Jase and his security, currently in ops, seeing that the docking went smoothly and that they had no security breach, would move downstairs to be near the situation, but, granted past history of humans and kyo, were to stay to the background.
Communications, Geigi assured them, was secure, a link to Central, where Gin would be in charge, and a link to the other captains and a direct link to Phoenix—to assure there were no misunderstandings and that there would be quick communication if need be. Jase would keep watch over that. There would be arrangements for the kyo to maintain their own link to their ship.
Everything that could be done had been done. Bren took a sip, and two and three, letting his mind settle and the tension in his shoulders ebb.
“We have invited Lord Geigi to dinner every evening since we have arrived,” Ilisidi said conversationally, “and on most evenings he has been able to satisfy our curiosity on his own. He has been working to assure our comforts, and his staff has taken excellent care of our Reunioner charges. But we are vexed to hear that the paidhi-aiji has been sleeping and eating very irregularly, and that Jase-aiji has been doing very much the same.” Ilisidi’s deliberate delivery gave no graceful pause for objection or qualification. “We trust you have not exhausted yourselves, nandi, at the point at which we need you most.”
“No, aiji-ma. We are resting at every opportunity.”
“We shall weigh a little less there. Are we correct?”
“Yes, just slightly, aiji-ma.”
“Well, well, our bones may find it pleasant, though our visitors may find it a bit less agreeable.”
“Jase-aiji says that most star-faring individuals learn to adapt quickly. And Prakuyo-nandi did survive six years under those conditions. They will surely not find it difficult.”
She gave a little nod. “And Jase-aiji will join us, we are informed. He will reside with you. Is this correct?”
“He will, aiji-ma, for advice and information, but not necessarily come within view or notice of the kyo. He will link our security with Gin-nandi, and with the ship, and provide them translation. He will share my apartment, and there is a route he can take to come and go without notice.”
“Well. Well. We shall go to this new arrangement. We shall have dinner there tonight. So we trust we shall have gained you for this evening, elusive as you have been. Shall we see Jase-aiji for dinner?”
“I shall make every effort, aiji-ma, unless some emergency prevents it, but Jase, alas, will continue in ops until the ship is safely docked, and likely have a much less elegant supper there.”
“Well, well, as it must be. Your own cook is arranging the kitchen tonight, and he has promised us a Najidan dish which I trust will attract your interest.”
“One very much longs for it, aiji-ma.”
“Then we shall go down.” Ilisidi set down her teacup. “We shall begin this adventure. And we shall start it tonight with a proper supper, a dessert, and a glass of spirits all in our lodgings below, paidhi, which we hope you may attend. If you do not sleep well after that, it will be your own fault.”
16
It was two levels down, this hallway, a reasonable trip in the lift, a place they could make comfortable for the kyo, with no need of coats or burdens or the security risk of traveling back and forth in the core and the lift system. There was atevi security about the place, tight as they could make it. The staff that would serve was all their own, many of whom Prakuyo, at least, might remember from their last meeting.
They went down, prepared to stay for whatever time it took, and it was Narani who opened the outer door, on a foyer which had the dowager’s security already settled in a small, well-equipped room that opened to the side. The door was open at the moment, and the resident Guild and the Observers, who were already ensconced, quietly rose and paid their respects. Jeladi, in charge of the inner door of the foyer, bowed and let them all into a large room. Not quite an atevi place—not traditional in layout or furnishings, but conveniently combining several functions in one. This end was a sitting room, no more brightly lit than the sitting room in ancient Malguri. Beyond, surrounded by hangings that might be drawn back to open the room, a feature of the kyo premises they had seen, was an ample dining table.
It wasn’t traditional, but it felt—right. Comfortable in the way Malguri could be comfortable, an environment that might recall the dowager’s own home.
“Well,” the dowager said, seeing it. “This is inventive. The dining room and sitting room in one. And these doors?”
There were several.
