Visitor: A Foreigner Novel

by C. J. Cherryh

  “What would you say,” he asked Braddock quietly, “if I told you that the same kyo ship that attacked you the first time had been sitting out there in Reunion space—all that time. Eleven years from the time of the first attack, and until Phoenix came back the second time?”

  Braddock’s expression went stone cold. Upset. Very.

  “You think that?” Braddock asked.

  “I strongly suspect that’s why Ramirez left. I think he realized it was there.”

  Moment of silence. “They said so? These kyo you ‘talked’ to?”

  “No. But their appearance was instant, for us, when we came in. I ask myself—why did Ramirez take out without warning? He never told the crew there was anybody alive at Reunion, so the crew wouldn’t pressure him to come back. He said nothing to us until he was dying. His whole bridge crew apparently kept the secret, even from other crew.”

  “I hadn’t heard that part.”

  “I think, Mr. Braddock, that there’s a lot that various people haven’t heard. Secrecy, the unwillingness to compare notes, has caused us all a great deal of trouble and unpleasantness.”

  “Lay that at Ramirez’ door.”

  He said nothing for several moments until Braddock’s defiant anger began to wane.

  Then: “Tell me, Mr. Braddock. What were you going to do with the children?”

  “What were you going to do with the children?” Braddock shot back.

  “Protect them.”

  “And use them.”

  “Mr. Braddock, the children wanted a birthday party.”

  “Don’t give me that. What were you up to? What does this have to do with anything?”

  “Why,” he asked, patently ignoring the question, “did you urge Ms. Williams to send her daughter down? And why didn’t you do the same with Mr. Andressen?”

  “Irene went down to get a look. To tell us what she saw.”

  “An undercover agent, then.”

  His lip lifted. “Yes.”

  “I see. And what was her report?”

  “She liked it.” Braddock didn’t sound at all happy about the statement. “You poured every extravagance you could muster on those kids. Of course she liked it.”

  He could counter, quite truthfully, that Irene had also begged him to get her back. But he didn’t toss that into the argument. It had come in the nature of a confidence, from an upset kid, who probably knew she was being used, and would be, and by whom.

  “Bjorn Andressen didn’t come down. Was that your doing as well?”

  “Don’t look at me. Andressen’s obsessed with getting his kid into station admin. He believes that’s going to happen. He was the obstacle to his kid coming down.”

  “So what were you going to do with the kids?”

  “The same thing you’re going to do. Play politics. Work out an agreement that you want. Don’t deny it.”

  Braddock could have said I wasn’t going to hurt those kids. But he jumped straight to his justification: you’re doing the same thing. He sincerely wished Braddock’s indignation had made him say I wouldn’t have hurt the kids.

  Braddock’s attitude . . . would not play well with the atevi.

  “Well, Mr. Braddock. Thank you. I fear our time is up. I’m being pressured somewhat to send you to ship security. I don’t think I’m inclined to do that at the moment. I will assure you that you needn’t be afraid to be with the atevi. They aren’t part of the question. Unfortunately you’ve upset the Mospheirans, but Tillington’s gone now, at least from any position of authority. His replacement knows the situation. She was at Reunion with us, and she may advise a changed position toward your people.”

  “Is this a threat?”

  “Mr. Braddock, it’s a simple statement of your situation. It would be a very good thing if you reevaluated your relationship to the Mospheirans. I don’t know that it would have any effect on Captain Ogun’s opinion, but it might. I leave that to—”

  “What does it take to get your backing?”

  “Mine?” A novel notion. “In what, Mr. Braddock?”

  “I have five thousand people, who have skills, who can run this station.”

  “That’s an interesting idea. What am I supposed to do with that information?”

  “We can be good allies.”

  “I’ll remember that, Mr. Braddock.” He pushed back from the table. “And thank you for the discussion.”

  He rose, turned to leave.

  Braddock snapped, “Just who the hell are you, Cameron? Who do you work for?”

  He had to smile. Slightly. “For the atevi government, Mr. Braddock.” He turned back to face Braddock. “And for the Mospheiran President.”

  “At the same time? How the hell does that add up to an honest job?”

  “It used to be hard. It isn’t now. They’re very much of the same mind. And let me add another thought for you to ponder. In a few hours, I’ll be representing the kyo as well.”

  Braddock’s mouth worked then just stopped, hanging slightly open.

  “Think about it, Mr. Braddock. Consider the fact that I, and my predecessors, have done this before, with, if you open your eyes to see, obvious success. Think about it and perhaps we can talk again after I deal with the visitors.”

  “If there’s a station left.”

  “I prefer to remain optimistic on that point. Our survival, however, might well depend on my grasp of the truth regarding what’s happened over the last twelve years. With that in mind, if anything occurs to you—things I might need to know, dealing with them—say my name to your guards. Ask to see me. But expect that after a certain time I’ll be busy. You’ll understand that.”

  “I understand that you better not make a mistake.”

  “I hope you wish me luck.”

  “I hope you don’t get this station blown to hell.”

  “In that, sir, we are in complete agreement,” he said. “Good day, Mr. Braddock. —Nadiin.” He gave a nod to his bodyguard, and left.

