"I love you."
A long pause, while that human expression hung thin and potent in the air. Then: "I love you, too, mama. I'm fine. Don't worry about me."
Another pause. "I'd better shut down now."
"Yeah. — It's good to hear your voice."
"Good to hear yours, Jase. Take care. Please take care."
"I will, mama."
There was silence, then. Bren looked at the occupants of the room, tall, black, a collection of alien faces one of whom was a woman he'd almost gone to bed with, all looking to him for reaction.
Some of whom understood enough of what had been said and some of whom trusted him enough to have expression on their faces.
Banichi did. And Jago.
"There's nothing out of the ordinary in the exchange," he said. "A son talking to his mother in —" There was no word for affection. There was just no concept. There was no possibility in the faces that stared at him with such good will and acceptance — and worry. "In terms ordinary for that relationship. Jase is concerned for his mother. He fears she is concerned about his mental well-being. She asked whether he could call again. He replied that he wasn't certain, but he'd try. — He will have access, will he not, nadiin-ji?"
"There's no reason to the contrary," Banichi said.
"The death of his father is attributed to accident," Jago said. "We do not follow the precise cause."
It was an offering of good faith in itself, that the most security-conscious atevi he knew let him know how much they understood. The faces came back into ordinary perspective for him. His heart was beating hard in sheer terror and he thought it was because he'd been somewhere else for a moment, he'd been in human territory, and seeing two people he loved very much —
— not through a distortion, but as the atevi they were, incapable of returning that emotion. Seeing them as incapable of saying, as Jase's mother said, I love you.
Seeing them as incapable of understanding, as Jase had said to a woman orbiting above them, I love you, mama.
Atevi children clung to their parents. But it wasn't love that made them do that.
Go to the leader. Always go to the leader when the bullets start to fly: rally to the leader.
Could a human feel the emotional satisfaction atevi got when they responded to that urge and were responded to? No more than atevi could feel what Jase meant when a mother and son said, at such uncrossable distance, I love you.
But they knew that, held at such distance from the chief of their association, their profoundest instinct would find no satisfaction. And on that side of the gulf, one face of the lot was deeply troubled.
Jago said, quietly, "As if she were on the moon, isn't it?"
It was a proverb for the unattainable.
"Even the moon," Banichi said, ever the pragmatic r
one, "will have railroads and television if this ship flies."
"That it will," Bren said, with that hollow spot still cold inside him. "And Jase knows it logically. — I'd better talk to him."
They seemed relieved then, whether to think he could deal with the trouble, or simply to close off the presence of alienness they couldn't grasp without analogy.
He left them to their discussion of whatever they might discuss — the oddness of humans was his guess. He walked across the foyer and down the hall that led to the heart of the apartment, and to the library, where the phone was, where Jase had to be.
But so were the servants — all the servants, who weren't standing in knots talking, as his first glance informed him, but arrayed somewhat in a line, and holding each a flower, whence obtained he had no idea; maybe one of the cut arrangements which appeared every few days. They bowed as he walked past in mild confusion, his attention on the same destination, past the dining rooms, past the bedrooms and the baths, alongside the grim steel barrier of the construction and on to the private office where the lady Damiri's personal phone was.
Jase stood outside, his hands already holding a few blossoms, as one by one the servants came, each solemnly presenting him a single flower, bowing her head and walking away in silence.
Jase didn't seem to know what to do. He stood there accepting the flowers, one after the other, and Bren stopped, just stopped and stood, as madam Saidin came up beside him, and also waited.
Jase stood there with his arms increasingly loaded, with the load greater and greater on his soul, by the look of him, until his arms were full, and the last servant had passed, given him a flower, and bowed and gone her way.
"If you please, nand' Saidin," Jase said with meticulous courtesy, and offered the mass of flowers toward her. "What is proper to do?"