“Aiji-ma,” Narani said, having followed them. He indicated the door to the right, nearest the dining area. “Your own premises, with the young gentleman’s, and all your staff. Nandi,” he added, for Bren, “yours, the second door. At the far end of the central room, beyond the dining room curtains, is a security station, where the Guild Observers reside. Beside that, the kitchen.”
Indeed, an aroma of spice said Bindanda was already busy.
“And the kyo apartment?” Ilisidi asked.
Cajeiri’s arms tightened on the pad he’d carried down with him and he gazed at the open door, the golden glow that illumined the furnishings beyond. Two years ago, the child would have rushed across that gap. The curiosity was clearly there. But it was not two years ago, and Cajeiri waited, proper and restrained, for his great-grandmother to lead the way.
The place was lit with only a few gold-toned lights, draperies and hangings covered the walls, and there was, centermost, a conference table with seven massive chairs, with multiple modern display screens centermost on the table. Beds were in a separate room beyond, with patterned fabrics and pillows.
Machimi setting was the expression that readily occurred—a surreal place, a constructed place that existed nowhere in the universe except now, here, in the need for atevi to talk to kyo. Geigi had arranged it all, from the few pictures they had of the kyo ship’s interior, and from their description of preferred temperatures and humidity. The air was heavy, hot and very humid. Atevi were certainly not inspired to linger, but the tap of Ilisidi’s cane asserted itself, strange and definite, as she walked about, looking at details. She remembered, Bren was sure. So did he. It was an image drawn from his sketches, his memory of the kyo’s meeting room, aboard the kyo ship, as Geigi reinterpreted it.
“Well,” Ilisidi said. “Well. Geigi has managed very handsomely.”
“Indeed,” Bren said. “Indeed, aiji-ma.” The memories came back, details two years had erased, but, more unexpectedly, words came. Things present, things discussed, specific moments. Much as he had struggled to keep them alive in the interval, much as a few had come back to him when he was sketching the room he remembered—the heat, the humidity, the ambient of the light of this apartment—brought a welling sense of place and presence. He stood amid draperies and furnishings, in a too-warm room, thinking about a meal they had shared.
And recalling the kyo word for hot, and a dozen other words which had eluded him, from a session with Prakuyo and his shipmates—superiors—subordinates. He had never gotten the relationships among the kyo straight. Or known Prakuyo’s rank, or affiliations.
The dowager left, taking Cajeiri with her. Bren lingered a moment, remembering the scent of the kyo. Warm pavement. Heated concrete.
“You are thinking, Bren-ji,” Jago said.
“One is remembering,” he said. “Geigi has done well. Very well.”
• • •
Dinner was in the offing. The dowager was settling into the apartment she would occupy with Cajeiri. And there was a small space for the paidhi-aiji to check in with his staff in his own apartment, and change coats.
There was no foyer: there was barely a closet, with two coats, one the lightest he owned, for possible sessions at the kyo’s table. There was a sitting room that looked like a transplanted section out of Central—screens, communications, two work stations of the sort one would see in Central. Geigi had given them some of the comforts: Geigi assured him there
were sleeping quarters, staff quarters, and three showers, with space for Jase and his two bodyguards if they opted to use it; but as an atevi residence, this apartment had much more the look of a Guild operations center.
Jase would watch and listen from here: he could come and go at need through a door on the far end of Bren’s residence and the dowager’s, a servants’ passage which ran the length of the arrangement, with access to the outer corridor.
The kyo ship appeared on two of the screens here, appearing as steady now as the girder in the frame, a pattern of absolute dark and patches of light so bright it overwhelmed any feature on the hull.
That, too, he remembered: a massive, oblong shape the middle of which spun. It still spun, making the highs and lows of its middle hull flash lazily, constantly changing. Streaks of soot stained its forward edges, collected from this solar system, or the dust between stars. He had seen it this close when Phoenix had approached it, in the last of their dealings at Reunion. That came flooding back, too. The same ship? The soot patterning was very little different. One would think the configuration of the ship itself determined that. It looked to be a black-and-white transmission—except one orange streak that might once have been paint, overlain with soot from its travels.