  10

  His aishid didn’t ask him what Braddock had said. He wasn’t ready to frame it in a form they would understand without ambiguity . . . and if any of his associates understood when he was deep in thought—they did. They asked nothing, said nothing to disrupt his train of thought on the way back to the residencies.

  They did hand him a recording of the session which, yes, they had made, and which properly should be Guild business not involving him—if this were on Earth. It wasn’t. And he was not at all sorry to have a chance to review the conversation.

  Once back in his apartment, he immediately retreated into his office, first to make a transcript of that useful record for Jase, for Jase to use at his own discretion, and then to translate it into Ragi, for his own staff, for the dowager’s staff, for the Observers, and for Geigi. The original went into secure storage . . . against future legal action.

  Then he returned to the Ragi version, adding notes, some of which were a page unto themselves, trying to explain— the associated human thinking, human actions, and the technology involved.

  And not, he realized, just to his atevi associates.

  Be aware that I may be mistaken as to any of this, he added at the top. Braddock-nadi and I are not of the same people and Lord Geigi and his aishid would be a better guide regarding what was possible for him to have done as stationmaster. Likewise Jase-aiji may have a very useful opinion.

  He sent it, to all parties involved, then took time for a much-needed shower and a change of clothes, before joining his aishid in the secure informality of the security station to discuss the sum of all his recent meetings.

  “You have read the transcript,” he said.

  “Yes,” Banichi said. “We have arranged to consult with Lord Geigi’s aishid, and with Cenedi, personally.”

  “One does not trust Braddock,” he said, settling in his usual place, on a cabinet corner, “and one does not trust Williams-nadi. But there is within these two stories—which a year aboard the ship gave them ample t
ime to coordinate—the assertion that Ramirez found a habitable world by distant observation, and went back to investigate it more fully. We may take this to have been the kyo world, or a kyo world, and that the kyo objected to this return visit. This, we have inferred from Ramirez’ own account of his first meeting with the kyo ship.”

  “Is it possible,” Jago asked, “that Ramirez-aiji returned to Reunion Station to refuel with the intent of never returning? If he was looking for such a world in order to begin a new association, with himself as aiji, might not the discovery of such a world be the keystone to his plan?”

  “A very good point, Jago-ji,” Bren said, and one he should have considered on his own. Investigating a potentially viable planet might not have made a senior staff member, the man who’d had the heart attack, want to leave the ship, but permanently severing relations with the station . . . might. “Braddock states that the first Braddock knew of the kyo’s displeasure was the arrival of a ship at high speed while Phoenix was absent. Williams indicated the kyo ran into a mining craft and took that for attack. Jase stated that such an accident was not likely. Braddock stated, today, that the ship deliberately destroyed two such craft as it arrived.”

  “Perhaps they believed those craft to be something other than mining robots.” Banichi’s voice revealed contempt. Mines were known to the atevi, but not with any positive association. Honorable individuals simply did not employ means of destruction that were not specifically targeted.

  “It is certainly possible. Particularly if their enemies use such tactics. Having taken out the mining craft, Braddock says, the kyo fired on the station once, then withdrew.”

  “An attack not resulting in the anticipated response,” Banichi said after a moment. He said it in a Ragi way, which was a single word. A concept. “During or after.”

  Meaning—

  One had to be Guild, perhaps, to know all that word meant. He saw the others thinking, soberly so.

  “One cannot assign human or atevi interpretation to the kyo action,” he cautioned them, “and one dares not conclude. But there is the chance that they sat there, silent, for more than ten years, with only Prakuyo’s ill-fated contact to break that silence.”

  “One suspects they were indeed watching,” Algini said. “Preserve and observe.”

  “Perhaps,” Tano said, “they attributed Ramirez-aiji’s intrusion to their enemies and believed they had found their base. They are at war. They attacked with no alternative explanation in mind, and when the station did not respond, they withdrew to observe.”

  It was exactly the scenario slowly evolving in the back of his mind.

  It attributed restraint to the kyo.

  It implied that Prakuyo an Tep’s team might have realized the station was not what they thought it was.

  Placing oneself in that unlikely situation—what would he report to superiors?

  We just attacked another species.

  With all the terrible facts that implied.

  Was it human-centered thinking, to think the kyo would feel the same shock, and perhaps suffer political paralysis? Surprise was possible for a mecheita, a fish, a worm. Dismay was possible in any mind forming a plan and acting on it to unanticipated results.

  Humans and atevi both experienced guilt. Having been a rider of mecheiti, he was not sure that species felt any such thing. And that was the highest third species he had ever dealt with . . . well, but maybe Boji. And he very much doubted guilt figured in Boji’s greedy little mind.

  But the kyo realization, beyond intellectual shock that they had been wrong about the nature of Reunion Station, would surely reach to dismay that they had acted on a wrong assumption, that they had damaged something they did not understand, and that the universe they thought they knew had just surprised them.

  Realizing the other side would have a reaction to their action—perhaps a complex reaction . . . One couldn’t climb very far up the technological tree without figuring out actions brought reactions. And the kyo built starships.

  So, they damaged the station and realized:

  That other species is going to react.

