There were regular things to observe, like clockwork—despite nand’ Bren being gone. Staff had duties. Jase-aiji came and went, but he was absent for most of every day, dealing with Gin-nandi and Lord Geigi: they knew that. Maybe he was talking to Sabin-aiji and Ogun-aiji and station security.
And when Jase-aiji was out, so that nand’ Bren’s staff had nobody to wait on, they helped mani’s staff, and polished and cleaned things, whatever they could find to do.
And Bindanda cooked and baked. Teacakes never stopped. Bindanda had sent a great many of them over to the ship with Tano and Algini, and Algini’s call had asked for more, frozen, to be sent down for somebody to deliver to the kyo ship, so somebody over on the kyo ship had to be enjoying them. That seemed a hopeful sign.
But one still worried. And the sixth day was shaping up to be like the third or the fourth or the fifth day, only with Matuanu grimmer and more silent, saying not a word at breakfast.
Six was a mixed sort of number—unfortunate two of a fortunate number, or two very infelicitous numbers—and he was down to figuring numbers like the ’counters. He told himself again and again the numbers were only for superstitious people, which he had not been brought up to be, but six was still a chancy sort of day and he wished it were over and that today were the seventh, which was moderately fortunate.
“Such faces,” mani said at breakfast, at a table which had their two kyo guests, and him and mani—four at table, which was how much great-grandmother made of the numbers. “Such faces. There has been far too much study, too much chess, too little noise.”
He had never in his life thought mani would complain of too little noise.
“Let us summon your guests,” mani said with a wave of her hand. “Let us see if there is cheer to be had in their company.”
“Yes,” he said, but he worried as soon as agreement was out of his mouth, what mani was up to, and whether there was any problem on the ship that mani knew about, because Cenedi was always the one who took the messages from Tano and Algini.
Mani would not bring his guests into danger. He was sure of that much. So they were safe here.
And mani wanted noise.
It was another sort of chess game. Matuanu would sit and listen to everything going on. He was scary, in Cajeiri’s view of things.
But mani intended to make a little noise.
• • •
Prakuyo leaned back in the conference room chair, legs crossed, arms clasping a prosperous belly, issuing a faint thumping sound as his head bobbed. “Six days,” he said. “Six days, Bren-paidhi, great change. Should we-on-this-ship trust him? This is the question.”
“He-unassociated can go this way, that way,” Bren said honestly, “but Cullen wants to learn. He-unassociated wants association, wants not to be alone. Cullen wants to see the war stop. He-unassociated says—these words—too many dead. He-unassociated understands the loneliness at Reunion. He-unassociated believes you-associated with many understand his loneliness on kyo ships.”
“True,” Prakuyo said, bobbing his head, his whole upper body. “Is association safe, Bren-paidhi? You know what we-wider-association want.”
“A paidhi. A translator. A bridge. Cullen wants the same, wants to build from his end of the bridge. Kyo build from the other side. Prakuyo builds from the other side.”
“One understands. Cullen wants build bridge. We-association trust Cullen use hammers?”
Prakuyo made a joke, a very little one. They had reached that point of understanding.
“Someday you-association have to,” Bren said. “Yes.”
“Tomorrow seven day. Kyo day? Atevi day?”
“Prakuyo decides.”
Boom. Thump. “Atevi day is fair,” Prakuyo said.
“Fair,” Bren said.
“Atevi ask a treaty,” Prakuyo said. “Tonight Cullen will meet the aijin over this mission, and one will urge—” Thump. “—agreement to Cullen, agreement to treaty. Important that this happen. Important that Cullen speak well. Very important. The authorities will ask his name, will expect him to make a bow, and if he does well, they will give him water and food. He should drink and eat. Then he may sit down. Be welcome. You remember.”
“I remember.” Kyo had offered them the same, back at Reunion.
“Good we meet,” Prakuyo said. “Good we meet, Bren-paidhi. Say same to the dowager, to the boy. We shall go tomorrow.”
“You-Prakuyo will not go to the station to bring Matuanu and Hakuut.”
