But was he the proper lord of Ajuri?
Better than Caradi, who dared not draw a breath if Geidaro disapproved.
Cajeiri sat down again, proper, waiting for Uncle, in Uncle’s house. And shortly they heard the doors open and close again, and in due time they heard the cars start up and leave, carrying Geidaro’s company and a good number of Uncle’s guard toward the gate in the hedges.
“Tea,” Uncle said, for which Cajeiri was grateful. He did not want to talk at the moment. He was not sure of the things he had done, and the things he had said. But he had thought he should say them, because he knew his father would have, not to mention what mani would have said.
“You shall stay,” Uncle said to Nomari, “and take tea, if you will.”
“Nandi.” Nomari gave a little nod, unclenched his hands, let go a breath. “I am in your debt.”
“No more of it,” Uncle said. “Take tea. I do not say your quarters may improve. But I shall not detain you, should you wish to leave these grounds. That is as much as I will say at this point.”
Uncle needed to think, too. So did everybody, Cajeiri thought.
Geidaro was a problem. He had no question of that.
19
The first set of meetings with the Mospheiran legislature had explained the kyo, the situation, and the treaty.
Now came the more worrisome part—explaining the future, in which the Committee on Linguistics’ rules had to change, in which there would be—technically, there already was—more than one paidhi. There had been Yolande Mercheson. There was, currently, Jase Graham. And there were, now, three Reunioner children.
And the Committee on Linguistics had no actual role in any of those selections.
Explaining that the landings of other Reunioners—which had begun to be rumored in the media—would take place, and that they would start soon—was the next step.
Explaining that very soon Reunioners would not be a station issue, but a permanent and local one—was the job at hand.
It would be much more comfortable, Bren thought, to call Toby in, board the Brighter Days and be off to the mainland once this session was over.
But comfort wasn’t the wise choice. The best course, the only reasonable course, was to be here to explain what was going on, and work out the attendant problems.
Today’s hurdle involved a second joint session with the committees on Science, on Internal Affairs, and on Foreign Affairs—this time, however, in the Senate chamber, with the chairmen of the three committees at the rostrum, and the members of the various committees sitting in a sparse pattern across the chamber. Bren had a table in the well, with a microphone, facing the three chairmen, with his back to the other members. In the Senate chambers, everybody had a microphone. But to his great relief, Woodenhouse, who sat on Internal Affairs, had reported ill—if it had been on the mainland, his illness would have been suspect—but it was fairly certain Woodenhouse would be back.
It did, however, suggest that the Heritage Party might have urged Woodenhouse, who did not seem to excel in self-restraint, to call in sick.
If that was the case, Heritage actually wanted to hear the content of his testimony, which it could not get from any other source. Then it would decide its position. Fair enough, that, until they figured out a way to use it politically, and of all possible bedfellows in Mospheiran politics, that was not the set he wanted to have.
Corporate donors . . . perhaps a little interested in the Reunioner papers. That could make for interesting alliances. And maybe some restraint on the part of Heritage.
There was in this chamber a written agenda, which at least gave him some advance warning and the first item under question was his statement about changes in the paidhi’s operational duties.
That one was not so difficult. “I can’t say the most recent changes were ever planned,” Bren said. “But there’s been a shift in the aijinate, a major shift. Some years ago the aiji in Shejidan opted to make the paidhi-aiji a court official. This has had benefits. Principally, it has given humans a face and a voice to the mainland in general, has set up a greater acceptance of technology in many areas, and a more positive view of humans across the board. As a direct consequence, when Phoenix arrived, the aijinate was able to respond and cooperate with Mospheira in restoring the station, and we have been working together in everything that’s followed—a cooperation which has turned out to be life-saving in the arrival of the kyo. I strongly suspect that, whether or not Phoenix ever had returned to Reunion, the kyo knew this world was here, knew it was connected to the ship and knew it was connected to Reunion. We have very likely been under observation by the kyo for decades, if not centuries.”
That produced a stir. He had meant it to.
“You’ve made this claim before,” Internal Affairs said. “But is there any proof?”
