Visitor: A Foreigner Novel (35 page)

“The ship-folk did not know about the kyo?” Banichi said.

“That remains a question. It seems doubtful the people who built
Phoenix
were aware of the kyo. Cullen says the war began about a century ago. He doesn’t know why. Possibly it was over territory. Possibly because some human ship did precisely what Ramirez did. One simply does not know. Whatever happened, happened long after
Phoenix
arrived at the Earth of the atevi.

“It’s even possible that, by backtracking along its original course—
Phoenix
found the star that should have been its destination centuries ago. It would be ironic if that were the case—that it should work so hard to recover its course, only to find a kyo star and fall into a war that they themselves might have triggered centuries earlier. Mind, this is only my speculation—but the people of
Phoenix
had no idea that the kyo existed.

“Did Ramirez know? It seems likely: spacefaring technology leaves many traces. On the other hand, perhaps this star system Ramirez had chosen has no inhabitants, but simply lies within territory the kyo consider to be theirs. Perhaps it has a kyo presence at some times, but not others. Gin-nandi reminded me that optics and other detection devices the ship-folk use are limited more by time than they are by distance. If we could see Reunion now—even if it no longer exists—we would see it as it was many years ago.”

“One has heard,” Banichi said, “but it makes no sense.”

“Yet—we would. So Gin says. So perhaps what Ramirez saw from a distance was not the state of affairs when he arrived. Something surely surprised him. We know that Ramirez-aiji ordered children born, Jase-aiji and Yolanda-nadi, and that he
ordered them to learn several languages of the Earth of humans, but never told Jase or Yolanda why. Did Ramirez-aiji intend them to be paidhiin to the kyo—or did he hope to meet humans? He is dead, and we may never know. He met a kyo ship. He recognized it as not human. And he ran. For whatever reason, he ran, and in running, so I believe, triggered the entire chain of events.

“The kyo saw
Phoenix
as similar to the ships they were fighting, and perhaps they had observed it more than once. Perhaps they had been watching Reunion develop on their flank, so to speak, at a great remove from other humans, and thought perhaps there was a wider human presence than they had suspected, all but enveloping them. They observed it. Perhaps they had seen the Earth of the atevi at very great distance, and wondered whose it was . . . but because they were looking into time—we remained a mystery.

“Ramirez-aiji apparently never tried to use his two translators, who were still very young. He fled, hoping to divert pursuit. But at this point, the kyo acted to remove Reunion, believing it was their enemy. They acted, and then realized they had not struck a military base.

“Prakuyo’s ship waited, at that point, simply waited to find out what this place was, and what would come in as a consequence of what had just happened.

“Ramirez-aiji had taken an evasive course. When he did bring
Phoenix
back, the kyo were watching, doing nothing.

“But
Phoenix
fled again. No other ships came. There was no other reaction for years. The kyo might guess where
Phoenix
had gone, to that other Earth they had seen . . . but everything the kyo believed about
Phoenix
confused them.

“They watched Reunioners rebuild. They did not know what these people were, or whether they were in fact the same as their enemies, or whether the similarity of
Phoenix
to their enemies’ ships had led them to attack completely innocent foreigners.

“All this is my surmise. Prakuyo made an attempt to contact them, or at least to have a closer look. The station found the means to destroy an unarmed shuttle and take one survivor prisoner.

“Prakuyo’s ship resumed its watch over the station, perhaps having some means of communication with higher authority, or not. The kyo observed at least that no one came to rescue these people—but if I am right in my conjecture, between the direction of their appearance and the unpredicted behavior of
Phoenix
and Reunion, they feared they had indeed struck a completely uninvolved people, and might potentially have widened their war in a disastrous way.

“We appeared with
Phoenix
and we accepted contact. They tested us, and we agreed to attempt the recovery of Prakuyo, whom they assumed to be dead. I believe they recognized
Phoenix
, and they were trying to figure who we were, and what we were, and whether we were allied to their enemy, with implicit consequence for their war.
We
offered to remove Reunion. That was a reassuring move for them.