Thump. “No. Matuanu will come, bring son.”
That . . . took a moment to process.
“Hakuut is Matuanu’s son?”
Boom. “No, Prakuyo’s son. Fair. Tabini-aiji sends Cajeiri. Hakuut comes wait on the station. Good that Hakuut sees Cajeiri. Good for atevi. Good for kyo . . . some day.” Prakuyo uncrossed his legs, gave a triple click deep in his chest. “Together-we talk to Cullen now,” Prakuyo said. “Be sure Cullen uses the right words for the kyo aijiin.”
• • •
It was good to see Jase-aiji arrive in the foyer, and good to see Irene and Gene and Artur, who entered very quietly. The whole day had felt chancy, and Cajeiri had been locked in court expression for so long his face felt numb, all the muscles reluctant to respond as he met his guests.
There were, of course the courtesies, the bows, the address to mani, with Jase-aiji and mani being polite to each other—but solemnity affected everybody, except Matuanu, who was just—whatever he was.
Mani had ordered a party, setting lunch with a variety of refreshments, including those Hakuut greatly favored. Hakuut had far more Ragi now, not as much as Irene, but he was willing to use it, and he kept trying until he could be understood. He asked Gene to laugh again. Gene tried, and then did, and then Artur started, and then Irene . . . which made everyone much more relaxed, and a bit silly, and by the time lunch was over, they found themselves trying to explain why people ate things in order, with dessert last.
He had never even wondered that. He thought now it was peculiar that humans did and atevi did. Maybe one had learned from the other, or maybe it was that, if one ate sweets first, one would fill up on sweets and miss the meat dish.
It was the first time that day he had wondered about something that silly, as opposed to whether nand’ Bren was all right and why nand’ Bren was taking so long and whether Prakuyo would come back when nand’ Bren did . . .
Hakuut asked where they lived, and Irene answered that: she said they lived upstairs. And Hakuut asked what they did on the planet when they visited.
Cajeiri opened his mouth to divert that question, because he really did not want his guests to explain about Lord Geigi’s neighbor and the Assassins . . .
But Irene said: “We saw a storm, with lightning.”
“We rode mecheiti,” Gene said.
And Artur, from his pocket, pulled a handful of pebbles, one of which he showed. “Water did this,” he said. “Years and years in this rock. Take. You have.”
Hakuut took the pebble into his gray, large hand, held it, looked at it. “Bone of the planet,” he said, which Cajeiri noted with some interest. It sounded like something he should remember, something nand’ Bren would want to know.
“You keep,” Artur said.
Hakuut closed his hand. Then bobbed a little, with a soft set of booms. “Thank,” he said, and got up and took it to Matuanu, who, indeed, took it in his hand and looked at it, then handed it back.
There should be gifts, at a long parting. Cajeiri excused himself, and went to his room very quickly and found two of his good collar pins, not a well-thought gift, certainly not as good as Artur’s, but he brought them back all the same, and gave one to Matuanu and one to Hakuut. Craftsmen had made them, each.
Hakuut then, got up and went to his rooms, and brought back a small box, which he opened, and shook out a set of little metal beads. He gave one to Cajeiri, one to Irene, one to Gene, one to Artur. The carved box he gave very solemnly to mani, with a little bob and b
ow.
“Thank you,” mani said in kyo.
Which surprised absolutely everybody.
• • •
It was court dress for dinner—atevi style, and kyo. Bren had his best coat, lace that was damned hard to manage at table. Cullen’s robe was a gift, a design like a wire diagram in gold, on a blue fabric. He was clean-shaven, scrubbed, hair braided in a simple queue.
And tied with a white ribbon. “Atevi gave me this,” Bren said, as Tano was securing Cullen’s braid. “The white is the paidhi’s color, his badge of office. Wear it.”
“Are you sure I’m ready for this?” Cullen asked, and the anxiety was utterly readable.
“Face,” Bren answered quietly, in full control, then, humanly speaking, “Yes. You have to be.”
