Convergence

by C. J. Cherryh

“Can I still call you Bren?”

  “Of course you can. So glad you could come. Shall we open the package?”

  “Yes,” Sandra said definitely. “And I wasn’t sure you had a knife, so I brought one, but Security wasn’t happy with it.”

  He had to smile, and had a good idea what the present was. “We have a little silverware and such, with the buffet.” He changed to Ragi: “We should open it, Narani. Just set it on the buffet, and open it. Pull the ribbon off: it’s to be thrown away.”

  “It is quite handsomely done, nandi,” Narani said, setting the package down. He began to work at the ribbon, discovering the tape, and in a moment had the wrapping unfolding on a plain cardboard box, the lid of which opened to show, yes, a cake, Mospheiran-style.

  He guessed the sort. “Sandra, that’s very kind of you. Rani-ji.” He changed languages again. “One slices it radially, in finger-widths, and it will be very fine with tea. Please, will you serve it?”

  Staff would, indeed. It was a problem in geometry which he trusted Narani to solve. They did have saucers with the teacups.

  “Do sit down,” Bren said, taking one chair, and Sandra picked the one opposite, a little prim, anxious, while Narani sliced the cake and Jeladi provided tea. “Did you have a good trip?”

  “I did. I heard everything on the news. I couldn’t imagine you’d send for me.”

  “I’m delighted to see you. John’s fine?”

  “He is.” Sandra accepted a cup of tea. Bren took the other.

  “And the kids? I understand there’s been one more.”

  “Two,” Sandra said after a sip. “I have four.”

  “Amazing.”

  “The youngest is three.”

  “I am so out of touch.”

  “You’ve been a little busy. We were so worried. But we knew you’d solve it. I told my kids you would.”

  “I wish I’d had your confidence. But we did it.”

  “They really are gone.”

  “And will stay gone.”

  “Were they scary?”

  “Oh, they could be. But they’re emotional folk, a lot like humans, though you wouldn’t think it to look at them. They thump.” He laid a hand on his chest. “From somewhere in here. And make other sounds. That’s their equivalent of having facial expressions, which they don’t have—their faces are bony, fairly rigid. A group of them thumping away—they’re rather noisy. But some of it’s laughter, or just surprise. A lot less threatening when you understand what the noises are.”

  “Do they talk besides that?”

  “Absolutely. And at the same time, which when you think about it, is what we do with our faces. It’s really quite remarkable.”

  “But they won’t be back.”

  “Not likely soon.” But he was talking to a woman who had children. “And when they do, they’ll come speaking a little Ragi, and a little Mosphei’, and in expectation of a good meeting.” Cake arrived, with small silver forks. Bren had a bite, and a sip of tea. “Sandra, you haven’t lost your touch.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re living up in Bretano.”

  “Yes.”

  “House?”

  “Yes.”

  Over several bites of cake.

  “I understand you’re living in the capital, mostly,” Sandra said.

  “Most of the time. I do have a place on the west coast. I’m there when I get the chance.”

  “Are you—” Sandra started to ask and blushed, and he could almost guess what that question was. They’d dated briefly, in the time before John, before kids. And he didn’t quite want to explain his relationship with Jago, God, no, not to Sandra, though he was sure she’d find a way not to be shocked. “Are you happy there?”

  Second person to ask him that question.

  “I really am. Very happy.” But they couldn’t go too far into old times and present relationships, with his aishid towering over the conversation and Jeladi pouring tea. He set his cake aside, half finished, had a final sip of tea and set down the cup, habit he didn’t even think about until he’d done it.

  “But it’s not just a visit I called you for.”

  “For what?” Sandra swallowed, took a sip of tea and quietly set her plate aside, holding the cup in both hands.

  “A job offer. I don’t know if you’ll be interested. But you’d be ideal.”

  “Are you coming back to the island?”

  “No. But it’s a job on the island. John’s a landscaper, isn’t he?”

  “Landscape architect. He works for a construction firm. In Bretano.”

