Defender

  “Is there any protocol in specific we should know?” Jago came to ask him on behalf of herself and the rest of the staff, regarding the funeral. It was given she and Banichi would attend, in their uniform best.

  “Solemn faces and silence,” he said, “will offend no one. Respect, Jago-ji. We still don’t know any other course. I still haven’t heard from Tabini. I assume Eidi got the information to him, but I daren’t assume everything is all right down there at the moment.”

  “One might safer assume that,” Jago ventured, “than assume things will be peaceful here, if Mospheirans are also in attendance. Tano advised you wear the vest, Bren-ji. All of us are in accord.”

  “I shall, with no argument. Assure Banichi.”

  Bindanda and his assistant had laid out full court dress, lace-cuffed shirt and brocade coat, boots and all, and he dressed, had his hair braided. It was a funeral held, to the suspicious Mospheiran mind, much too soon, but he knew it was the ship’s procedure, supposed if it was the deceased’s choice to be frozen, it certainly provided a corpse for autopsy if questions came later. Concealment couldn’t be the motive.

  Geigi would be there, with no less honor… probably, too, with bullet-proofing, and an urgent desire to get information out of the captains about future steps. So with Paulson. Ginny would attend, without official status.

  At least Jase was now a third of that council, and Sabin, the cipher among the captains, the one he least trusted, could not outvote Ogun and Jase. And Ogun… Ogun could rely on Jase’s vote, if he represented Ramirez’s policies, at least until Ogun forced an appointment of someone of their liking to the fourth seat and enabled a tie vote.

  It was toward suppertime, and he urged the household staff to eat. His own supper was a packet of crackers, a cup of tea, and an antacid.

  There was still no answer from the planet.

  At 1740 hours he slipped the bulletproof vest on, put his coat on and exited the apartment with Banichi and Jago in their formal attire—in their profession, that meant armed and wired to the teeth, the formal attire made especially to accommodate the tools of their trade.

  Safe, he told his nerves.

  They met lord Geigi and his bodyguard likewise leaving their apartment, and joined into a single delegation on their way.

  They met Paulson and Ginny Kroger, with Ben Feldman and Kate Shugart, the translators, when they reached the appointed area. There were a handful of section chiefs, a few corporation heads who were probably chiefly responsible for the phone calls down to the planet.

  Crew constituted most of the mourners, crew dressed in the blues that were the ordinary for work assignment and an unused set being the best clothing most common crewmen had. They gathered in the dimly lit rec hall… no benches, only tape lines marking the rows, and they found their own places, atevi and Mospheirans constituting two rows next to one another. There was no casket, no deceased. That, too, was ship-folk custom.

  It was 1755h. They waited quietly, respectfully. The hall by now was packed.

  There was a screen on the forward wall. The row of lights on that end was on, the sole source of light. Ogun came from a side door, Sabin next, and Jase. Their images lit the screen, so that everyone in the hall had a view.

  No flowers. No incense. But it came to Bren he’d been in this scene and learned absolutely nothing.

  Ogun advanced a pace to the fore. Light from overhead fell on his shoulders, sparked on insignia, silvered white, tight-curled hair above a dark, grim face. “We’re here to honor Stani Ramirez,” Ogun said, and drew a breath as one might for a recital. “Born aboard Phoenix in Big System, the year we began Reunion. He saw Deep End, and lived through Good Hope. He piloted a refueler there, and ran operations at Hell’s Acre. He took the fourth captaincy there, when Munroe died.”

  Bren listened intently, taking mental notes on events in the history of Phoenix as he’d learned it. His staff understood some of it. Geigi himself did, though the names and the imagery might elude them.

  Sabin had her say. “He was an able navigator and a fair judge.” Cold, rational praise of a man who had been a good administrator and a good captain. “He resurrected the station here and stood against the Tamun Mutiny.” Sabin had backed Tamun’s appointment to a captaincy. That small fact passed in polite if knowledgeable silence. “The details are in the log. Captain Ramirez always understated his part.”

  Last, Jase spoke, a quiet voice, hesitant. “Stani Ramirez knew there’d be critical changes here: and he created paidhiin for the situation without ever having met one. That’s why I was born. That’s why Yolanda Mercheson was born.”

  Bren didn’t see Yolanda. Hadn’t seen her in the crowd.

  “If he hadn’t foreseen there might be communication problems,” Jase said, “if he hadn’t trained personnel in languages we never even expected to meet, we could have been in deep difficulty. We could be fighting each other instead of working together. He saw things ahead and he laid a course and he saw the ship through it. Taylor did that to get us here.”

  Taylor. The pilot that had rescued Phoenix from its predicament.

  “Ramirez made us able to survive here,” Jase said. It was a daring comparison. If the ship had a saint, it was Taylor—and Jase’s status, one of Taylor’s Children—had the place very, very quiet. Nobody expected much out of Jase in decisions.

  But he’d hit them with words. He’d said things no one else could.

  He’d mentioned Yolanda, when no one else had remembered her.

