Visitor: A Foreigner Novel (16 page)

He perfectly understood
that
argument.

“More,” Ilisidi said, “and in that same understanding, we shall take care of our own young guests until there is
no
likelihood of any demand from any other authority to take them. See to it that all relevant people are aware of our claim. We will not be interfered with. And we trust that Mospheira will cooperate in this, as
we
will cooperate with them in this business with
the kyo. We shall consider Mospheiran welfare and the welfare of the aishidi’tat to be linked, and we
shall
maintain it in its current balance of power.”

Scarily blunt. “Yes,” he said, “that is the Presidenta’s understanding.”

“Henceforth, where it regards the kyo, you will represent the aishidi’tat,
not
the Presidenta of Mospheira.”

“Yes,” he said. It
was
where he had to stand. Ironically, by Mospheira’s own appointment, that was where he was always required to stand—even if, at times, he seemed to be taking his stand in a place utterly black and without any bearings. It was necessary. The immediate universe worked, because, at critical times, he did exactly that.

“We have read your account of the meetings with these two Reunioners. We place no confidence in the representations of the girl’s mother, nor in those of the man who was taken with her.”

She would not so much as say the names, and it was not inability to pronounce them. She certainly would not release the girl to her mother: she made that clear by declaring Irene under her protection, in atevi territory. Mospheiran sensibilities might experience a little twinge of guilt over the fact. But Mospheiran sensibilities were not now in charge of Irene Williams, nor ever would be while the dowager held her resolve.

“Yes, aiji-ma,” he said again. Ilisidi might not personally keep the child. But Irene would be free of the influence of both those people—and seeing to that, where humans were concerned, would be
his
responsibility. He had no question. He understood, now, how it was.

Sip of tea. On both sides.

“How is she faring?” he asked, and Ilisidi pursed her lips.

“Well. Quite well. —Did we not just hear that you are divorcing yourself from such details?”

“Indeed, aiji-ma. You did indeed just hear it. I make a solemn promise.”

“So, well. She is not your concern. She will, we believe,
choose to go back to the other children in Geigi’s care so long as we are engaged with the kyo. We have advised it.
That
association, of all her associations, should not be broken.”

For someone with no more knowledge of human children than she did the landscape of Maudit—Ilisidi surprised him.

But then, Ilisidi had gotten everything she owned by reading situations that others didn’t.

• • •

Jase was back, quietly, without his bodyguard, and without advance notice. Bren heard it when he arrived back in his own foyer, and his first thought—not entirely unfounded—was a fear that his exchange with Jase about needing asylum because of actions taken in the Reunioner matter . . . might have become real.

Jeladi had shown Jase to the sitting room, ordinary enough procedure; and stayed with him. Not that one did not trust Jase, but Jase’s actions were out of pattern, and yes, elderly Narani had also appointed himself to serve Jase tea and keep a close eye on their trusted ally.

Jase, who had had experience of great houses, stood up when Bren arrived, and paid a considered and respectful bow to Narani, as if to say—I know why you’ve been standing there. Narani reciprocated with courtesy—one knows you knew—and staff could relax, now that Banichi and Jago were in the room. Narani and Jeladi quietly left.

“Apologies,” Bren asked in ship-speak. “Staff is worried. How are we doing?”

“So far, so good,” Jase said. “The kyo ship is reacting, ongoing. They received the assigned path by schematic. It looks as if they read it more or less accurately and they’re going to follow it.”

“You’re getting updates on their position.”

Jase tapped his left ear, where there was a com plug. “Lord Geigi’s assistance. I told him I’d be briefing you. Ogun sent me.”

“Ogun.”
Sabin
would have been his expectation.

“Cynically I think Ogun is convinced Sabin
would
have sent me and, if she had,
Sabin
would be the one getting my report. But that’s all right. This way they’ll
both
get reports.”

“Gin’s in the loop, too.”

“Absolutely. She’s interfacing with ship-com with no problems. Ogun’s happy, Sabin’s happy. I don’t know about Riggins, but I’m happy. We’re as happy as we can be with a shipful of unknowns barreling down on us. I hope there’s no problem over here.”