  Which realization would suggest the next obvious question:

  How is that species going to react?

  Was that why the kyo hadn’t gone in to extract Prakuyo an Tep, when that contact went bad? Not to provoke the situation further?

  And from that cell—had Prakuyo an Tep been reading his captors?

  Had the ship waited all that time, waiting so as not to bring the problem it had created back to their world?

  Or had it been waiting all that time so as not to miss the reaction when it came?

  In human or atevi understanding, the kyo should have reported. They should have communicated with their own people, warning them: There’s more than one non-kyo, star-faring species out here. We may have started another war.

  We’re waiting to see what they do. Where they go. How many ships.

  Not because they attacked us, but because . . . we made a mistake.

  All this time, he’d been assuming the mistake had been on the human side. He’d allowed his impression of Braddock and Ramirez, their secrecy and their overbearing ambition, to color the events. He’d allowed himself to assume.

  He’d had a year to go over his notes aboard ship. As it turned out, he’d heard everything about the incident except how the kyo had come in, a detail he needed, and hoped he had, in this interview with Braddock.

  Fast. Hard. And firing at anything mechanical.

  That conversation would have been useful, two years ago.

  Yes, he’d wanted to talk to Braddock when they’d first brought him aboard, at Reunion. But Sabin had said no, and he’d been busy talking to the kyo. Then they’d been busy getting out. He’d assumed he’d get the chance. With reasons not to raise issues during the voyage, he’d assumed there would be a relaxation of attitudes when they got to Alpha Station, once Sabin wasn’t trying to keep the lid on a pressured situation.

  He’d thought he’d have time.

  But he hadn’t had it. When they reached Alpha, things had gone to hell locally and they’d literally run to board the last shuttle flying. He’d had to shut down all thought of the kyo and Reunion, and concentrate on staying alive and getting Tabini back into power.

  So all his assumptions regarding Braddock and the events leading to the attack had crystallized, frozen where they stood, because he’d been too damned busy down on the planet to think about things aloft. He’d assumed, that dreadful, dangerous word, that there had been a mistake or an action on the human side that provoked the attack. He’d assumed that Braddock’s moves answered everything.

  He couldn’t assume now. He had to know. Braddock might not have been responsible for the attack—he might in fact have taken reasonable actions and actually saved lives. Possibly Ramirez had done something to provoke it, but it was also possible the kyo just opened fire without preface.

  The kyo were at war, and if the kyo hadn’t realized there was another species involved . . .

  The attack Braddock described implied a complete lack of hesitation. They’d acted in confidence they absolutely knew what they were doing—and then what? Realized they didn’t know what they’d done?

  If that was the case, what else could one conclude? That Phoenix, entering a kyo region, had acted like an enemy ship, running when spotted?

  Had the kyo followed such a lure before and run into ambush?

  He became aware of a general silence, everybody sitting about the counters of the security station, watching him, nobody moving, nobody saying a thing, while his mind spiraled off into infinity. He was embarrassed. But they knew him. They waited.

  “I think,” he said, “you may be right. I think it’s very possible the kyo attacked the station as an enemy outpost, then realized they had attacked a people unrelated to their war. They then had to know what those people would do about the attack. They stayed. They waited. They observed. We have no idea how many ships they
have at their disposal. But if the mistake was on the kyo side, and not Braddock’s—I think it would make some sense for them to observe the reaction, however long it took, and do as little as possible to provoke another action. It would make sense to advise their own people that there was an unknown species in the area. It would make sense to admit what they had done, and then to try to deal with it without widening the conflict. Sensible people would not want to take on a second enemy.”

  “They sat there as a sacrifice, perhaps,” Banichi said.

  So much of atevi culture was embedded in the machimi, the plays.

  And there was, indeed, in the long ago, more than one instance of a clan acknowledging a mistake, prepared to accept whatever reparations the offended might demand, the honorable thing being the offender satisfying the offended.

  Nothing had been off the table. Life. Death.

  “One dares not assume their customs are ours,” he said. “But I may have been mistaken in assuming Braddock was the offender in the encounter. Indeed he may indeed be an offender in every other of his actions, but not necessarily in this one. I think we have at least two competing models for what happened back at Reunion, but only one offers an explanation for the kyo’s extreme patience, that being the one of mistaken identification leading to a retaliation far beyond what would seem reasonable. It appears that the station’s response puzzled them, their attack on Prakuyo’s mission offered nothing better, and after we arrived, the whole concept of humans coexisting peacefully with atevi—posed them an even more complex puzzle, without answering anything. I dare not assume anything or anyone is exactly the same as humans or atevi. But three actions stand out to me: the speed and pitiless destruction of their first approach. The strange patience of their watching for ten years, despite the station taking Prakuyo an Tep prisoner. And Prakuyo’s attempt to board the station, unarmed. One has no idea whether Prakuyo an Tep has an official position, whether he is some sort of a paidhi, himself, or whether he is, possibly, the one who ordered that initial attack. All these things are possible.” He drew in a deep long breath, and with it felt a settling, as if a few of the pieces that had been careening in wild orbit had just found a stable relationship, a configuration that let him surmise where more pieces might fit.