  Bretano was a distance away. A long move, as Mospheirans saw things. “I know. I know what I’m asking. Your husband’s business. Kids. Schools. Friends. A major move. But I have a good offer, Sandra. It’d pay for your kids’ education. All four of them, all the way through University if they want that. It’d offer you a salary; and a retirement. John, being in the work he does, could easily work into a job somewhere in the situation, a good living. And you’d be doing something I think you’d do very well—with kids. With families. Do you want to hear it?”

  “I—I’ll hear it.”

  “The last thing I want is to cause a disruption in the life you’ve made for yourself, for your husband, for the kids. But that seems to be what I’m good for. Here’s the heart of the matter. The three Reunioner children, who’ve been in the news.”

  “Are they coming down again? Here?”

  “Yes. With their families. They’re going to be settled in an apartment, near the University. The kids will be taught by University personnel. Because of the level of attention they’ll have, and because they’re under the aiji’s protection and the President’s, they won’t be able to go out and about without security in attendance, they won’t be able to do many of the things ordinary kids do. Their parents—there are three, among them one girl with, effectively, none—they’re complete strangers to the world. The parents have never seen a storm, never looked at a flat horizon, never seen the seacoast, never seen the sun, for that matter, as a sun in the sky. Absolutely everything is new to them. What I would wish—if you want to take it on, you and John and your kids—is to move in, and be their neighbors. Your kids—could be in contact if you choose. John, the same. But you—living there, just helping the Reunioners adapt, teaching them to cook for themselves, teaching them what a grocery is, what to do under a thousand circumstances—you’d be their tutor. And their social contact. They’re good people, these first down. They’ll help the ones who come after, some of whom may be cousins or some degree of relatives. But there were a huge number of deaths on Reunion, so families were not just broken, they were shattered. There are problems that Reunioners and probably specialists are going to have to work out—that’s not your job. You’re just to work with those first few, and be their teacher—their mentor—just in how things work, and what to do. That’s what’s needed. And you have skills you might not think of as skills, but they’re vitally important, for people who’ve never stood under a blue sky or—” He smiled. “—Baked a cake.”

  “God.”

  “Financially—you and your family would have a good solid living, education for your kids, not fabulous wealth—that’s not what we want to provide the Reunioners—but enough to be comfortable. You’ll work out—with your own considerable good sense—how much affluence you want that to be, to teach them how to live as regular people.”

  She frowned. “You say they’ll be under heavy security. That we’ll be living in this facility—”

  He saw where that was going. “You won’t be under the restrictions the Reunioners will be. Just don’t advertise who you are or what you do. Take a vacation, visit relatives, visit friends, no problem. But your job, a small office in the building, will entail exactly what you did for me—solving problems. Only you also get to teach the
se people how to fend for themselves. The Reunioner kids—by the way—the first you’d meet—are nice kids. Polite. Sensible. Way older than their years, by what they’ve been through. But very good hearts.”

  “I can’t decide this alone, Bren.”

  “You’re thinking about it. That’s all anybody can ask. It will be a fishbowl. There will be frustrations. But the first-down will be these kids, possible relatives, and some science and engineering types. There’s to be no disruptive personalities in this first residency. If you can’t work with somebody, or they’re having psychological or medical issues, you make a phone call, and they’ll move somewhere, but you won’t have to cope with them. Your job is solely to enable these people to live a normal life, and cook a meal, and ultimately, to form friendships, get jobs, and know how to catch a bus. The original three kids—and their families—will pretty much stay in the bubble, restricted because of security. The kids will travel to the mainland now and again. Their parents won’t. These kids—are going into the Foreign Office track, educationally speaking; and if ultimately they don’t want to be there, that’ll be their free choice, but for right now, and until the world gets used to them, they need protection.”

  “I understand. I understand what you want, I think. God. It’s enormous.”

  “Staff would be no problem, if you turn out to need it. But these people themselves may be able to handle some of the incoming.”

  “I can’t say yes. I have to explain this to John. And the kids. My oldest. It’d be everything. But—”

  “It’s tremendous freedom, economically; and considerable restriction, socially. Yes. You’ve worked with me. You know exactly what it is.”

