Visitor: A Foreigner Novel (27 page)

Behaviors didn’t make sense. But then—his own aishid had been completely appalled, when he had moved to join them under fire. They’d been angry at him. Furiously angry.

• • •

He left with Jase, with Narani and Bindanda, with Banichi and Jago. They crossed the main room, quiet and deserted now, all doors shut but the one they had just left. Their own door opened, expecting them: the monitoring had signaled their approach.

They entered the front room, with its security station apparatus. Banichi and Jago shed jackets and weapons. Tano sat at the middle console monitoring—whatever went on, Kandana and Jeladi and Asicho seeing to Banichi, Algini watching all of it—they were all there, and one suspected Cenedi and the Guild Observers at the very least were there electronically. He gave the Guild sign for quiet, and his own signal for writing, and said, in an entirely normal voice, “It went very well, nadiin-ji. One does not believe it could have gone better.”

Banichi handed him a very small piece of paper, of the sort the Guild used, stuff that would not be paper if water or fire hit it.

He wrote,
Their hearing or their equipment heard Jase arrive,
and handed it to Banichi, who read it, nodded and passed it on, while he asked Tano, “Did it work, Tano-ji?”

“We found some seeming relationships,” Tano said, while the note passed. “Then the meeting became much quieter.”

“At a certain point I said we didn’t hear everything in the sounds, and they changed their mode of speech . . . somewhat like the children’s language, one suspects. Send word to the dowager and the young gentleman that everything went as well as we could hope. You did follow what we said.”

Silent agreement all around.

“The teacakes were a great success, Danda-ji. Did Jase
explain? We shall visit Central handoff tomorrow, to let our guests see something of the human establishment and our Central in operation. They have requested it. Jase will deal with the technicalities.” He ached to get his hands on whatever sorting Tano had done. “I think I may take a very small brandy—any of you may join us, after so much effort today. I think we have earned it, and our guests I suspect are as tired as we are. Did Geigi’s analysis turn up anything unexpected?”

“The sounds are complex,” Tano said, and keyed up a waveform on his screen. It was, indeed. “We could reproduce them mechanically. But they are varied. We have some from Reunion. These have more variety, some quite elaborate. Sorting one source from another is difficult. They often set up resonances.”

Prakuyo’s mood, until he had rejoined his own people, had been restrained, excepting a few moments. So had the kyo on their ship—compared to now.

An appearance of cheerfulness, for their benefit? Nervousness on their side?

No knowing.

The note had finished its rounds, and vanished, from Narani’s hand, into a forsaken cup of tea.

“At least,” he said, “We have a beginning. A good beginning. Arrange things on the dowager’s schedule—our day can begin when she wishes it to begin. Banichi.” He held out his hand, wanting another of those small, disposable papers. He wrote in Ragi,
Prakuyo remembers words very accurately. He has trouble pronouncing ship-speak, but in six years he may have learned far more than he has wanted us to know. He is making us work for it. But I am suspicious he knows more ship-speak and more Ragi than he admits—and more than he can pronounce and their hearing may be unexpectedly acute. Be very careful what you say, at all times.

• • •

Cajeiri waked—in a strange place—with someone moving in the room.

He was quickly wide awake. He was in his room inside mani’s protection, with his own bodyguard, and that somebody was moving in the room—he was sure it was one of his own aishid—meant something was going on in the middle of the night. “Who?” he asked, whispering so as not to rouse the rest of his aishid—likely as it already was they were awake, too.

“Antaro,” the whispered answer came back. “Nothing is wrong, nandi. Nand’ Bren is back in his suite. I have just come in from a briefing.”

He pushed himself upright. “Tell me.”

Antaro came near and sat down on the side of his bed, and now the rest of his aishid was stirring, shadows lit by one tiny spark of light by the door switch. They gathered, likely aware that Antaro had left and aware that Antaro was back.