  And Jase was right. The man who’d refueled the ship and died leaving them a hellish mess—had had the foresight to create Jase and Yolanda to study languages and cultures that had no possible relevancy to the ship; and whether he knew it or not—to make themselves different-minded enough that they could bridge that soft-tissue gap between ship-thinking and whatever they might meet on the planet.

  That was Ramirez’ doing… when most of the ship’s crew couldn’t conceive that the colony they’d left behind could possibly look at things differently… and Jase was right, Ramirez was one chief reason they were standing here, because the alternatives, the pitfalls they could have walked into—were a guarantee of disaster.

  For creating Jase and Yolanda, and for listening to them, Ramirez deserved a monument.

  And that led to one difficult thought.

  Would the man who was that foresighted, that aware of time, distances, and change—then do something so damnably stupid as to lie to them all about Reunion and plan to desert them?

  Why? That was the question. Why had Ramirez held Reunion secret?

  Why had the whole Reunion business not come out when Pratap Tamun tried a coup against Ramirez?

  Had Ramirez—unlikely thought—been the only captain who knew?

  Tamun, the newcomer to the captaincy—he hadn’t known.

  Ramirez had waited until his last breath to tell Jase—as if Ogun and Sabin couldn’t. A way of putting a stamp of approval on Jase? The ticket to legitimacy in the office which Jase had fought every step of the way?

  Well, for damned sure Ramirez hadn’t intended to be overheard.

  The paidhi, better than most present, understood Ramirez’s position. Damned if he didn’t. In that light, he understood every maneuver the man had made. As a sovereign cure between strangers, truth was vastly over-rated.

  Jase finished.

  “The company is dismissed,” Ogun said.

  “What about Reunion?”

  The shout came from out of the crowd at Bren’s back. Shocked silence followed—about two heartbeats.

  “This isn’t the place or the time,” Ogun snapped, and Ogun had the microphone. The tone went straight to the bones.

  But: “Why?” a female voice shouted out, and in that breathless hush, didn’t need a microphone. Faces were obscured in the dark. Someone else, male, shouted: “What happened out there?”

  “Nandi,” Banichi wanted his charge out of harm’s way, and wanted him to move to the wall.

>   But Bren stood still, even when Banichi nudged him. “I want the answers,” he said. Geigi also stood fast, since he did, both of them being fools, and lord Geigi’s security was also hair-triggered and worried.

  Ginny and Paulson stood still, wanting answers, too.

  And Ogun stood under the light, visible to everyone on the screen, his dark face frowning. Jase and Sabin were at either shoulder.

  “Why?” the crew had begun to chant. “Why? Why? Why?”

  Ogun held up an arm. Held it until, slowly, there was silence.

  “One of you,” Ogun said, “one of you with the guts to step into the light—come up here and ask me.”

  There was silence a moment. Then a single man moved into the light. Kaplan, of all people. One of Jase’s displaced guards.

  “With all respect,” Kaplan said, his voice breaking. It cracked, twice, and he managed to say, picked up by the mike, “with all respect to the captains, apologies from the crew. But—” Kaplan got a breath. “We’re with you, captain, we always have been with you, and we go into the dark with you, no question, but here we’re being told things different than makes sense to us, and we don’t want to leave here with any doubts.”

  Kaplan had learned something, being with Jase. It was a solid piece of diplomacy, a door through which crew and captains could fit together, if Ogun would just take the invitation and pick up the olive branch.

  And Kaplan wasn’t alone. Polano and Pressman were discernible in the shadows behind him.

  “Mr. Kaplan, is it?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Phrase your question.”

  “I’d rather ask the captains if they can explain better ’n we can ask, sir, because we don’t know.”

  “Better than you can ask,” Ogun said. “Better than you can ask, Mr. Kaplan. Answers are in that list of survivors posted on C1, channel 2. That’s as best we have it.”

  “It’s not enough!” someone shouted from the back, and Ogun drew an angry breath.

  “All right. You want to know the truth, cousins and friends, the truth is, we didn’t make the choice, we didn’t have the choice. Now there is a choice to make, a last piece of business from the Old Man, and what we do about it, that’s a question before the Council. Every man and woman of you, get to a com station, personally, read the list. That for a start. Then if you can’t take orders and accept the discipline that’s kept the ship alive, get a parachute and join the colonists. But if you can take orders, if you remember who you are and what you are and what your job is, then you know why you don’t question an order except through channels. Right now my mailbox is stuffed with legitimate questions, which I haven’t gotten to, in the heat of the hour, and no, I don’t have all your answers. The Old Man didn’t, either. But I’ll tell you flat, I’m not going to have answers coming out piece by piece and individual by individual to be speculated on in the corridors out of context and with half the facts. So, Mr. Kaplan, seeing you’ve asked a general question, I’m going to respond to those legitimate letters of inquiry right now, in full. Stand to attention!”

  Human bodies stiffened, unthought, automatic. Noise stopped.

  Visitors stayed still, whether or not lord Geigi understood enough of what was going on. Bodyguards were ready for anything.

  “First question,” Ogun said. “Are there any survivors who aren’t on the list? Answer: we don’t bloody know. If there is any other name, and a few could have been born and half grown by now, Reunion’s in a position to know. We’re not.