“But with the return of Prakuyo, new questions must have come up, thanks to Cullen. Prakuyo had learned something of the language Reunioners and the ship-folk use—enough, perhaps, to suspect that
Cullen’s
language is related to the language on Reunion and on
Phoenix—
and because he could see that humans have atevi for allies—Prakuyo had to wonder what our alignment may be.

“So there remain very serious questions that the kyo cannot answer.

“I think they have come here to answer those questions. And I tell you, my associates, my household, I am as afraid of this man Cullen as the kyo themselves may be fearful of him, because Cullen
is
one of the humans the kyo are at war with, he
is
from the place
Phoenix
was seeking, and if Mospheirans and ship-folk find it out—Mospheira and the Reunioners and the ship-folk will all be in turmoil. Perhaps a few—only a
few
will
want to rush off to join Cullen’s kind. The wiser and more cautious ones will know that Cullen’s people pose a threat—to their way of life, certainly, and possibly to their lives, considering this war. We know
nothing
of Cullen’s government, nothing of his way of life, and nothing of his leaders’ character.

“Cullen’s existence is an even greater problem for atevi, who have nothing to do with this human war. I will tell you, nadiin-ji, that my own man’chi is deeply, definitively, to Tabini-aiji. I am deeply distressed to see this man’s situation, but I am more deeply distressed at this war in which atevi and Mospheirans alike have nothing to gain and everything to lose.”

He finished. He had poured out everything, all the while parsing it in two languages and keeping much of the word choice to words Prakuyo knew. There was prolonged silence after, faces who were family to him, all, all profoundly troubled, all—knowing him—perfectly capable of understanding what he had just done.

It was Banichi who asked the question . . . with all the implications regarding Guild action.

“What do you urge, nandi?”

“I do not wish Cullen any harm. I shall seek Prakuyo’s permission, and Prakuyo’s advice, if he will give it. I am going to try to find out something about Cullen without telling Cullen anything about us, because should he ever go back to his own people, I have no wish to have him tell other humans
we
exist. I have been very careful to tell him only that I am an atevi representative, I have said nothing at all to explain the existence of other humans, nor have I stated that this ship is in dock at a station. I have let him assume, if he will, that this is a meeting in deep space and that I am from some unknown source, working only with the atevi.

“One does not know how much authority Prakuyo has on this ship, but I shall attempt to reach an understanding with him. I seek no association with Cullen. I shall do as much as I can for Cullen’s comfort.” He drew a deep, desperate breath.
“Nadiin-ji, I am taking a decision on myself that is far, far beyond any authority I hold, and that pains me greatly. But there is no other course.”

“Tabini-aiji appointed you to decide such things, nandi,” Banichi said, “when he appointed you Lord of the Heavens.”

That meaningless title.

That suddenly utterly relevant authority, to bind things in the heavens with the authority of the aiji who sat in Shejidan. There was no way in the world Tabini could have foreseen the current circumstance.

But Tabini had known there were things in the heavens no one on Earth could predict or judge. In creating that title, in ordering the paidhi-aiji to go up and figure those things out—Tabini had given him personally the authority to make a binding decision, should it become necessary.

Indeed, he had met that necessity.

“Certain few will need to know what we know,” he said. “But even those, not immediately. Not until this ship clears dock and takes Cullen with it, beyond any likelihood of return. Nothing must prevent that. And
Phoenix
could raise an objection, if they knew.”

“Yes,” Jago said, and the rest said, “Yes.”

I
t was not strange that Prakuyo turned up at the door of the little room again, not strange that he came with two aides and ordered a new pot of tea. The little room had enough chairs, but Banichi and the rest distributed themselves as the Guild usually did, two outside the room, guarding the door, two inside, to hear the conversation. Prakuyo’s aides also stood.

They shared tea, he and Prakuyo, one, two, three sips. Then Prakuyo set down his cup, leaned forward, picked up the wand, the tip of which began to glow, and lit the incense. Smoke curled up, threatening to bring woodsmoke and spice nearly to painful levels in that small place, but if it soothed Prakuyo, that was to the good.