“Nand’ Bren is back in his apartment,” Antaro said, whispering, “and Jago came through the servant passage to report. Everything is going well, but we should be careful what we say, because our visitors may have very good hearing or brought equipment in or both. Cenedi thinks if they have equipment, they may be picking up things from up in the station. Mani is asleep. Cenedi will tell her in the morning.”

He whispered: “Did nand’ Bren learn anything new?”

“Nand’ Bren and Jase-aiji were both in the session. The kyo knew Jase-aiji was there. Nand’ Jase worked ops with the ship as it came in and they may have assumed he was there; but nand’ Bren says they asked for him only after he had come in from upstairs, so nand’ Bren says assume they do hear, and he thinks our visitors know more ship-speak and more Ragi than they admit. Senior Guild agrees. But it did go very well. They worked a lot with the electric dictionary, and they talked about Reunion. Nand’ Bren told them that we have no intention of rebuilding Reunion or going into their space. They all agreed on that.”

He
would like to see the kyo world. At least pictures of it. It was a sad thought to hear he never might. But he understood all the reasons, understood them all the way back to the reasons
humans and atevi had had trouble meaning the same thing, to this day.

“Nand’ Bren has gone to bed,” Antaro said further, “and nand’ Jase has sent a signal advising the ship-folk that things are going well and to be patient. We do not want to use the lift to come and go. It makes noise all the time, but stopping here, it makes a distinctive noise, and if sounds are informing our guests, we should be careful of unexplained coming and going.”

“So will we see them at breakfast, Taro-ji?”

“We are told nand’ Bren will sleep late if he can, and he is requesting your great-grandmother and the Guild Observers all delay breakfast two hours. This will give him time to study before breakfast, and it will give staff time to begin arrangements. Our guests are asking to see the station working, and to see Mospheiran humans. So they are going to go up to see Central do the handoff.”

That was something
he
wanted to see. “Shall we all go?”

“One has not heard.”

“Tell them I wish to go.”

“It may make the size of the company unwieldy,” Lucasi whispered, from the side. “One does not know this. But it may be a consideration.”

An
adult
consideration. A
sensible
consideration. Those had not become his favorite words in this last year.

“There is nothing more I know, Jeri-ji,” Antaro said.

He
had waked up now. Entirely. But it was unfair and even dangerous to keep his bodyguard up so late
they
were suffering from lack of sleep. Things were not safe. They were never safe with that ship sitting out there.

“Everyone should go to bed, then,” he said. “Thank you, nadiin-ji. We shall hope, at least.”

“Nandi,” they whispered, one and all, and went back to their own rooms, that opened onto his.

It was quiet then. And he was wide awake, remembering, and feeling a little chill in the air.

He had wanted to go into that room with nand’ Bren. He had wanted to talk to Prakuyo. He had felt shut out, disregarded, and he had just waited for mani to tell him he was wrong for what he was probably thinking.

But maybe mani had felt a little the same, and without being upset—nothing upset mani—understood his disappointment. He and mani by themselves had gotten Prakuyo to calm down and even be happy, that first time, on
Phoenix.
It was mani who, even if she never used a word of Prakuyo’s language, had said the right things the right way and made him understand he was offered hospitality, not being locked up.

This time Prakuyo had come with others they did
not
understand and had never met before, so things were different, and now was not then. He understood why nand’ Bren had sharply restricted the conversation and talked with them alone.

But Jase had come in, Guild said. Could not he?

Maybe nand’ Bren thought he would still deal in toy cars and picture books, when things were more serious than that.

He was not that boy with the toy cars anymore. He was not that boy who had run the ship-tunnels anymore. He was the boy his father had made his official heir. He was young aiji.

But one noted mani had not simply stamped her dreadful cane and walked into that room with nand’ Bren either. She could have. Mani had not done that, because, for one thing, mani, with someone at hand to act
for
her, did not need to act, and
did
not act. She had been aiji of the aishidi’tat once. She had held Father’s power, and she never acted personally if she had a subordinate to send. That was what it was to be aiji.