"You may give them to me, if you wish," Saidin said, and carefully took them, all forty-nine, as Bren guessed there were in that armful of assorted flowers. The whole hall smelled of them. "Shall I personally cast them on the garden pond, nand' paidhi?" It was Jase she addressed. "That would be appropriate."
"Please do," Jase said, looking and sounding very much at the end of his self-restraint. But he bowed correctly. "Nandi. Thank you."
"We are all sad," Saidin said, and took the flowers away.
Bren expected to speak to him, and waited.
But as soon as Saidin had gone, Jase violently shoved past him and went toward the front of the apartment, headed, as Bren guessed, for his room.
The opening and slam of a heavy, well-hung door said that he guessed right.
Well, he thought, Jase had done everything in an exemplary fine manner, right down to the shove at him and the door. Which he, personally, would forgive, though his nerves felt that door shut.
And he could ignore the gesture, and forgive it, and let it pass. It wasn't the task he wanted when he was still exercised over the news conference: adrenaline started flowing and he couldn't use it here, no matter what.
But they had uncle Tatiseigi visiting tomorrow night, and Jase had to get his reactions either done with or under control, whichever came first.
He was going to have to do something.
Jase hadn't locked the door. That was good — Jase was not sealing himself in. Or that was bad — Jase was in such a state he didn't think of such things. He pushed the latch and walked into Jase's bedroom.
Jase was lying on the made bed, hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling. Jase had taken the shoes off, in consideration of passionate atevi feelings of propriety in that regard. Jase was improving, and Jase had stopped to think.
And starting a conversation with a positive statement seemed a good thing.
"That was very well done, Jase."
Tightjawed, and in Mosphei': "Did you listen in?"
"I came in late. I heard the close. I'm very sorry, Jase."
"Thanks."
"Can I help you?"
"Not unless you fly."
"I know. I know that part of it. I'm sorry. That's all I can say. How's your mother?"
"She's fine." A fragile, angry voice. "I'd rather you got the rest of it from the tape. I'm not up to questions right now."
"Jase." He was inclined to sit down on the other side of the bed. Jase wasn't looking at him. And he had seen Jase's temper boiling to the surface. He didn't risk sitting. But he risked walking directly into Jase's field of view. "Jase, this is someone talking who at least knows what you're going through. Don't wall me out. Tell me what happened, so two of us know it. Tell me how you're doing. Tell me if there's any risk to the ship or station up there."
"Is that what you're after? It's fine."
"Jase. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I can't make it better. But tell me what happened and tell me what's going on as a result of it."
"It's not your damn business!"
"It is my business! I'm in charge of this mission."
"Who said? My captain? I don't think so."
"Sure, fine, you're in charge of yourself and you can't speak the language or get across town on the subway. No, Jase. You did all right out there. You did extremely well. And I know it's you
r private business, but the paidhiin don't have private business when it affects the safety of everybody else."
"What if I wanted to get across town on the subway?"
"What's that to do with anything?"
"I'm a prisoner here. I'm a prisoner under guard. Is that the way it is?"
"You're a fragile entity in this culture. You're not qualified to be out on your own: an atevi six-year-old might get where he was going solo, but I wouldn't lay odds on your making it to the subway, let alone elsewhere. — So where do you want to go, or what do you want to do? — Can I help you?"
"I'd like to see the ocean."
Occasionally conversations with Jase turned right angles. This one went three-sixty degrees.
"The ocean."
"I'd like to see the ocean. The sea. Whatever the word is. I'd like to stand on the edge of the water and look at it. Is that safe? Is it a stupid request?"
"It's not a stupid request." He was no better informed, and understood Jase no better. The question had to be asked, if only to know there was nothing more ominous going on in the heavens. "— Jase, what happened to your father? Staff says it was an accident that killed him."
There was a long pause. Several breaths. Jase never varied his position otherwise. "Old seals on the station. Dangerous place. That's all. Hard vacuum. My father"— several more breaths, eyes fixed on the ceiling —"was blown out into space. That's all. He was working, and the seal went."