“You talked to your aishid,” Prakuyo said. Then he drew over the lighted tablet that had remained on its stand, waved his hand over it, touched, and a recording began—every word they had just spoken.

One refused to be at all shocked. “Yes,” Bren said.

“Say all in ship.”

“Say it in ship-speak?” Bren asked.

“Yes. Say.”

Prakuyo played the start of it. Bren translated.

Then the next bit.

Rosetta Stone, Bren thought. Definitely. He was making a record that might come back to haunt them. Or that might make a solution possible. He translated it, almost line by line,
with no hesitation, and the occasional expanded explanation of a word.

“You want kyo go away take Cullen,” Prakuyo said at the end. “You want dowager, Cajeiri not hear Cullen.”

“Cullen is not Mospheiran. Not Reunioner,” Bren said. “You take.” It was maddening that he lacked the words to explain. He tried to think of any combination that would make sense, beyond a cold rejection of a strange human. Cullen set free—going back to tell his people he had met a strange human somewhere in kyo space—was no good outcome either. “Not good Cullen tell Cullen’s humans. Not good Cullen tell Mospheiran humans and ship-folk. Not good.”

Several deep thumps. “Ship,” Prakuyo said. The word
speak
was nearly incomprehensible as he pronounced it. “Say in ship.”

“Mospheirans and ship-folk don’t know Cullen’s humans,” he said, “but if Mospheirans and ship-folk knew more humans were far across kyo space, some would try to go, and this is not good. Not now. Not in this war. Many years from now, in long peace, yes, good, if the kyo say yes. But now it’s not good, not safe. Not good for Mospheirans to talk to Cullen. Not good for Cullen to tell these far away humans where Mospheirans are.”

“War,” Prakuyo said.

“War. Upset. Danger. Mospheirans will take the Reunioners onto the planet, and all will be happy.”

A deep rumbling. “Atevi give humans place.”

“Yes. But not
all
humans. Not Cullen humans. Many, many, many humans. Too many.”

“Understand. Kyo don’t want many humans.”

“Yes. Atevi don’t want. Kyo don’t want. Mospheirans don’t want. Not good human ship come through kyo place.”

Thump. “Yes.”

“Yes,” Bren said. “Yes. Kyo place. No humans. No atevi. Peace.”

“Good,” Prakuyo said.

“I want to
talk
to Cullen. I want to make Cullen happy on kyo ship.”

“No.” A triple thump. “Hurt.”

“I don’t hurt Cullen.”

“Cullen hurt Bren,” Prakuyo said. “Not good, not good.”

“My aishid,” Bren said. “Strong.”

“Danger,” Prakuyo said. “Big danger.”

“I have to try, Prakuyo-ji. Please. I want to try.”

Prakuyo gave a ripple of low thumps. “Careful,” he said. He reached within his robes and offered a plastic card. “Door,” he said. “One door. Careful. Bren say ‘Prakuyo,’ Prakuyo hear, Prakuyo come.”

• • •

Prakuyo left them, but there was no question they were monitored, visually as well as by audio.

They delved into the baggage that had sat in the corridor since their first meeting with Cullen, and extracted Bren’s personal kit.

“You will not do this yourself, Bren-ji,” Banichi said.

Banichi rarely put his foot down. And it might help to have a human observing a human face for warnings of intention, and to be in Cullen’s constant view, for reassurance.

“I shall manage,” Tano said. Tano was, in fact, extremely quick on his feet, and deft of touch.

“Yes,” Bren said. And added: “I think we should apply the scissors sparingly. It would improve the kyo’s view of Cullen-nadi if he looked much more like us and much less like a Reunioner.”

“Can a comb manage it?” Jago wondered.

“We shall try,” Bren said, and with his aishid moved the little distance down the corridor. There was no one but themselves . . . and Cullen, in his cell. Of sound, there was only the universal ambient of the ship’s operations, the air in the ducts, and their footsteps. It was quiet, as quiet as ever it was, on a ship.