Were the kyo in?
Was that ship moving at all now? Had they gotten the tube attached?
He intended to call Central, compliment Geigi, and contact Jase to find out the state of affairs with the ship.
He got no farther than the end of the console. His pocket com gave off three distinct pulses. He took it out and held it to his ear.
“Bren,” he said.
“Jase,” came the corresponding answer. “Where are you right now?”
“Right now I’m standing in the new apartment, security station, right by the screens. I can see the kyo ship. Where are you?”
“I’m in ops. The kyo are in. Faster and smoother than our best estimate. Docked, tube link established five minutes ago. We’re getting voice contact. I’m putting them through on your line one right now. Stand by.”
“Just a second. I’m going to the sitting room console.” Algini was with him. Tano and Jago and Banichi were through the far door, in the security sleeping chamber, arranging equipment out of baggage. “Gini-ji,” he said. “We have contact.”
Algini left to advise the others. He left through the other door, past his bedroom, into the sitting room, to the large console. He dropped into the central chair, com unit in hand, the screen in front of him.
“I’m ready,” he said.
“Got that.” He heard Jase’s voice, saying, of the few kyo words he knew, “Go, please.” And in the next moment a kyo voice came over the pocket com, deep and gravelly. “Bren,” it said, then words he didn’t know, and “ship.”
Heart pounding, he said carefully, in the kyo language: “Bren is here. Is it Prakuyo an Tep?”
There was a small silence. Perhaps, he thought, there was a technical foul-up. Or a consultation. Then another voice, equally gravelly, but a little different.
“Bren. Prakuyo here. Good. Good. Ship dock. We want talk.” That came in Prakuyo’s broken Ragi. And then, before he could respond, kyo language came, complete with complex booms and resonances: “Bren . . . Ship . . . Good . . . Dock . . . Talk . . . Good . . . Want . . .”
For a moment, it was the nightmare. The words froze in his head and he was missing whole strings of them. It was not the pattern of communication they’d used in the past. His mind spun, then snapped into focus. Reciprocation. Repetition. He wasn’t the only one who had been working on the problem of how to communicate.
Following Prakuyo’s lead, he said, first in his own, limited kyo, and then in simple, but more fluent Ragi:
“Talk, yes. Please come. The dowager is here. Cajeiri is here. All here. Please come, bring clothes, bring associates, all good. We have good rooms, beds, tables. Eat, talk, sleep here, all. Safe.”
There was a little pause. A little hesitation. God. After all their preparation . . . the kyo might refuse. Might want them to come meet aboard their ship instead.
“Talk Bren, yes. Prakuyo an Tep, yes. Matuanu an Matu, yes. Hakuut an Ti, yes, yes. All good?”
His heart skipped a beat. Felicitous three. Was it deliberate? Possibly Prakuyo himself and two bodyguards? Normal procedure? Or honoring atevi numerology?
“Yes. All very good.” He adopted the same dual language, first Ragi, then his best attempt in kyo. “Come aboard. I shall come down to the dock, with Banichi and Jago—we come out to Prakuyo, bring you to rooms here. Guests.” And, oh, hadn’t that been a tricky concept to establish, with a man who had been a prisoner for six years. “Guest rooms for you, for Matuanu an Matu and Hakuut an Ti. Good.” He had clicked record when the conversation started. They were catching words as they went, one language against the other, an electronic Rosetta Stone. He repeated everything in limited kyo.
Another transmission came in, in that reciprocal format:
“Talk. Sit. Talk. Good. Prakuyo Matuanu Hakuut come station.”
“Yes. Talk.”
“Teacakes.” Unambiguous and without the kyo counterpart.