"It was fast."
"Yeah. It was."
"So how's your mother taking it?"
"Oh — all right. — I mean, she's upset, what do you expect? And I can't do anything."
"I can understand that well enough."
Jase still lay with his hands under his head, looking at the ceiling.
"So — is your mother off work, nadi, or working, or what?"
"Working."
"No trouble your reaching her this time? I hope there was no trouble."
"I had no trouble." Jase moved his arms, slowly got to his feet. The hair he professed drove him to distraction fell around his face. He shook it out of his way and raked it back. It fell around his ears, on its way to respectable atevi length, but not there yet. "Stupid accident, that's all. You can't stop something like that. Can't plan."
"Yes," he said. "That's true."
"Can you arrange — for me to visit the sea, nadi?"
He didn't want to point it out, but Jase had had trouble walking when he'd first landed. Jase had had trouble with orientation, particularly with peripheral vision. He wouldn't see an atevi doctor. He said the world had no edges.
And described, later, a world of only corridors, and small rooms.
"I know a place," Bren said, thinking that lord Geigi would be surprised to have two guests.
But he didn't think Jase was ready for a boat. Not quite.
"When? Soon?"
"Soon." But the world came crashing in. In all its complexity. "Yes. — But there's something first. Something we have to do. Something you have to do for me. Please."
"What?"
"There's a visitor coming. A very important visitor — to see the apartment."
"Why?" Jase asked. "What?"
"One night. He'll look at the place. And go. He's very strict. Very kabiu. The lord who owns this place, understand? It's important we impress him as proper people."
"And you want me not to make a mistake."
"Simply put, yes."
"Do I get my ocean?"
"If you do that, I'm pretty sure about the ocean."
"I'll do it. For that."
Maybe, Bren thought, it was just something he'd said to himself up in the heavens that he wanted to see. Maybe it was something his father had said he'd like to see. Jase gave him no clue at all.
But Jase was being reasonable, at cost, he could see that. Jase's color wasn't good. Jase's hands shook when he went to the bureau and tried to put his own hair in order.
"Shall I call for tea," Bren said, "and we can sit and talk and I can explain about the visitor, and the situation?"
"Yes." Jase transited back to Ragi, and secured his hair, as best it could be without elaborate effort, braiding it from high up and fastening it in a simple clip. "Please do, nadi."
Impeccable manners. Impeccable, almost, accent. Jase had been practicing.
Bren went to the hall, found madam Saidin and Tano not far away, and said, "Tea, please, nadiin-ji," trusting it would arrive quickly.
The conversation went amazingly easily — at least, Jase listened soberly, objected to nothing, questioned for understanding, and called nothing unreasonable.
In some measure it was sad to see Jase attempting to follow all of it, knowing the load he was under, and knowing how his tendency was to look for absolute orders. In some measure, Bren thought without saying so, he did provide a framework for Jase's expectations: how to dress, what to say.
But now it had to be dealing with an atevi lord and a lady who was that lord's chief rival; and how to deal in public and formally with the aiji of Shejidan, whom Jase had met in far less formality, among the first people on earth he had met, with a wildfire burning across the horizon, water pouring into his descent capsule, and the whole world in upheaval.
But Jase brightened when he turned the talk then toward lord Geigi's balcony — seemed a little taken aback by the description of battling a fish and then eating it; and of a fish big enough to chase lord Geigi's boat crew across the deck.
But Jase said then he wanted to look at the map in the office, and they walked back to that room, at the rear of the apartment and next to the steel security barrier, to see where they were, and where the sea was, and Mospheira, and where the South Range of Taiben was: the South Range, one of the vast hunting reserves, was where his capsule had come down, and Jase was able to point out that spot on the wall map. He could find that.
Then he wanted books on the sea. Bren took him to the lady Damiri's library.