“Mr. Cullen,” Bren said.

Cullen was sitting back at the end of his cell, in the bowl-bed, the only furnishing but the sanitary arrangement and water source in the other corner. He slowly got up and came toward them, but not all the way to the clear barrier—wary now, in a much closer atevi presence.

Bren came close to the barrier. “Mr. Cullen. I said I’d try to improve your situation. I’ve talked to the kyo. I’ve assured them you’re not violent, and that I’m in no danger. I’d like to introduce you to my aishid, my bodyguard. This is Banichi, Jago, Tano, Algini. They don’t speak your language for the most part, but I do speak theirs. And eventually I’d like to introduce you, properly, to one of the kyo, who I think would like to talk to you, sensibly and quietly—he isn’t fluent, but he’s quite patient, a very reasonable fellow. And I think if we could get you cleaned up a bit, we could go a long way toward helping your situation.”

Silence. Just silence.

“If you want us to leave, Mr. Cullen, my aishid and I will go away and you’ll not likely see us again. I can help you. I’d like to see you make a better impression on the kyo. If you tell us to leave you alone, we will, and I’ll tell the kyo in charge that we can’t work with you and you just want to stay to yourself. Which they may allow. But that’s not the future I’d hope for you.”

“What is?” Cullen asked.

“A comb, for a start. A shave, if you’ll accept it. Tano is willing to do that for you, while I sit with you, and he has a very gentle touch. A shave, a trim, at least, maybe a bath. It’s well, between species, to bathe. A lot.”

Three flat blinks.

“Maybe,” Cullen said.

“I’m afraid it has to be yes or no.” He had the comb in hand. He put the end of it through one of the ventilation slits. “Here, for a start. Combs have to be in short supply on a kyo ship.”

Cullen took it, considered it, then started working at the mass, slowly, bit by bit. It looked a hopeless task. But he stood there, trying.

“So,” Bren said quietly, while Cullen worked at the tangle. “Cullen.
Why
are you at war with the kyo?”

Silence. Silence went on for maybe a minute, while Cullen worked with the tangles. Finger-combing had lost ground a long, long time ago, maybe in a time of illness. Or depression.

“Do you even know?” Bren asked.

“They hit us, we hit them.”

“Where do you come from?”

Silence. Then: “Place called Arden.”

Arden. A name that meant nothing to him. Planet? Station? It’s possible the answer could be found in
Phoenix
’s records, though Jase claimed the original accident had wiped a lot of the navigation, the maps, the charts. Even if Arden existed somewhere in the Archive, it surely wasn’t the same Arden that Cullen had come from, three hundred years later.

And the war, if it had ever had a reason, now had a hundred reasons, in names like Arden, and probably others. It didn’t need Reunion to give it another.

“Are you a good man, Mr. Cullen?”

A blink. Cessation of the combing. “Am I—what?”

“It’s a serious question. Do you view yourself as a good man?”

“Hell if I know.” Cullen took a moment, then resumed combing. “Are you?”

“Hard one to answer, Mr. Cullen. I try.”

“Try? To do what? You called yourself a negotiator. Negotiating for what? What are you doing here, if not because of me?”

“To find a way for atevi and kyo to live peacefully in the same universe. That’s my job: to find a peaceful solution, cure problems, find mutually acceptable paths through sticky situations. In my own experience, if you can get enough
good
people together, no matter how different they look, they really want
much the same thing—the sort of things that good people naturally give each other. Things like respect, and common sense, and communication. But those things are really hard for some people. Particularly the communication part.”

“Communication. With
them
?”

“Among good people, it’s hard. With bad people it’s fairly well impossible. So I ask—are you a good man, or a bad one?”

The comb stopped. Cullen stared at him as if he’d changed colors.

“It’s very basic,” Bren said. “There are some
very
bad types that are clever with words. But they make up their own meanings . . . and in situations like this made-up meanings really don’t get very far. Good types work until they understand what the other person meant, rather than investing in winning. What kind are you, Mr. Cullen? Are you a
good
man? Are you invested in winning, from here? Or are you willing to take a chance?”