  “I do.” She looked at the teacup, in which the liquid had to have gone tepid. “It’s huge.”

  “It really is. And now I suspect you can’t enjoy being in Port Jackson. You need to fly back home and talk to John. If you do say no, I’ll know it’s for very good reasons. You’re just the best answer I could think of. Things can get handled if you say no. But I hope for a yes.”

  She set the teacup down, to the side. “I’d better get a flight.”

  “You just get to the airport. This time we’ll get one for you. Ticket will be waiting at the counter when you get there.”

  She got up. “Thank you so much. It’s good to see you, Bren.”

  “Good to see you.” He got up, came and took her by both hands. “You do what your good sense tells you. All right?”

  “Right,” she said. And left, not without a backward look, and a nervous little nod to Narani, who opened the door for her.

  He had immediately to arrange the ticket. He thought, ridiculously, that he also ought to call down to security and tell them give her back the knife, which was probably part of a set.

  “Will she agree to do it?” Jago asked.

  “I have no idea,” he said. “I hope I haven’t just upset her life. But I don’t think so. She’s stronger than she looks. A lot stronger. Very sensible. And a very good cook. I heartily recommend the cake, nadiin-ji.”

  11

  Nomari arrived in the staff room in better appearance than the day previous—his clothes cleaned, the ripped coat sleeve repaired, a courtesy Uncle had ordered—but Uncle was not present. Guild was, Uncle’s, Cajeiri’s own—and two of Uncle’s senior staff, who stood by, there if needed.

  Cajeiri sat down. Tea might have been appropriate, if the occasion were in any wise social. It was, Cajeiri instantly felt, a Guild affair, top to bottom, with Uncle officially absent, but with Uncle’s own people there.

  He was there to help, he instantly felt. He was not in charge, but he was the polite presence in the situation, there to ask the Guild’s questions. But not only the Guild’s questions.

  He was also there to represent Father, who, if he were present, would not take second place to the Guild. He could not take charge, no, nor interfere, but he could at least ask his own questions, and not be a fool, either.

  “Nadi,” he said with a little nod.

  “Nandi,” was the respectful answer, the proper answer.

  “The Guild has been checking things. And they would like me to ask, courteously, certain things. I have talked with my father. I have talked with my great-uncle. I have not spoken with my mother, but probably my father will tell her. My aishid says you may be my third cousin. And that you are Transportation Guild. And you say you came here to talk to me, and I suppose to my great-uncle. The Guild asks—why now?”

  “Because,” Nomari said, “because something has to be done about Ajuri and Kadagidi, and done fairly soon. Lord Tatiseigi’s party is pushing for a solution. And there are not many solutions to be had. Lord Tatiseigi might not have welcomed me showing up at his door uninvited. I doubt I could pass his gate. I have no claim on his consideration, myself, and if he inquired with the Guild—and it reached the wrong ears, it might mean my life.”

  “Do you think it will?”

  “I have lost my cover. I will be in danger—whatever happens from here.”

  “Nandi,” Rieni said, from the side of the room. “Ask him why he chose this place, this time.”

  “Nadi,” Nomari said quietly, in direct answer to Rieni, “I am not high-ranking in my guild. I could not reach Lord Tatiseigi in the Bujavid. I certainly could not reach your father, except at fall audience, and that might be far too late. The pressure is mounting to do something about Ajuri, even to break it—and if I spoke out in Shejidan I would be without protection. Here—I certainly have protection.”

  It might be a grim joke he was making. But it was also, in a way, true.

  “Was it safer to risk the mecheiti, coming through the hedge?” Cajeiri asked. “Where were you trying to go?”

  “To the house, nandi. Precisely to the house. And with all respect, nandi, I did not finish the first question. You asked why now? And the answer is—I was already asking myself what to do about the nomination, whether to send a letter to your father, whether to send a letter to Lord Tatiseigi, when I heard you were coming to visit Lord Tatiseigi. I have my guild pass—I could quietly, with no permission, go as a worker between districts. So I reached Diegi, and I walked.”

