Visitor: A Foreigner Novel

by C. J. Cherryh

  “War,” Hakuut said. “It is war.”

  Maybe it was not such a good idea, this game.

  Mani never played to lose.

  He had made dangerous moves. He had involved his guests. He had said things too fast, and Prakuyo, being smart, had asked about them, until it had gotten very scary in that meeting. He had tried to be clever now, and he had set up a war on a tabletop.

  He did not believe in omens. Mani called them stupid. But some people thought they showed the numbers of the universe, the true numbers, that would turn up again and again, no matter what, and if you saw a bad omen it was a warning.

  But some people said you could turn a bad omen to a good one if you were clever, and, baji-naji, by fortune and chance, the flex in the universe would let it be true.

  Where did he find good, now that he had set war down between them?

  Could there be good in it? Did mani even consider the omen?

  Probably she really had. Mani was learning something. Mani learned from everything. That was what made her dangerous.

  • • •

  Passing through the crossover point—was a worry. Jase, Gin, and Geigi, however, had it quietly managed—an uncommon presence of security, ship-folk, atevi, and Mospheiran, keeping the area of the lifts quiet and virtually deserted—with the traffic of clericals and warehouse and supply personnel going on beyond the glass, and fingers on the buttons, in Central, to make sure random lift cars didn’t arrive while they were in that critical area. Prakuyo paused in front of the lift, looking about at the security, which he might not recognize as such—only two carried sidearms.

  Then, apparently satisfied, he accompanied Bren and his aishid and Jase into the Mospheiran-side lift system, and took an assured grip on the safety rail, having learned the ways of the zigzagging lift.

  “See Mospheiran Central now,” Bren said, to which Prakuyo said, “Yes. Good.”

  The behavior of humans and atevi, confronted with the completely unknown in the same room with them, was a worry. But of all sets of humans and atevi available, outside the ones appointed to deal with the kyo, the ones working in Central and in ops were surely the steadiest in meeting the unexpected and the least apt to do anything to startle the kyo.

  Gin and Geigi would have prepared their staffs, Bren had no doubt, and experience of both gave him faith in both staffs. For Central as a whole, it was yet one more change in the handoff schedule, just one more rescheduling and one last trial of their nerves, one could only hope—and after this, Bren hoped they could work toward a regular, sensible rotation, even before the kyo ship left. The Mospheiran staff had been set at watch and watch when Tillington had ordered the Reunioner sections shut. Then Geigi, getting control back, had held his staff on watch and watch until he could hand off to Gin on her arrival; and the latest drain on energies, the kyo ship’s arrival, had meant odd schedules for ops, generally requiring atevi staff to be on duty nonstop. The schedule had been a patchwork for weeks, and was sometimes a question of whether they had consistently clear-headed people sitting at the boards, on whichever side of the operation.

  This was the day, the hour, they wanted steady nerves. The appearance of the kyo was intimidating enough, but the subsonics were something none of the techs would have experienced, and they were frightening, close up, maybe damaging if a rattled kyo really cut loose. One could imagine, Bren thought, the relationship between Prakuyo and the humans who had held him for six years. Prakuyo had suffered neglect. Nobody had been in that immediate hallway. And that story might have two sides.

  Prakuyo uttered small sounds, all to himself, watching the numbers tick past. Anxious. On edge. One had to account, too, what Prakuyo might feel, moving within the station halls—sparse, bare of ornament, scant even of signage, and very much like the corridors of Reunion: same architecture, same materials, same dimensions. It was nothing like the kyo ship.

  A long time, in that barren cell. In that barren hallway.

  Had Prakuyo opted not to bring his companions on this venture—because he was not emotionally prepared to deal with company in the experience? The kyo were emotional—Hakuut more than Prakuyo, and young still was the impression one had. But Prakuyo was far from at his ease.

  Dry air, for a kyo. Brilliant light. Prakuyo blinked rapidly as they walked down the hall from the lift and entered the starkly lit Central—no shadows there: all bright as planetary noon. Prakuyo gave a controlled, quiet thump, and drew every eye in the room, techs turning heads, swinging chairs just slightly. Gin waited in the center of the arc—Gin, in Mospheiran business wear, a brown suit and a bright gray blouse.

