Authors: C. J. Cherryh
Explorer
C. J. CHERRYH
EXPLORER
A
Foreigner
Novel
DAW Titles by C.J. CHERRYH
THE FOREIGNER UNIVERSE
FOREIGNER
INVADER
INHERITOR
PRECURSOR
DEFENDER
EXPLORER
DESTROYER
PRETENDER
DELIVERER
CONSPIRATOR
DECEIVER
BETRAYER
INTRUDER
PROTECTOR
PEACEMAKER
THE ALLIANCE-UNION UNIVERSE
REGENESIS
DOWNBELOW STATION
THE DEEP BEYOND:
Serpent’s Reach
|
Cuckoo’s Egg
ALLIANCE SPACE:
Merchanter’s Luck
|
40,000 in Gehenna
AT THE EDGE OF SPACE:
Brothers of Earth
|
Hunter of Worlds
THE FADED SUN:
Kesrith
|
Shon’jir
|
Kutath
THE CHANUR NOVELS
THE CHANUR SAGA:
The Pride Of Chanur
|
Chanur’s Venture
|
The Kif Strike Back
CHANUR’S ENDGAME:
Chanur’s Homecoming
|
Chanur’s Legacy
THE MORGAINE CYCLE
THE MORGAINE SAGA:
Gate of Ivrel
|
Well of Shiuan
|
Fires of Azeroth
EXILE’S GATE
OTHER WORKS
THE DREAMING TREE Omnibus:
The Tree of Swords and Jewels
|
The Dreamstone
ALTERNATE REALITIES Omnibus:
Port Eternity
|
Wave Without a Shore
|
Voyager in Night
THE COLLECTED SHORT FICTION OF CJ CHERRYH
ANGEL WITH THE SWORD
Copyright © 2003 by C. J. Cherryh.
All Rights Reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-101-66226-7
Cover art by Michael Whelan.
DAW Book Collectors No. 1238.
DAW Books are distributed by Penguin Group (USA).
All characters in this book are fictitious.
Any resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
The uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal, and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
 | DAW TRADEMARK REGISTERED U.S. PAT. OFF. AND FOREIGN COUNTRIES —MARCA REGISTRADA. HECHO EN U.S.A. |
For my father
1
Steam went up as the shower needled Bren’s back—a moment of blissful content in a voyage neither that blissful nor content.
And considering the call he’d just gotten in the middle of his night, he stayed, head against the wall, longer than his habit, eyes shut, letting the steam make a warm, blind cocoon around him, letting the shower run on recycle for uncounted warm minutes. Complex input was suspended, output temporarily unnecessary.
But a brain habituated to adrenaline could stand tranquility only so long before worry tunneled its way back.
What’s Jase want?
—followed closely by—
We’re not that far from moving
—and:
This could be the big move. Natural, wouldn’t it be, if that’s what the navigators are doing up there, setting up the final move, that Jase would want to talk now?
It’s my night. He knew he’d wake me up. Jase could come here.
Couldn’t be any ship-problem, could it? Nothing mechanical. Mechanical problems surely couldn’t be at issue.
That was it. Now he’d done it. He’d thought about the ship itself . . . about the frail bubble of metal and ceramics around his cabin, beyond the shower, beyond the diplomatic enclave of passengers on five-deck.
Said ship had already endured, be it centuries ago, one spectacular and notorious navigational failure, stranding the original colonial mission in the great uncharted nowhere of the universe—after which everything else had happened: escaping a nearly lethal star, reaching an inhabited planet. The survivors had built Alpha Station, in orbit about that planet—and developed a bitter rift between those who wanted to stay in space and serve the ship, and those who wanted to go down to the green planet, take their fortunes and their lives in their
hands and cast their lot with the steam-age locals.
A whole
world
of things had happened after that. The Alpha colonists, taking that dive into atmosphere, forever changed themselves, their culture
and
the native people in a direction no one had predicted.
Meanwhile that faction of humans who’d stayed in space had taken the ship and gone searching for their misplaced homeworld. But the fervor for that mission had come aground a second time. They’d ended up building another station in a fuel-rich system. Reunion was its name. And things had gone not so badly for them—until a hundred-odd years into that station’s existence, an unknown species had taken exception to their poking into other solar neighborhoods and attacked Reunion to make the point.