“A technological assumption, Mr. Chairman. Phoenix could do it. Phoenix evidently saw a kyo world at a distance, and injudiciously went there. I consider it safe to assume that the kyo, whose ships are faster, armed, and in general far more advanced than our single ship, could also do it. We do know that they were watching the activities of the ship, and likely knew its movements over a long sequence of time. I used to believe that we could conceal our lack of technology—and I thought that we could have remained unknown to the kyo and others, except for the ship. I no longer believe it was ever possible. And fortunate for us, again in my opinion, that we were able to go to Reunion, and that we were able to face the kyo with our Mospheiran experience of negotiating with foreigners and in cracking a language barrier. Initially, Phoenix ran from contact. That was a very wrong response with the kyo. Mospheirans have had the experience that says—go in and talk. It seems so simple to us. It was not simple or natural to Reunion or to the ship, but we arrived, we talked, we asked, and we were able to reach a mutually satisfactory conclusion. We have that very useful skill to offer the universe—but we should realize we are not technologically superior when it comes to ships, weapons, or science. The kyo are much more advanced in areas that have the ship technicians baffled. The kyo have stepped out of the dark, in effect, sat by our little campfire, and now they’ve gone back into the dark, headed home with a good understanding that we’re not a problem and we don’t represent another threat. They have a war going on. They don’t want us in it and we assuredly don’t want to be in it. If we’re lucky, they’ll settle it and reach a peace with their enemies. But eventually—they—or someone—could come here, and we can’t predict when that will happen. We’re perfectly visible to the whole universe. That’s unchangeable. A good relationship with a good neighbor is a situation we’ve begun to enjoy on this planet, and one we hope we’ve established with the kyo. We need to be ready for others.”
There was a small silence when he finished speaking.
“That’s a grim future you paint.”
“I don’t think so, Mr. Chairman. I do not think so. Having dealt with the kyo, I can say they have good qualities. We may find them very good neighbors. But in that consideration—it is the aiji’s position that the space station is essential, and that a settlement of the situation on the station is urgent. It is a crisis—but it need not be a source of tensions between the aishidi’tat and Mospheira. Over the past number of days, we have been discussing the treaty between humans, atevi, and the kyo. But there is also at issue the treaty that mandates parity between Mospheiran presence and atevi presence on the station, and that is seriously in question. That is the issue, besides my delivery of the treaty to the people of Mospheira, that caused the aiji in Shejidan to send me here to deliver a message. The imbalance must be dealt with. The process must begin immediately. The aiji recognizes the numbers of persons mean it will take time, but he will expect the process will get underway. He is willing to help. He is not willing to wait another year.”
“Are you,” Internal Affairs asked, “are you, Mr. Cameron, a repr
esentative of this government—or the other?”
“One thing that has been somewhat lost in translation, Mr. Chairman, is the definition of paidhi-aiji. Paidhi is a Ragi word. Even the Department of Linguistics has persistently interpreted the office as solely a Mospheiran representative. But let it be set in the record: a paidhi, in the Ragi meaning of the word, serves both sides in a negotiation. The Ragi definition of negotiation does not see two tables, two negotiators each exclusively representing their own side, but one single negotiator moving between the conflicting sides, fairly presenting each argument in turn until an agreement can be reached, often with the advice and input of the negotiator. I have accepted that definition of my office, Mr. Chairman, and I consider it my honor and my duty to express, passionately, as an atevi court official, the wishes of the aiji and the aishidi’tat. When I cross the strait, I will just as passionately represent the wishes of the Mospheiran people.”
“It seems rather a definition as the aiji chooses it to be.”
“The Treaty of the Landing mandated a paidhi, a Ragi term, and the aiji was fair enough to suggest he would accept your choice to fill his office. It’s an ancient position I’m honored to fill, and I suggest there is a profound advantage to Mospheira in understanding this office as it’s understood on the mainland. Under this original interpretation of the office, Mospheira gets to hear the aiji’s request without interpretation, by someone fluent and aware of nuance. I would hope that Mospheira will also accept me as a negotiator in the other direction, since as a court official, I have confidence I will be heard. And I will present your point of view as you express it—but the aiji would strongly hope that with that expression will come a resolve to solve this problem together.”
“Rather remarkable that a mistranslation would have persisted for two hundred years, and only now we hear about it.”
“Not as surprising, sir, since paidhiin before me were forbidden to speak the language to atevi. We simply passed notes. No negotiation happened. You now have a voice you have not had before. I urge you use it. And ask me questions, as speaking for the aiji.”
There was a little stir at that, as if no one had ever thought of that, or found the thought uncomfortable. Bren took a sip of water.
“What, then, is the aiji’s position on assisting us in a solution,” State said, “in the station situation?”
A much friendlier interrogator, State. A much more welcome question.
“The aiji understands the logistical problems, Mr. Chairman. And welcomes the President’s statement that he considers the Reunioners to be Mospheiran or under Mospheiran authority. He will take the same view. Let me be clear: I do not represent the Reunioners as a group. I am not negotiating with them. I represent the aiji, who simply says they have tipped the mandated balance, and the aiji is entirely willing materially to assist the Mospheiran government in finding a solution. Shipping them to Maudit—a company including elderly and children with family attachments—simply won’t do. It would be a death sentence for them, under any conceivable circumstance. Recall that during the construction of Alpha Station, Phoenix itself served as residence and safe refuge. Phoenix does not wish to make that commitment to a Maudit station, and we have no means to argue that point. Mospheiran authorities on the station will tell you that the Reunioners cannot be adequately housed or supplied up there. Their presence overtaxes the resources the station has, and endangers the health and safety of everyone, including atevi. In consultation with station officials both Mospheiran and atevi, the aiji proposes that five thousand individuals be brought down from the station to balance the human and atevi populations. He assumes it would be easier to bring down the Reunioners rather than to remove working personnel from critical jobs. The aiji could set up residency for them on the Great Southern Island, but his view is that fostering a second human population and rendering a human population politically distinct from Mospheira, whether in space at Maudit, on the station in quarantine, or on the Southern Island, only breeds future trouble.”