  She gave a little bow. “Prakuyo-ji,” she said, which was what they had called him on the ship, and Prakuyo gave a moderate little boom, a little mouth-gape, which could be pleasure, or just relief.

  “Gin.” It came out Kin, or something close to it. Prakuyo returned the bow, and looked about him. “Gin. Good see.”

  “Good to see you,” Gin said cheerfully. “Very good. My staff—”

  Jase stood there. Bren stood there with his aishid, all familiar enough to the crew in Mospheiran Central, while Gin solemnly, as if all the names would be remembered, introduced Prakuyo to the chief of the shift, Okana, to the communications chief, the utilities division . . . every section, very matter-of-factly, and introduced Prakuyo to them, told Prakuyo what hours they worked, and how they were holding just a little overtime to be able to demonstrate how they routinely switched control to Lord Geigi and the atevi side of the station.

  “First,” she said in ship-speak, “the chief calls the atevi chief and we both agree we’re ready.”

  Bren translated that into Ragi: “Gin will ask this man call the atevi Central and say they are ready.”

  “Go,” Gin said, and the chief tech pushed a button on the console. Three flashes came back.

  “The atevi chief says ready,” Gin said. “Utilities goes first. Communications goes last. Works best that way.”

  There was a low buzz of technician talking to technician, confirming, screens coming up with green display, buttons blinking red, then going green, starting with the utilities console, where screens one by one went out, and boards shut down.

  “Shall we just do as ordinary?” Chief Tech Okana asked.

  “That will be fine. Don’t linger in the hall. Go home. If anybody asks you, say it’s all fine. Talks are going well. You’re doing your part, and well done. Night, people. Good night. Go home. Have a drink there. Not in the bars.”

  “Two,” someone said, and there was a little nervous laughter.

  “Happy sound,” Bren said in kyo. “Gin says go drink alcohol.”

  Low ripple of booms. “Good. Prakuyo like drink.”

  Had Prakuyo just made a joke? He ventured a soft, single laugh of his own. “Yes.”

  The shutdown completed with fair dispatch, leaving dark screens, dark boards, and people filed out quietly, talking among themselves only when they reached the hall.

  Lights dimmed to something comfortable for kyo. Gin walked over, gave a little nod. “Respects from the President to our visitors.”

  Bren translated that. Prakuyo gave a little boom and a nod. “Good to Mospheira Presidenta. Good to Gin-nandi.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Gin said, and left, down the hall, solo. Mospheiran security remained at the doors. Bren made a gesture toward the same door, and, with his bodyguard and Jase, escorted Prakuyo out past the security guards, and on down the deserted hallway to the lift.

  • • •

  The game progressed. Hakuut reached, began to knock over a clan lord.

  Thump, from Matuanu. Hakuut’s hand hovered. Cajeiri sat expressionless, giving no clues. He saw what mani had set up, directing him. Now Hakuut saw it.

  “Good,” Hakuut said with a slow series of booms, and declined to take the clan lord.

  • • •

  The situation at atevi Central was the same . . . but this time the individual who met them was plump as B
indanda, almost as prosperous as Prakuyo himself, and dressed in court splendor for the occasion.

  “Welcome,” Lord Geigi said, and technicians all about made a small turn of chairs, a little nod of courtesy. “Welcome, nand’ Prakuyo! Nand’ paidhi! A felicitous meeting!”

  “Nandi,” Prakuyo said, with a little bow, and he seemed happier in the meeting, perhaps with more comfort knowing what to expect, more comfort in the greater proportions of the room and slightly less light, less sense of threat from an atevi environment.

  “Has our guest heard the function of the boards from Gin-nandi? I shall spare him, if so. But you see we have received the handoff from human Central. The three blinking lights indicate ongoing problems they wish us to continue to monitor, and the steady lights mean no difficulty.”

  Bren paraphrased that as best he could, pointing to the three lights as “Human Central ask atevi Central fix three bad things please. Others are all good.”

  “Reunioner in Mospheiran Central?” Prakuyo asked, in the relative safety of this place.

  “No,” he said in ship-speak. “This station belongs to Mospheira and atevi. Reunioners will go down to the planet.” And in kyo: “All Mospheiran in Mospheiran Central. Reunioners all go down to planet. Learn Mospheiran.”