That was what he would be. Someday. There were probably times his father wanted to be involved in something, and held back because it was something a subordinate could do, should do, and if that subordinate failed, he would send another. And another. Even if they got killed.

And it meant sitting and waiting for somebody to send word and deciding at a distance whether that was good enough.

It meant staying in Central with mani, only
listening
while other people went into the station tunnels to rescue his associates.

It was not just because he was nine years old.

It was because he was “young aiji.”

That was what he had to be. He could inform himself on what was going on everywhere. But touch it, until it was quieter?

No.

That upset him. But it was what aijiin had to do.

Aijiin were supposed to get information. His aishid was fairly good at getting it. They had. But it was not
all
he wanted to know.

Things
were
quiet right now, he thought, if everybody had gone to bed. He hoped they had been able to decide that nobody should shoot at each other, and he hoped the kyo had not guessed there was not much they could do if the kyo did shoot.

There had at least been no word about the kyo ship moving or doing anything. He was very sure
Phoenix
and the ship-aijiin were watching it, and knew exactly what to watch for, except there being not much they could do about that, either.

The ship-aijiin, he decided, were probably in the same situation he and mani were—they had to let their subordinates do what they could do, and wait. Jase-aiji had been down here. He would definitely be talking to Sabin-aiji, who had seen the kyo ship before, and dealt with it.

Ogun-aiji would be waiting. And Lord Geigi and Gin-nandi would both be waiting, all the aijiin of everything—just waiting for reports out of that room.

Probably there were kyo on that ship waiting for Prakuyo to report to them, too.

Nand’ Bren said it was hard to understand the kyo, but maybe that was one thing they all had in common. The paidhiin got to go in and find things out, and figure things out.

Prakuyo was somebody important. But since he came, himself, he was probably not the most important.

Prakuyo had changed, which was good. He had been very thin. Now he looked a lot more like the others. He was rounder than Geigi or Bindanda. And one could not think that he had come all this way for teacakes, or conversation. Neither would anybody else. He
really
hoped they would not say anything about taking any Reunioners away with them: he would give them Braddock, but certainly nobody else.

And when nand’ Bren had not included him in that late session with Prakuyo and the others, he had had, in that very moment, a feeling that it was very adult business afoot, that had to be done right, and without any stupid mistakes.

But when aijiin were in conflict—and subordinates went in—it made a difference how good those subordinates were.

The Mospheiran paidhiin had been doing it for a long, long time, and nand’ Bren was the best there had ever been. He was sure of that. Nand’ Bren was the very best.

And nand’ Bren had not left him totally without information: nand’ Bren had seen to it he had the little screen, and told him it would always keep up to date with whatever people put in.

And now the kyo had them. He had had that from Antaro’s reports.

His tablet was on the little table, right beside the bed. He had not turned it on since before supper. He thought now the light might wake his aishid.

But not if he got under the covers with it. So he reached out an arm, took it, threw the covers over his head so he could see it, and pushed the button to turn it on.

It was not the image he had left on it. It was an image of steps on a stairway. Then people, humans, going up such steps.

A ladder. An atevi worker climbing it.

A mountain. Humans climbing the snowy part, in heavy coats.

It was making changes without his doing anything, and his aishid said nand’ Bren was asleep.

He touched the Ragi side of the screen and it said aloud, in nand’ Bren’s voice,
mountain. Climb the mountain.

He felt a chill. He touched the kyo side of the screen. It said,
Hsuna. Hsuna nak.

Not in nand’ Bren’s voice.

He heard a stir in the room. He came out from under the covers, hair all in disarray. The sound had waked everybody.

“Nandi?” Jegari asked.

“The little screen,” he said. “One of the kyo is putting words in.” The image kept changing. “Every time it changes, one of them is adding words.”

His aishid gathered to see, eyes shining gold in the light from the little screen.

“It seems a good thing,” Veijico said. “Is it not, nandi?”

Could his aishid ask
him
such a question? He had no idea. He had absolutely no idea whether he should speak, or whether his voice might go to the other machine.