“What kind of chance?”

“Talking to them. —You have an uncommon opportunity to do that, Mr. Cullen. There’s one kyo who’s really interested in talking to you. A kyo who seems to be a pretty good fellow—it’s hard to judge on a very limited dealing, but there’s a good chance he really
is
a good fellow. Enough of a chance that I wouldn’t suggest he take a chance with you, except I have the impression you might be a man of some character, yourself: intelligent, I think—certainly resilient. You’ve been a long time with just your own thoughts, here. I’d like to leave you in a far, far better situation. That begins with someone to talk to.”

“Interrogation? Not interested.”

“Do you know anything, after all this time, that they
don’t
know?”

“No. But they don’t know that.”

“Oh, I think they can guess. Time’s passed. Quite a lot of time, by that tangle you’ve got. Whatever you know is obsolete, if it ever was that important.”

“It wasn’t. It never was.”

“At this point, then, you have no real usefulness to them—except to this one kyo, who has taken an interest in talking to you. I don’t know his rank. I don’t know how high up he is. What I do know is that his function is a little like mine: negotiation; and that his people regard him highly. Whatever he is among his people, there’s one asset that could make him very important—and that is his having someone like
me
at his elbow when he talks about ending this war.”

“Is
that
why you’re here? To end the war?”

“Not
me,
Mr. Cullen. I said someone
like
me.
”

“You’re not making sense.”

“You. You could be that person at Prakuyo’s elbow.
You
could help bring an end to your war.
You,
performing exactly the same office for the kyo as I do for the atevi. I’m the translator. The bridge between opposing forces. I find a way to talk instead of shoot. I find out the enemy’s opinion, and I represent it fairly. I convey my employer’s opinion to them. I work with both sides until I can find a way for them not to shoot at each other. That’s what I am. That’s what I do. So, what do you think? Can you make a try at talking to these people?”

It was still hard to see anything of Cullen’s expressions, just the mad dark eyes. The stare.

“People?” The tone was harsh, defensive—challenging the notion.

“Absolutely, Mr. Cullen. Absolutely they’re people. Different as they come—well, different as I’ve yet seen, but they have kids, they laugh, in their own way. They have emotions such as humans have, possibly very close to what humans have.”

“Even if I accept that, I
can’t
talk to them. I don’t know how.”

“I can teach you. I can teach you enough in three days that you can express yourself, ask questions, and convince these people that you’re worth talking to. After that, it’s up to you. But I’ll give you the tools for that, too. Is there a glimmer of
hope in that? Absolutely. There’s hope in that for a
lot
of people.
Become
me.
Become
what I am. Learn to speak the language, think the language, dream in the language.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Not if you believe you can’t. Believe that you
have to.
Figure that every word you learn is valuable. Three hundred words, and you can carry on a conversation. When you can carry on a conversation you’re a person to them. And from that start, you can get
more
words, on topics that interest you. I don’t know how much aptitude you have. But you’re in luck on that point, Mr. Cullen. The one kyo who’s interested in you
does
have it—so even if you can’t do it all, he can meet you coming the other way, and the two of you can make it. This person has the importance to negotiate with
my
superiors—and
that
is power. He’d also like not to be at war with humans. He’s said so. Does the thought of ending this war appeal to you at all, Mr. Cullen? Or had you rather just sit in this box?”

“I can’t—” Cullen began to shiver—controlled it, tucking both hands under his arms. “Can’t think at the moment.”

“You
are
thinking. You’re asking yourself if there’s a way out. And if there
is
a change, is it going to be worse? I can’t answer any of that. I can’t fix your situation. But
you
can. I’ll tell you this much, Mr. Cullen—you’re potentially
important.
You’re
so
potentially important I’m going to take several days off from a major diplomatic conference between the kyo and the power I represent, and I’m going to
teach
you how to teach yourself from here on out.
You
don’t think you can do it.
I’m
going to show you that you
can.”