  A nod. A little rocking, whether or not Prakuyo understood or believed it.

  Geigi, meanwhile, introduced his staff, named clans, named associations, to which Prakuyo also nodded fairly enthusiastically—perhaps that associations made some sort of kyo connection.

  “Atevi have Central twelve hours,” Bren said, “then give to humans. Twelve hours humans give back.”

  Nod of understanding.

  “All good,” Prakuyo said.

  “We go back to Hakuut and Matuanu now? Yes?”

  Prakuyo nodded, bowed generally to Lord Geigi and the techs, and Lord Geigi showed them to the door, to the hallway. They walked toward the lift station that had brought them, with one more transit of the crossover yet to go. Jase talked on com, advising security to watch the area of the lifts.

  Everything was going smoothly with the kyo downstairs, Bren was quite sure. The place was under close watch. Any cross word, any problem would have reached his aishid, and they had a signal prearranged which would have told him.

  Things were going as well as they could have possibly hoped. Prakuyo had seen what he had wished to see, nobody had panicked, they had been able to answer all the questions, and there had been no report of problems from the dowager’s vicinity.

  • • •

  They had reached a lengthy problem. Cajeiri looked at the board, and thought, and thought he knew what mani was doing, but he was not sure.

  Mani seemed to put the second advisor in difficulty.

  And after a number of moments of silence, there came a soft booming from Matuanu.

  Was it laughter, Cajeiri wondered.

  And the more he looked at the situation, the more he saw there was a dilemma ahead.

  “Good,” Matuanu said. “See.”

  He directed Hakuut to make a move. Hakuut set down the piece.

  Instantly mani ordered the consort moved.

  Matuanu instantly directed the countermove.

  The dowager immediately directed the aiji moved from the sideline.

  Slow hiss. And then a triple boom. A nod from Matuanu.

  Stalemate. There were no moves from here. A lightning-fast, reckless game—and a rapid, ruthless end.

  And no one won.

  He had worked long and hard, and he had gotten mani to stalemate twice this last year, but he was never sure it was by his skill. He suspected it was mani’s.

  He suspected it right now.

  “Perhaps our guests would like to have the set,” mani said, “if they enjoy it.”

  Cajeiri gathered up the pieces and quickly put them in their case, in the traditional array. He folded the lid shut, got up, and offered the set to Matuanu, with a little bow.

  Hakuut took it in both hands, likewise with a bow, and gave it to Matuanu, who took possession of it, stroking the leather case.

  “Thank the aiji-dowager,” Matuanu said, and Hakuut made a much deeper bow.

  “Thank you,” Hakuut said. “Thank you, aiji-dowager. Good.”

  Play sharpened instincts, kept suspicion quick and deep and focused on a small reality, a single narrow set of pieces, and all their capabilities.

  Matuanu is aiji, he thought: aiji, aiji-dowager, or aiji-consort. Hakuut is clan lord, certainly not the fortress.

  What is Prakuyo, he wondered. Is he aiji—or advisor?

  • • •

  The lift settled and thumped into its place, back at their beginnings, undamaged, undismayed, and, Bren hoped, relieved of some suspicions. But in front of the foyer door with that door open to receive them—

  Prakuyo stopped.

  “Talk,” Prakuyo said. “Talk to Bren.”

  Nothing about Jase. Bren took in a breath. Jase said, quietly, “I’ll go on inside.”

  Jase did that. Jeladi, inside, shut the door, leaving Bren, his aishid, and Prakuyo alone in the corridor.

  “Talk,” Bren said.

  “Prakuyo come station. Come human station. Come atevi station. Bren come ship.”

  Second slow, deep breath. Fair. He couldn’t say it wasn’t.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “Nandi,” Banichi said. “The aiji will not let you go without your aishid. The paidhi-aiji, nandi, does not go anywhere without his aishid.”

  God. It was what he had dreaded, what he assuredly didn’t want, and effectively—he had to.

  He could not have Ilisidi or Cajeiri with him—that was utterly out of the question. But Prakuyo hadn’t asked that.

  Bring his bodyguard?

  Bring the four people he cherished most—into a situation that might, conceivably—be a question of no return?