"How is he?" Banichi asked him at one point when he was outside and Jase was in the library pulling down books and going through references. "What is he looking for?"
Bren drew a deep breath, having understood, somewhat, this redirection of emotions, but finding it difficult to render into Ragi, particularly for Banichi, who tended to shoot down air castles, even as atevi defined them.
"It's a human reaction," he said to Banichi quietly. "He's suffered a great blow. His emotions are unreliable. Possibly he's looking for something to distract his thoughts toward something without emotional context, perhaps something approved by the deceased person, perhaps only a personal ambition."
"To view the ocean."
"From space, the ocean-land boundaries and the polar caps would be the only easily visible features. I suppose he might have wondered about it."
"And clouds," Banichi said. Space photography had made its way into atevi hands even before the War of the Landing. All sorts of space photography had come out of the files prior to the release of the first rocket technology, preparing, the paidhiin had said, the expectation of space travel, never the concept of the rockets in war, directing the psychology of a species toward the sky, not toward armament. It had been a narrow thing for the human race, historically, so the records said; and atevi so readily converted technology to self-defense.
"Many clouds," Bren agreed.
"So he wishes to go to visit lord Geigi?"
"Something like," Bren said. "I think he might be ready to make such a venture."
"He became ill from looking at the sky, Bren-ji. Will it not afflict him again once he goes into the open?"
"I think it's important to him to prove to himself he won't be ill."
"Ah," Banichi said.
"I'm not sure I understand, myself, Banichi. Please don't believe I have a perfect idea what's passing through his mind. But it might mark a place of new beginnings for him, new resolve to do his job. — And it might be time for him to try something difficult. If he's to be a paidhi in fa
ct, and interpret atevi to the ship-folk, I think it important for him to understand the way atevi look at the world. If security can accommodate it. I promised him, Banichi. I assumed security could accommodate it."
"Certainly a consideration. But there are places of safety, well within perimeters we can guarantee. I think one could find such safety. But Geigi — I am less sure."
"Would you find that out, nadi-ji, what might be safe?"
"One will do so. — Meanwhile, the other matter —"
Deana. He'd been so rattled he'd forgotten what he'd asked Banichi to do.
"We are producing a transcript, paidhi-ji, of this woman. Tano wishes you to understand, he had no idea that this was going on. — Nor did Jago, nor I, Bren-ji. We were of a level to be informed, once we returned, that was one critical matter. Certain agencies between us and the aiji did not wish to distract us with your staff matters. This is not to dismiss the matter of their failure to inform you. And their failure to inform Tano."
"I have great confidence in all my staff, Banichi. I do not doubt you."
Banichi seemed to weigh telling him something. Then: "The aiji, nadi-ji, has detected a slight lack of forwardness among certain Guild members to pass along information to higher levels, both times regarding those who monitor transmissions, which are a Guild unto themselves; and both times regarding a transmission of information from that Guild to the house Guard. The aiji is making clear to both services that my absences, whenever they may be necessary, should not constitute a dead end for information. He is, the paidhi may imagine, making this point very forcefully with the Messengers' Guild, which is the one at issue at Mogari-nai."
"I accept that as very definitive, nadi," he said, and did. He would not care to be the Guild officer or the Guard who twice thwarted the aiji, either because of a political view opposed to Tabini or simply due to ruffled protocols — some touchy insistence on rules, and routings of requests that were being run over by the needs of a human office placed by the aiji on the list of persons to whom the Guild traditionally gave information.
Definitely he'd just heard more than his predecessors had known about Guild and Guard conflicts.
And bet on it that, one, Banichi told him what he did with Tabini's full knowledge, and, two, that it was a very necessary warning to him where gaps in necessary information flow had occurred in the past and might occur in some similar crisis in the future: don't believe that you've heard everything from the ship, was what it boiled down to. Don't trust that all communications are getting through: there's a serious, quirky roadblock.
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