandra entered, a blonde, neat woman in a dotted blouse and dark trousers, carrying a fair-sized package done up in blue paper and a vivid pink bow. Sandra had never seen atevi at close range: she did stare just a second or two, taking in everybody, and then the gaze swept to him.

  “Sandra,” he said warmly. “Is that for us?”

  She held it out. He took it and handed it to Narani, who had never received such a festive article, and hardly knew what was expected to be done with it.