“Teacakes!” He broke into a smile. Almost a laugh. “Yes! Many teacakes! Bindanda is here! He will make as many teacakes as you like. Prakuyo, Matuanu, and Hakuut please come to the station. A human there will help you come through the dark. Cold. Cold there. You can breathe air, but cold. Much much cold there, water makes ice. I, Bren, I shall come to meet you.”
“Good,” Prakuyo an Tep said. Then: “Prakuyo come now station all good. Matuanu Hakuut come now station. All good. Fortunate three.”
Fortunate three. No coincidence, then. That consideration of atevi custom was a hopeful sign. Very hopeful.
“I shall come now,” he said. “I shall come down to meet you, Prakuyo. Yes?”
“Yes,” the answer came.
The contact broke. Bren pushed another, lit, button.
“Jase?” Bren asked.
“I’m on.”
“Did you hear?”
“I heard. Pretty smart, your Prakuyo. Good move, that both-languages idea.”
“He says he’s here to talk. He remembers the teacakes. Takes a load off the worry in that sense.”
“Decidedly.”
“They’re ready to come aboard. Are we rigged yet?”
“Conveyor line’s rigged. Or will be by the time you get down there. They’re working on it right now. Passenger tube seal is clamped and solid. It’ll pressurize on need.”
That was the safety that put an airlock beyond their airlock, one in station control, which meant the sealed mast docking section wouldn’t void, comforting thought, should the mate-up to the ship somehow be flawed.
“I think there will be only three of them coming. I tried to explain about the conveyor line and the cold down there. I’ll have just Banichi and Jago with me. The mast workers we have to have. They should be careful how they move, what equipment they carry, not even the suspicion of weapons.”
“They’re briefed,” Jase said. “They’re hand-picked ship crew.”
“Good.” The logistics still loomed like a mountain. “Can you get a man here to pick us up and get us where we need to be? I’m not betting the whole mission on our navigating the lift system on our own. I think we could do it, I’m sure we could do it, but I don’t want to make any mistakes in this.”
“Polano will be in your foyer. Ten minutes.”
It was happening. He needed a heavier coat, even given the cold suits they used on the transit. They didn’t know what the kyo were going to do, whether they expected the deep cold, whether they’d suit up. It was a bare-bones system, no better than it had been since the days they’d built the station. Mostly, these days, it was for shuttle crews, young, strong people used to coming and going on the system, which was cheap, easily adjusted, never improved from the days of construction. Damned sure, once they started moving the Reunioners down, they had to do som
ething about that antiquated system.
Right now they had to get three kyo, whose ship was over-warm to both human and atevi, through it without an incident.
Jago had arrived in the room. Tano had settled, at an adjacent console. “I am going down to the mast,” he said to them. “Banichi, and you, Jago-ji, will be with me.” Banichi and Jago were the two who knew the kyo, and the kyo knew them.
“Yes,” Jago said, and left, quickly, back to the inner hall.
“Tano-ji. Word to Cenedi. Advise the dowager we may have three more for dinner.”
• • •
There was a cold-suit locker where they exited, Bren, Banichi, Jago, and Polano worked weightless, floating with light tethers, and with breath frosting despite the best heat the area provided. They were not novices. The mast workers, three in number, ship crew, Jase had said—assisted them, and they assisted one another in turn, Bren first, and Polano second.
The gloves made the pocket com difficult. Bren left the right glove off and simply tucked it into his insulated, heated pocket, righting himself so he could see the technicians’ console.
Regulations said the workers were to be in constant contact with the ship or shuttle.
In this case—not so easily.
“We shall go out, the three of us with the safety workers,” Bren told them, and switched over to ops-com. “Jase-ji, tell them I am coming out on the line to meet them.”
“I’ll try to relay that,” Jase said in ship-speak, audible to them all. “We’ve done a graphic to illustrate the system. They’re stable. The kyo ship is not linked up for water or power. Took a bit to get the personnel tube secure to their lock, but we’ve tested it. We’ll remote the number two inner lock from our side when we’re sure the number one is shut and they’re all the way through on our side.”
Visitor: A Foreigner Novel Page 22