Inheritor (26 page)

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 fact, 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.

That was as serious as it could get. A Guild not once but twice now had ill-served the aiji. If that was not a fatal offense in Tabini's book, he feared it was hedging very close on one, that was one thing, and he didn't want to see a contest of power inside the administration, or Tabini using the Assassins against the Messengers.

But equally serious, that particular information flow, from the ship through Mogari-nai and on to Shejidan — was usually diagrams, data, and handbooks. There were, however, other kinds of information: Jase's message. God knew what.

He knew there was somebody, at least one person, that was not the ordinary ateva, and probably at Mogari-nai, sitting there and reading what came down. It struck him like a lightning stroke that it
would
make sense that that person be one of the Messengers' Guild, not the Assassins' Guild that regularly guarded the aiji. It was not in his knowledge to whom the Messengers' Guild reported.

But having delivered that bit of information, Banichi went off about his business.

And Jase, when he went back to check on him, seemed to have focused himself on the library and was working, so he supposed Jase had reached some point of stability.

«
^
»

T
he paidhi
had, however, after trying to deal with Jase, an actual routine working day to begin, it being toward afternoon. He had to deal with the records and reports to his own office that he'd brought back from the plant tour, those that hadn't gone to Tabini's staff.

He had letters to write, fulfilling promises he'd made in more cities and townships than he could conveniently recall.

He had a computer full of files with unresolved requests, some of which he could perhaps put into other hands, but first he had to sort those things out, at his classified level, to discover what he
could
move on to other desks.

And he had a stack of raw notes he had tried to keep in a notebook, but which had ended up on small pieces of paper borrowed from various sources, a shaggy affair he would have to turn over to the clericals in his office for what they could do for him, once he had been through it to be sure there was nothing tucked into that notebook that didn't belong to that level of security. He thought he'd retrieved everything, but regarding that particular notebook, which had followed him closely through various sensitive laboratories, he wasn't sure.

So. The Jase matter was, thank God, at rest. Not settled. But at rest. He'd done what he could; he humanly
wished
he could do more. He wished in the first place that he'd been able to get personally closer to Jase. Jase wanted to keep his own observations and reports to his superiors clear and objective, he was sure, and Jase always held him at arms' length — so he didn't have that kind of closeness that would have let him step in and offer… whatever people offered one another at such a time. He was sad about Jase being sad; he was disturbed about it; it made him think uncomfortable thoughts about mortality and his own scattered family; and he was, considering Jase's temper, uneasy about Jase's ability to deal with the isolation and the sense of loss together.

Hell of a homecoming, in short. A household in disarray. If he started worrying about it — and about security lapses, information gaps — well, that wouldn't persist.

Banichi and Jago hadn't been here. Good as Tano and Algini were, they weren't
as
good, and problems had crept in. People hadn't told them things they should have known.

Banichi and Jago were on it. Things would
get
right.

Meanwhile there wasn't anything more he could do than he'd done, there wasn't any more he could learn about Jase's situation than he'd learned, nothing more he could feel than he'd felt, and at this point, if Jase had settled on dealing with it alone, he could just retreat to a distance and be sure Jase was really all right, that was all.

Chasing down the other problems that might impinge on Jase's situation was Banichi's business. The files —

— were his.

So he settled into the sitting room, asked the servants to have one of the junior security staff bring his computer and his notes to him, and spread out his traveling office for the first uninterrupted work he'd gotten done since the plane flight.

The simple, mind-massaging routine of translation had its pleasures. There were days on which he
liked
pushing the keys on the computer as long as it produced known, predictable results.

A servant came in to ask what sort of supper he'd wish. He asked them to consult Jase about what
he

wanted and to go by that if Jase wanted anything formal, but by his preference he wanted a very light supper: he'd been on the banquet circuit, and he'd gone back to a sedentary life in which he preferred a lighter diet, thank you. Jase, he was relatively sure, was not in a mood for a heavy meal.

To his mild surprise Jase came to the door and said the staff was asking about supper and what would
he
prefer. He really hadn't expected Jase to surface at all; but Jase came voluntarily to him, being sociable, and seemed to be holding onto things fairly well, considering.

"I'll join you, if you like," Bren said.

"That would be fine," Jase said, "nadi. Shall I arrange it with the staff?"

"Do, please, nadi-ji." He had a lap full of carefully arranged computer and notes. He considered a
how are you
? and settled on "Thank you."

"I'll do that," Jase said, and went away to the depths of the apartment where one could ordinarily find the staff.

So it was a supper with him and Jase alone, the security staff otherwise occupied. Jase was somber, but in better spirits, even offering a little shaky, unfeigned laughter in recounting things that had gone on during his absence, chiefly the matter of a security alert when the lily workmen's scaffold had jammed and they'd had to get the Bu-javid fire rescue service to get the workmen back to the roof.

"We couldn't get the security expansion panel down," madam Saidin added to the account, herself serving the main dish, "because Guild security wouldn't permit that. So there they were: the workmen had two of the porcelains with them on the scaffold, so they wouldn't risk those. And the artist came down to the garden below and began shouting at them that they shouldn't put the lilies in a bucket, which was what the firemen proposed —"

"God."

"The hill is tilted there," Jase ventured. He meant the hill was steep: but he was close to the meaning. "And the ladder wouldn't go there."

"They ended up letting firemen down on ropes to take the porcelains," madam Saidin said, "so they could get the porcelains to safety. But meanwhile the artist was locked out of the building and stranded herself on the hill in the garden — she is an elderly lady — and
she
had to be rescued, which took more permissions to bring someone
through
the doors below from the outside."

"Bu-javid security," Jase said, "was not happy."

Bren could laugh at that — it was not, he was certain, a story which had amused lord Tatiseigi, whose sense of humor was likely wearing thin; but if an Atageini such as madam Saidin could laugh, then they all could, and he could imagine Damiri involved — from her balcony next door, if security had let her past the door.

But Jase seemed worn and tired, and declared at the end of the meal that he had rather spend his evening studying and turn in early.

"Are you all right?" Bren asked in Mosphei'.

"Fine," Jase said. "But I didn't sleep much last night."

"Or the nights before, I'd imagine."

"Nor the nights before," Jase agreed. "But I will tonight."

"Good," he said. "Good. If you need anything, don't hesitate to wake me."

"I'll be fine," Jase said. "Good night."

They'd occasionally talked in the evenings, but mostly it was lessons. Sometimes they watched television, for the news, or maybe a machimi play, which was a good language lesson. He'd expected, with supper, to need to keep Jase busy, and had asked after the television schedule, which did have a play worth watching this evening.

But there was no shortage of work for either of them, and without work there was worry: Bren understood that much very well. If Jase felt better sitting in the library and chasing references and doing a little translation, he could understand that.

Himself, he went back to the sitting room, deciding that he would deal with the correspondence, finally, now that he'd dulled his mind with a larger supper than he'd intended, and now that his brain had grown too tired to deal with new things.

Top of the correspondence list was the request from the pilots, who were trying to form a Guild. The Assassins, the Messengers, the Physicians, and the Mathematicians were Guilds. There
were
no other professions, since the Astronomers were discredited nearly two hundred years ago. And now the pilots, who had heard of such a guild among humans, were applying to the legislatures for that status on the ground that atevi could not deal with humans at disadvantage — but they were meeting opposition from the Guilds and from traditionalists in the legislature who thought they weren't professional. The pilots, who had never enjoyed Guild status, were incensed at the tone of the reply.