It was only Cullen’s second venture up into the heart of the ship. The first had been this afternoon, in a working session, where they’d met with the Authorities, the two who’d come with Prakuyo, who apparently sat in judgment. That had been daunting, a test of his aishid’s nerves as well as his own and Cullen’s. It was the scenario he’d imagined: a number of kyo in one place all arguing, with the subsonics at full bore. Noisy, to say the least. And there’d been only five of them: the two Authorities, Prakuyo, and his two aides. He didn’t, personally, want to know what it would be like with ten or twenty of them going at it in the heat of argument.
Cullen might find that out someday—unsettling thought. Though kyo must be as capable of feeling pain—must have some sort of restraint in mass encounters, be it manners, rules, or just reluctance to gather in large arguing groups.
“You’ve survived the hard part,” Bren said, as Tano stood back, task finished. “Prakuyo said they were impressed. And always remember: you’ll have Prakuyo with you.” For a moment, he was back on a windswept balcony, having his first breakfast with Ilisidi, freezing to death . . . Ilisidi’s challenge to a human whose influence on her grandson was not always down a line she approved. Had she stopped such invitations? Not in the least. She liked the cold air. “You’ll make your own way. You’ll learn things I envy you.”
“Wish you could stay. Even a few more days.”
“You don’t need it. You don’t need me. You have everything you need.”
“Not everything I need!”
Emotion. Out of control. He let his silence speak for him, and a moment later:
“I’m sorry. Chalk it up to nerves.”
“Prakuyo will remind you. He’ll take care of you. He’s promised. Be fair to him. Learn what he can teach you, which is everything. Forget, for all practical intents, that we ever met—because you’re on your own.”
“I don’t want to forget.”
“I’m gratified. But I’m no use to you, beyond this. You’ve got a war to stop. Lucky for you—the kyo want to talk. I hope you can find some humans who do. Or that you can teach another human and pass the job on. Somebody has to do it. What’s happening now makes no sense. My advice—don’t expose yourself to risk. Don’t go into human hands. Talk for the kyo, from a distance. Unless humans have changed in the last several hundred years, you’ll become a high-priority target, somebody some humans won’t believe, and will want to silence. Expect that. Just be smarter, more apt at getting contact, and listen to the kyo’s advice. Work with them to disengage. Be damned careful about who you empower, and who gets in power on the human side.”
“Who I empower?”
“The white ribbon isn’t purity. It’s no color at all. It’s neither side. You represent the kyo honestly and accurately. And when you speak for humans you represent the humans honestly and accurately. That requires you be both honest and accurate, which means understanding the kyo beyond anything you imagine. That’s how you get power. And that’s how you use it.”
“I’m not sure I’m that smart.”
“You’ll get there. It all starts with your willingness.” He made a conscious gesture, one he didn’t make with atevi, and clapped Cullen gently on the shoulder. “You’ll do fine.”
Cullen made one he never made, and threw both arms around him, one strong hug, startling his bodyguard. “Thanks. Just thanks.”
“Come on.” He patted Cullen on the back, headed him for the cell door. “Say your good-byes to this place. You won’t be back. They’re moving you to better quarters.”
Cullen stopped. “I want my pillow.”
“Let Prakuyo know. I’m sure he can arrange its relocation.”
A nervous laugh. “I’ll do that.”
And he walked out into the corridor, and down toward the lift, never looking back.
• • •
Prakuyo had called—and Hakuut and Matuanu were packing. That was one thing.
But Banichi had called, and talked to Cenedi, and to mani, and Cajeiri had not been able to hear a thing, except mani had arranged her own gifts for Prakuyo, which she was sending with Hakuut and Matuanu—the tablets they already had in their possession, and one more; and a large, a very, very large package of orangelle teacakes.
He could stand it no longer. He went to mani’s sitting room, while staff was scurrying around with mani’s orders. “Is nand’ Bren coming back, mani-ma? Is he coming back now?”
“He is coming back,” mani said. “He is coming back with a very important document, which important kyo have signed and sealed, and which he has signed, in your father’s name, with his authority.”
Mani in fact sounded very pleased.
“So will Prakuyo come back?”