“Just worry about the situation,” he said, with that feeling of all the china stacked, so, so delicately, and not wanting to disturb any arrangement he’d put in place. “Not enough pieces to finish the puzzle . . . and I’ve got a few that just don’t fit.”

But of pieces that did, he had his aishid, he had his staff, he had the dowager and her household. And Geigi and Gin.

Now he had Jase, sent by the senior captain to keep him informed. All involved administrations aligned to a unified purpose. That, he hadn’t expected. But he’d certainly take it.

“I have the guest room,” he said. “It’s yours for the duration if you want to stay, and I can work you into the arrangements we’re making for the kyo. I’d be relieved to have you close.”

“Information and Bindanda’s cooking thrown in.”

“Exactly.”

“How can I resist? I’ll call for a few changes of clothes and my personal kit. But I’ll need to keep myself tapped into ship-com from here. And there, understand.”

“No objection at all. And I’ll advise staff it’s proper. Ship should know
exactly
what we’re doing at all times. Your expertise with the technical issues will be an asset, definitely. But otherwise I’m going to be a bad host. I’ll be working. My hours are odd and I can’t do regular briefings. You’ll have to rely on Narani to find out what’s going on—he’ll be talking to Banichi
and
Cenedi and Geigi—everybody who’s likely to know anything. He’ll keep you briefed. That’s a promise.”

“You do what you need to do as long as you need to do it and
don’t worry about me. I’ll be available, I’ll put no demands on the staff, but I
will
relay information up to Ogun as needed. Don’t worry about him, not in this. Once he commits to a course—and he’s only annoyed that he had no choice about it—he’s committed. And he’s put things in your hands. He just wants not to be surprised by anything.”

“Understandable. And I admit to a certain relief at the cessation of background power games. —Get whatever items you need for a stay. Welcome. Move in Kaplan and Polano if you like. I’ll advise Narani and Kandana you’ll be here for the duration, with absolute clearance. If you can bridge to Geigi
and
the Reunioner guests for me and keep them informed and calm, you’ll take one more thing off my mind.”

“No problem,” Jase said. “I’ll do anything you need.”

“Top priority in this household is going to be information, rest, and food, as much as we can get in any category whenever we can get it. We need to stay informed, and we need to stay able to make sane decisions at any hour.”

“Understood,” Jase said.

They’d worked together, been under attack together, time after time. He had no doubt at all that Jase understood.

Having Jase at hand, someone who could read the manner of the kyo approach, who could predict and advise in terms of ship behavior—was a great relief.

“What’s your sense of the kyo’s schedule?”

“Last report, they’re blowing off
V
. We’re watching that. They’ve seen us maneuver. We haven’t seen them. We’re assuming the same systems, but we’re interested—technically—in their operations. Once they’re rid of that energy, they’ll lay down an approach course, fine it down, and by that time we’ll have a reasonably accurate schedule, barring something unforeseen. They won’t have large corrections to make, but there should be some. Their original course would blaze through real scarily near us.”

Jase went on to explain the technicalities, which might have
made sense, had he not had his brain attuned to his own technicalities at the moment. Information of that sort simply slid off nouns, verbs, aspects, and tenses like water off wax, substances impossible to mix. He nodded at appropriate times, and found Jase’s features blurring in his vision.

“And this is the last thing you need clouding your mind.”

He blinked, found an understanding look on Jase’s face.

“Get back to thinking kyo, Bren. We’re running out of time.” And with that, Jase went off with Tano to talk to Kandana, and Bren sat where he was, Jase’s final words ringing in his ears.

Running out of time . . .

God.

His heart began to race. He tried to push the urgency out. He had what time he had, nothing could change that, and he needed to make the best use of it, not waste time paralyzed with the ticking of the clock. And as if Jase’s words, or perhaps his arrival, his assumption of responsibility for all the pesky communication problems had tipped some scale, triggered something deep within his subconscious, his thoughts grew fuzzier and fuzzier and his eyes drifted shut, though he wasn’t sleepy. He recognized the state of mind, a thought trying to reach the conscious mind, a set of images, of impressions, bits and pieces bubbling up from the mental basement—widely separated elements trying to assemble into a meaningful whole.