There was a murmur in the room.
He chose to ignore it.
“Five thousand educated individuals, many with high level technical expertise in space age operations, are not truly a problem for a population the size of Mospheira’s to absorb. In fact there has already been a scramble after the knowledge these people bring, for its economic value.”
The central chair, State, gaveled the room to silence.
“It is not that simple,” Internal Affairs said.
“The science,” Science said, “is of incalculable economic value.”
“The question remains,” Internal Affairs said, “why should we absorb all the cost for a mutual problem?”
“As I’ve already stated,” Bren said, and waited for the gavel to establish quiet, “the aiji is quite willing to aid in the process financially. He is willing to give free passage on atevi shuttles to the mainland, and to ferry them over to Port Jackson, at his own charge. The aiji will also cooperate with the effort to clear shuttle passenger space, by directing atevi station operations to provide materials to build landers to bring down cargo by parachute. He offers landing zones on the mainland, and the transport of cargo destined for Mospheira to its proper destination, either by Mospheiran ships, or air, or by ships of the aishidi’tat. These are not inconsiderable financial contributions to the process. In return,” he began and waited again for the gavel.
“In return,” he reprised, “the aiji expects a free flow of information gained on processes and science, understanding that patents may secure economic benefits to Mospheiran corporations for a certain number of years, but that understandings of principle will ultimately benefit both sides of the strait.”
“The cost of development of these programs . . .” That was, again, Internal Affairs.
“Is known, sir. We have lander designs that have worked, as recently as the last few years, to set large payloads down on the mainland. The landers must be built in space, and they offer no-return salvage for the ground-based operations that unload them, so nothing will be wasted. We have the designs, we have the precise numbers—I am speaking now for the cooperative of Mospheiran and atevi administrations on the station—and it will not interrupt necessary station operations. We have a clear and practical reckoning of the number of flights and launches, and where and how these persons may be lodged on Mospheira during a period of orientation—which they will need—along with short courses through the University, simply on managing daily life. All these obstacles have been dealt with far more cheaply than any expedition to Maudit—or doubling of the size of the current space station. I can promise you that where there are difficulties, as yet unforeseen, the aiji will work with you in close partnership to share expense and effort. And he will share any science that falls into atevi hands as he expects you to share what you may gain. We have a solution to the station crisis. We have only to put it into operation.”
“Beginning with these children,” State said.
“Beginning with the children,” Bren said. “The paidhiin to come after me. The aiji wishes you to teach them, educate them, inform them—and he will welcome them when they come to the mainland. But their home will be here.”
There was quiet in the room.
State said, “Are there specific questions?”
One simply braced oneself for a long, long session.
If there were no reasonable questions, it was a certainty someone would find something to ask.
He was surprised when there was lengthy silence, and finally, from State:
“Chair moves to thank the paidhi-aiji for his responses and to commend him for his performance in recent events.”
An official thank you that didn’t come from a personal friend. It did a great deal for an exhausting session.
“Second,” Science said.
“Motion made and seconded.”
Three conc
urrences . . . graciously so, State and Science outnumbered Internal Affairs.
“Let the record show it.” Gavel. “Do I hear a motion to adjourn?”
“Motion to adjourn,” Internal Affairs said.
“Seconded,” Science said, and the gavel banged down.
“We stand adjourned sine die. Thank you, Mr. Cameron.”
“Thank you, sir.” He rose, bowed to the three chairmen, and to the room as a whole. His aishid, again, was separated from him, waiting in the hall. That circumstance gave him an uneasy feeling, not helped when Science and State came down from the dais to speak to him, and members of the committees clustered around.
“Good job,” State said, shaking his hand. “Damned good job.”
He was, pending any other arranged session, free. He looked forward to that. He looked forward to being back in Francis House, in the close company of his aishid. He wanted to explain to them what he had said, he wanted news from the mainland, news from what amounted to . . . home. He’d used to catch the public bus, walk the street in the shade of old trees, have tea in the little shop just off campus, without a bit of fear.
But then he hadn’t had a cluster of political powers around him, some praising him to the skies and others wishing he’d never been born.
Here wasn’t home. He had that absolutely clear, now. He had a few connections left, people he’d, humanly speaking, call friends. But, God, he wanted to go home now. And it wasn’t going to happen. He had work of a different kind to do—no more of these sessions, he hoped. But things to set up.
Things to make happen.
A shuttle to meet.
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