  Man’chi—had to be his thinking. Leave them? It was too great a betrayal—nothing about leaving them could be for their own good. He couldn’t do that to them.

  “Bren. Come.”

  “If I come—I have to ask the aiji-dowager. If I come—my aishid comes. They come with me.”

  “Yes,” Prakuyo said, pulling the last prop from under any argument. For persuading the kyo to peace—would he? He had to.

  Would they go with him? That, too. They had to.

  • • •

  “Aiji-ma.” The dowager and Cajeiri sat with Matuanu and Hakuut, still. The tablets were in evidence, on the table in the midst. Bren bowed, keeping his face pleasant. “We had a productive excursion and Prakuyo has seen atevi and humans working in parallel and in harmony. Prakuyo now has asked a reciprocal visit. He wishes the paidhi-aiji to visit the kyo ship, and one believes the pattern of reciprocity . . . as he has visited alone in the upper station . . .”

  Ilisidi cut him off, hand lifted from the chair arm, and for a moment, just a moment, a flicker of chilling coldness, before her expression turned as casually gentle as if she were dealing with household staff. “Well,” she said, smiling, “well. We shall continue to afford all possible hospitality to Matuanu and Hakuut, while the paidhi-aiji tours the ship. How long do we estimate this to be?”

  He was, he realized, too entirely rattled to render that in any reasonable fluency. He bit his lip, hauled his wits back into order, and saw Cajeiri’s face, likewise, absent any enthusiasm, any questions, any request to go along. No, Cajeiri understood the situation.

  Prakuyo, likewise, had spoken to his fellows, very quietly.

  Tano and Algini had left him to go advise Jase, to advise the staff, and to pack.

  Take their sidearms? Guild did not give those up without an order. But there were alternatives, not as visible.

  “The aiji-dowager,” Bren said in kyo, “sends the paidhi-aiji to see the kyo ship. The aiji-dowager and the young gentleman ask Matuanu and Hakuut sit, eat, talk this place.”

  There was rapid discussion, a great deal of thumping and boom
ing—no threat, but an underlying impression of disquiet with the idea.

  “All come,” Prakuyo said, then.

  “No. Prakuyo one, go station. Now Bren-paidhi one, go ship. Aiji-dowager has many, many years. Young gentleman is child, not many years. Dark, cold not good. Bren-paidhi go. Bren-paidhi aishid go. Go on ship, sit, talk, good.”

  Prakuyo looked at him, he looked at Prakuyo, Matuanu had something to say about it, about as much as he had ever heard Matuanu say and not a word of it understandable except human and atevi. Hakuut had a comment, something about stay or stop.

  “Bren-paidhi come ship,” Prakuyo said then, which, if one was any judge, didn’t entirely please the other two.

  “Bren-paidhi come ship. Aishid come ship.”

  “Yes,” Prakuyo said.

  So they had a deal.

  • • •

  Change of clothes, heavier coat, lighter coat: the kyo tended to keep things warm. Shaving kit, toiletries, the sort of thing that could support a day trip, maybe an overnight trip, if there was negotiation. One didn’t want to show up with evident provision for a long trip, God, no. If nothing else, absence of such provision might give him the excuse to send one of his aishid back to report the situation.

  But a long trip was what he most feared. What he feared for himself. What he feared for his aishid.

  Jase had found out, too.

  “I could go,” Jase said very quietly, meeting him in the front room, amid all the equipment.

  “No.”

  “You’re essential. I’m one of four.”

  Bren shook his head. “No. I can deal with this. But thanks, Jase.”

  “You’ve got a brother . . . you have obligations.”

  “I have several brothers. You’re one.”

  “Bren,—”

  “You are. My younger brother. So I take care of you. And I go. Take care of Toby, take care of everything, if things don’t go well. Get the dowager and the heir to safety. Take her advice. Protect Tabini if you can. That’s all I know.”

  Jase didn’t say a thing, just stood there, while Narani and Jeladi arranged the lightweight coat, made sure their lord was as presentable as a trip in a cold suit could allow.

  “See you,” Bren said lightly. “Soon, with an agreement. At least maybe more information. We brought Prakuyo back safely. We have a history of that with them. Maybe he’ll reciprocate. That is the pattern we hope we’ve set up.”