  “Alone?” Haniri asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Are you alone in this undertaking?”

  “No. I am not. But it was my part to come here, and reach the house, and beyond that—to rely on the young gentleman, as a relative, and on his guard, to ask who I am, so I can prove at least that much.”

  “Did you intend to break in?”

  “I hoped to get to the stables, at least, and to contact the staff. I hoped, as happened, that with a claim of being your cousin—”

  “Third cousin. Half third cousin.”

  “Your third cousin, nandi, to be sure—that Lord Tatiseigi would at least inform your aishid of my existence. He owes me nothing else, though I owe him for clean clothes and better food than I have ever had . . .”

  “I shall tell him you said so,” Cajeiri said. “But what do you want?”

  Nomari drew a deep breath. “Ajuri. Nothing less. But I do not expect it without answering a good many questions.”

  “You claim support,” Rieni said.

  “I have it.”

  “Within the clan.”

  “Within the clan, nadi. I do not say—within the hall at the moment. Ajiden is far from safe, for anyone who lives there.”

  Ajiden was the Ajuri house, where Mother had grown up. And Cajeiri had no concept what it was inside, because Mother never discussed those years. But outside, he knew, it was a long, sprawling place with seven residencies connected together by a wall, and with a natural spring and a garden at the center. And it had no rail station of its own, but its town did—a town mostly built in the style of a hundred years ago, with streets that wound around the natural halls. There were public gardens, there was
a museum and a number of galleries. There was a big electronics maker, and a number of furniture makers, and a number of big orchards and egg farms with a network of other towns, all tied by rail. There was a lake, too, with fishing. There was irrigation in two of the sub-clan holdings, and a dam that had been controversial with Dur’s claim on the water. Everything he knew about his mother’s clan was through pictures and geography lessons and his tutor. Mostly he thought of that curious clan house, and a lot of fields a lot like the view around Tirnamardi.

  Ajiden is far from safe.

  That described the situation of Nomari’s entire family, apparently. And Shishogi being from Ajiden . . . and still having living relatives . . . that probably was true.

  “So tell us,” he said to Nomari, “how are you going to go in and be safer than anybody else?”

  “It would not be that simple,” Nomari said.

  “Then say,” Rieni said, “how you will survive. By illegal assassinations? That has been the pattern.”

  “And how,” Uncle’s Guild senior asked, “were you educated, and where?”

  Nomari said, “I was not, nadi. I was not educated in any higher way. I am Transportation Guild. I have learned where I could, what I could. I have read. I have most of all . . . moved about. I have seen most of the aishidi’tat. I have talked to people. I have talked to other Ajuri who cannot go home. I carry a name my great-uncle could track and trace, and I know now he likely did, but I kept myself as far as I could be from raising any claim or being in any way remarkable, since I did not know who my enemies were. I played the coward. And I was lucky. Some of my sort did disappear—just vanished entirely. I know quite a few who go under other names, but changing one’s name triggers suspicion from the start. So long as I stayed visible but harmless, and careful, the watching stayed quiet. I never was sure who might be behind the watching. There was a time we all believed our uncle Shishogi protected us, and that someday we would find the one thread that would make sense and protect us from our enemies—from the ones responsible. We just did not know who we were guarding ourselves against, but the thought was, through all the confusion, that the problem was in our lords, that maybe the lordship would settle on someone who could keep the peace among the houses and let them come home. But for myself, I feared our troubles were irreparable—because of our being who we were, and because of my father’s speaking his mind. When my father and brother died, my mother told me go, get out, get away. And then she died. I learned that later. I thought it might be Kadiyi’s order. And I was not the only one, or the only generation who were left in the dark, without kin, with no clear reason. I found some of the displaced had fled Benedi, before Kadiyi took him down. And we all had somebody we blamed. There was, among us, distrust. So much distrust. And when Murini took the aijinate and replaced your father, nandi, then—then finally some of us began to get together and wonder—first about Kadiyi, then about your grandfather, and all those threads of relation and marriage . . . but we were puzzled. Why, we asked, would Murini aim at your mother along with your father?”