He needed to lie down. Rest. Let his subconscious do the work a lifetime of work had trained it to do . . .

• • •

He was in the kyo ship, a dim, ornate interior. A complex of unidentifiable smells, rumbling voices no human throat could duplicate, Banichi’s face, and Jago’s.

He saw Ilisidi’s amusement, floating globes, and swaying curtains of plants:
Phoenix
. The voyage out and the voyage home.

He’d had ample time, then, to think about the kyo’s promise to visit. When his mind wasn’t fuzzed with the transit.

He’d considered it in human terms, and in atevi context.

Things associated must always be associated.

Understandings once made should be kept vivid, never allowed to deviate into separate, potentially hostile states of mind.

Atevi managed it by clans, that intricate family structure that guaranteed stable situations, stable arrangements, and because of those relationships and links, personal safety. Man’chi—loyalty, attachment—needed not be identical, but it needed to remain compatible.

The kyo, a monoculture by all they had been able to determine in their brief contact, might well feel themselves at risk, being seen, visited by strangers—for all they knew, an intrusion into their native solar system.

The kyo were apparently at war with the only other intelligence they knew.

Finding a ship where it shouldn’t be, the kyo had mistaken the terms, the nature, the identity of what they were following. They had blasted their way into a situation that was to them without precedent—a mistake that, if reciprocated in kind, might jeopardize their own world, their own existence as a species.

Suddenly, out of the chaos, a word surfaced:
reciprocation.

The one thing they had established in their encounters with the kyo—was reciprocation. Reciprocation in the messages. Echoes. Signal for signal. Exact.

Things once associated were always associated.

Reciprocation. Echoes of messages, exact echoes.

To the logic of what motivated this visit,
that
possibly mattered. Were they establishing some sort of symmetry in the relationship? A neighborly return visit . . . bringing teacakes?

Was it—could it be—conceptually that simple? Did he dare—

He blinked. Blinked again, was sitting in a chair with Jago standing in the doorway, looking at him. Two seconds, maybe. He’d been two years ago and back again. But not all the way
back. Not yet. He was still dazed.
Phoenix
and the kyo ship seemed more real than his own office.

The past was still trying to drag his attention to something urgent.

“Bren-ji, you were asleep. Will you go to bed?”

Blink. “Not yet, Jago-ji.”

Asleep? No, though it might have appeared so. He’d not phased out like this since—since two years ago, when he’d last worked so hard on the language. It was like being drugged. The brain was doggedly trying to join two frayed ends of thoughts that just couldn’t get together in any sane way, though he could feel his brain struggling, trying to force that union. The room kept shorting out, bright lights giving way to kyo darkness and the miasma of incense, deep tones that vibrated through the air, and went straight to the gut. Plants growing madly, tiny cars racing down a tiled corridor . . .

That was it. That was where he needed to be. That was the mindset he’d been seeking since he got the news the kyo ship was coming. But he couldn’t stay long enough. Jago called him back . . . or he’d flinched away. He blinked back to his own apartment on the station.

He was afraid. He’d been afraid when he’d had to venture aboard the kyo ship, and Jase’s parting shot had put him right back into that terror-filled moment.

Right where he
needed
to be, however, on that ship. That old hollow feeling was back, a feeling that he was trapped, bouncing helplessly between two places, two modes of expression that could white-out one’s thinking altogether. He wanted not to leave the memory before he had the answer, but Jago was here, pulling him out. He tried to put a mental marker there, just in case. He
had
to come back to that foreign place, that moment.

He wasn’t entirely certain he could. And that uncertainty—scared him.

“Will you have tea?” Jago asked.

Two blinks. “Glass of brandy,” he said, desperate, aware of
Banichi and Jago, now Tano and Algini. And Jase. Jase had come back into the room. When had that happened? “One regrets, nadiin—nandi.” He saw their worried faces, but they seemed to be in the dim lighting of the kyo ship, memory vividly painting over the bright light around him. “I am rather tired.”