“No,” mani said with a wave of her hand. “The mast is highly inconvenient, and the kyo cannot deal with the air or the cold there. Prakuyo bids us farewell from the safety and comfort of his own ship. He is anxious to recover his son . . .”
“His son! Hakuut?”
“Hakuut is his son. Hakuut, it appears, is sixteen years old. For much of his life Prakuyo was a prisoner on Reunion, and Hakuut came aboard the ship after we rescued Prakuyo from Reunion. Prakuyo called it fair that he bring his son, since we brought you. It was, in his way of thinking, reciprocity. It meant different things, for different reasons, his son, my great-grandson. But the kyo’s reciprocity has let us explore the differences, and find agreements. It has not seemed unwise. And in the same reciprocity, nand’ Bren and his aishid will traverse the mast at the same time Hakuut and Matuanu make that passage. And once they are all in their proper places, the kyo will take their ship from dock and go back to their own place.”
“Will they come back?”
“No. The document, to which nand’ Bren set your father’s agreement, and his own with his seal, says that no ship from here may enter kyo space, and no ship of the kyo may come here.”
It was, overall, very good news. He had a little difficulty thinking he would not see Hakuut again, that when he parted with him in the foyer, they would never meet again. Never was not a word he had much experience of, where it regarded associates of his. He did not know how to give them up.
He was already having to put a pin on the edge of his map for associates on the station.
He was going to have to put another, perhaps up in a corner, for places much farther away than Reunion.
• • •
It was a short stop at the residency, with the dowager preparing to go upstairs, and the kyo quarters now deserted. Geigi’s people and Gin’s would move in, collect whatever information might be left in those premises—for science.
What might remain on the other side, the atevi side, was off-limits to Gin’s crew, and simply would be moved out, sent to the cyclers, and otherwise stripped back to the simple set of panels that had combined to make the semblance of an atevi residence. It was over, mission accomplished.
But there was no rest to be had here, in an artifice rapidly collapsing. Rest would come when he reached his own apartment, upstairs, and settled into his own bed, in the reasonable expectation of not having the place blown to oblivion.
“Nand’ Bren!” Cajeiri didn’t quite run. He walked
like the young gentleman he was. It was obligatory to exchange courtesies with Cajeiri, to thank his exhausted staff, and to pay respects to the dowager, who had held up amazingly in the odd hours and the long effort to achieve—whatever they had achieved. He had two of three documents in a cylindrical case, each written in kyo script, with numerous glyphs of emphasis, and in atevi symbols, and in the Roman alphabet, in three languages, in such equivalency as he and the kyo could manage, in an impressive assortment of colors of ink, and with various seals, including his own ring, which he had used three times on each document, for aishidi’tat, Mospheira, and the ship-folk—he did need to inform the captains on that score, but it would be binding, for the very practical reason that its captains would agree, none of the four having any interest in seeing another Reunion situation, all of the four having no reason to object to seeing Reunion’s survivors find a place on an atevi-ruled planet, out of their hands.
There was one thing left he could do, having some fluency.
“I shall go up to ops,” he said to his aishid—they were equally as tired, equally thinking, surely of a chance to rest, which they had gotten only by turns, for what had been a long, long effort. “If I stop, nadiin-ji, I think I shall be too tired to walk any further. I need to be in ops, with Jase. I need to be there, if any question comes from the kyo ship. I cannot answer the technical things, but I can translate.”
“Yes,” Jago said, which was absolute, for all of them. The determination was there to finish it, do the job—and then get to their own residency, because this one was already in pieces.
“Advise the staff,” he said. “Tell them we are absolutely too tired for festivities, even deserved ones. We shall simply arrive and sleep, if you wish, nadiin-ji.”
“No reports to be made,” Banichi said. “We have told Cenedi: we shall make our report tomorrow.”
To the Observers—that was a question, what to tell them, how far to rely on their good sense. He had to rely on his aishid to make that judgment, and he was not sure what that would be.
Tell Jase?
He was still asking himself that when he got into the lift, bound for ops.
Visitor: A Foreigner Novel Page 37