So the ship had come running frantically back to Alpha looking for fuel and help.
Which was at least the beginning of reasons why this ship now, with a sizeable delegation of concerned parties from the former Alpha colony and the indigenous government, was headed back out to that remote station—ten years late, because things at Alpha hadn’t been quite in order to jump to the ship’s commands. The captain who’d ordered the mission was dead, Alpha Station was in the hands of the atevi, the native, once steam-age species, who’d taken command of their own destiny—and the aiji, the atevi ruler, had sent his grandmother and his heir, among others, to see for themselves what sort of mess the ship-folk had made of their affairs at Reunion.
That was the quick version of ship history: a breakdown, a stranding, and local wars wherever they went. Given the ship’s run of luck at important moments, and given a “see-me-in-my-office” from a friend who also happened to be one of the ship’s two captains, well, yes, a dedicated planet-dweller, descendant of the Alpha colonists, could feel just a little bit of anxiety about this after-midnight summons.
Maybe he shouldn’t have stopped to shower. Maybe he should have pulled on a pair of pants and a sweater and gotten straight up there.
But there’d been a sense of “when-you-can” when he’d gotten the summons. It was Jase’s watch, so anything Jase wanted to say really was logically said in the middle of the night, granted the breakfast hour would have been far more convenient. “Time to dress?” he’d asked. “Yes,” Jase had said. So he’d blundered into the
shower half-asleep.
And the black-skinned, pastel-clad figures that moved calmly about duties outside the steamed-over shower glass—they were fresh from their beds, too, his atevi staff, his protectors, getting his clothes ready. Hence the shower—a blast of warm water to elevate his fallen body temperature and call said brain online.
He toggled off
recycle.
The shower circulation, formerly parked on endless loop, sucked up the damp from the air until what blew past was dry and warm as any desert. It stopped, preset, while his past-the-shoulder hair, that dignity of an atevi lord, still retained a residual, workable damp.
His servants would have heard the shower enter final cycle. He stepped out into comparatively cold air, and immediately Bindanda—to whose stature he was about the size of a ten-year-old—flung an appropriately child-sized robe about him. Bindanda, broad as well as tall, black-skinned, golden-eyed—atevi, in short, and a somewhat plump fellow, very fond of food—lapped the belt about him with hands that could break human arms and tied it with a delicacy that required no adjustment.
Perfect. The dressing-bench awaited. Bren sat down and let Asicho, the sole female among the servant staff, comb and braid his hair in its requisite pigtail.
Lord of the province of the heavens, Tabini-aiji had named him, sending him up from the planet to manage the space program—oh so casually claiming in that action all the power that a newly named lord of the heavens could possibly lay at the aiji’s feet, a small fact which Bren wasn’t sure any of the ship’s captains had ever quite grasped. It had taken
him
a little time to figure it—and he’d been Tabini’s chief translator.
But it was perfectly reasonable, in the atevi view of things, to believe that where the aiji’s representative went, so went the aiji’s sphere of influence. Therefore sending the lord of the heavens to the limits of explored space expanded the aiji’s claim of power, absent some strongly dissenting power in his path. There was a space station. So of
course
there was now a province of the heavens. Had not the aiji sent him there and appointed a lord to rule it? Second point—had anyone contested that appointment? Had anyone else attempted to exert authority over the station? The Mospheirans, that island nation of former human colonists, couldn’t make up their minds without a committee decision and the ship-folk certainly weren’t interested in administering an
orbiting province. The ship-folk as well as the Mospheirans had actually seemed glad to have some competent individual, atevi or human, handle it and see that the vending machines stayed full and the air stayed pure.
So that claim stuck. There
was
a province of the heavens.
And now that the ship-folk took their starship back to Reunion to deal with matters the ship had left unfinished—dangerous ones at that—the aiji in Shejidan sent out his emissaries to deal with deep space. Tabini-aiji sent his own grandmother, the aiji-dowager, and he sent his heir—a minor child—both constituting representation of the aiji’s house itself, to show the flag, so to speak—but to make that claim of a more permanent nature, he sent out his lord of the heavens to claim whatever territory seemed available. A man who’d originally hoped to add a few words to the atevi-human lexicon as the sole monument to his life, Bren Cameron had certainly gotten farther than he intended.