  “Second question: do the aliens out there know where we are now? Answer: we hope not, but you know and we know there’s optics, there are antennae, and anybody looking in the right general direction could already have this star in their sights.

  “Third question: why did we keep it quiet? Answer: it wasn’t our idea. But the fewer people that know, the fewer can tell—if we were so unlucky as to be asked by the intruders out there. So forget you know.

  “Fourth question: why didn’t we take Reunion personnel off that station when we had the chance? Answer: that wasn’t our choice, either.

  “Fifth question: what are we going to do next? Answer: that’s an issue under debate. Written suggestions will be considered. Turn them in, cousins and crew. We’ll listen.

  “End of statement. I’ve disposed of a stack of memos. Don’t expect a written answer. For the rest, consider Captain Ramirez in light of what I’ve just said, and honor him for saving our necks and doing the damn best he could.

  “Dismissed.”

  There was utter silence. Ogun turned and walked off into the shadows. No one moved for a moment, and then crew began to murmur and to stir and to file out the doors.

  Not our choice. Not our choice. Not our choice. Bren found his heart beating double time. Banichi and Jago wanted him to move. Lord Geigi was moving. But he felt his legs all but paralyzed.

  Not our choice.

  Damn!

  He moved. He overtook Geigi, outside the door. “One can render what was said, nandi,” Bren murmured, head ducked, voice down. “In essence, there’s a hint there’s a higher authority on Reunion Station that ordered Ramirez to keep quiet. There is more. Shall we meet?”

  “Immediately,” Geigi said. This most inquisitive, agile-minded of lords had seen enough to have the picture. “Will my offices suffice?”

  Geigi wasn’t the only one disturbed. There was Paulson. There was Kroger. He edged past Banichi to reach Ginny on the other side of the door.

  “Ginny. We need to meet.”

  “Damned right.”

  “You and Paulson? About an hour? Geigi’s offices?” It gave him and Geigi time for discussion.

  But it wasn’t only them he wanted. He dived down the hall, Banichi and Jago taking full strides to catch up. He’d hoped to catch all the captains. As it was, Jase saw him coming and waited for him in the crossway of the corridor, all the while the outflow of mourners passed them on either hand.

  “I didn’t know,” Jase said, first off. “I had no idea until the Old Man told me.”

  “I believe that,” Bren said. “I’m meeting with Geigi. Do we get an official presence? It would be useful, Jase-ji. It would be damned useful.”

  “I’m not one of the captains. I’m a fill-in. I’ve always been a fill-in, you know that. I don’t know if I can get Ogun—”

  “You tell me this. Why did Ramirez tell you the truth? Why were you on his list to inform? And did Ogun and Sabin know?”

  “Ogun knew,” Jase said, telling him volumes about relations between the captains.

  But the point might finally, accidentally, have hit.

  “Jase. Ramirez is dead. He didn’t let you resign. At the last, he told you because he wanted you where you are. Can’t you figure it?”

  “I can’t make a decision for them!”

  “You’d better,” he said, and Jase looked desperate. “That’s what you’re finally for, Jase. It wasn’t just a translator Ramirez wanted. You were paidhi. That wasn’t it. That didn’t satisfy him. He named you a captain, and navigation and administration damned sure weren’t your talents. He knew that. But he wanted someone on the captains’ council who could promote understanding. So will you do it? Will you come? Use your voice, negotiate with Ogun, finally wield what Ramirez handed you? Dammit, Jase, you’re the swing vote when they deadlock. And Sabin backed Tamun. I’m betting they deadlock. Will you come?”

  “Yes,” Jase said, and on half a breath— “Yes. I’ll come.”

  They all met around the conference table, behind three closed doors and under the watchful eye of Geigi’s internal security in the reception area outside. Their own security stood around them, a row against the walls. Jenrette was there with his partner Colby, Jenrette and Colby just having seen their captain to rest. They came now in the service of the most dubious captain to hold the office, but come they did, dutifully and soberly: Ramirez’s men, representing that policy. Polano, Kaplan and Pressman were there, officially displaced by Jen
rette and his partner, but still in attendance on Jase—one assumed, at Jase’s orders, maybe because Jase wanted them under his protection after Kaplan’s speech in the assembly. Jase had learned his politics not only on the ship, but in Shejidan, and Jase knew the value of a supporting man’chi, even among humans.

  Impressive contingent. From no power, all of a sudden Jase came in with a solid, determined presence.

  So did the aiji’s wing—tall, dark, and armed. While Paulson and Kroger arrived with no more than Paulson’s secretary, a nervous man in a suit, who set a recorder on the desk and ducked back. Paulson was evident and touchingly anxious about his record-keeping. Everyone else, depend on it, was wired as well as armed.

  Small use that was going to be in a mostly atevi meeting. But there was a keyboard, and Bren took it for himself, being a fast typist and the only one completely fluent. There was a single screen, above a low cabinet.

  “You first,” Bren said in Ragi, and tested the keyboard. “Jase-ji, if you don’t mind. You have the answers the rest of us want. I’ll be translating, one language to the other, back and forth.” The alphabets weren’t at all the same, but the keyboard had a fast switch. He waited to see which language Jase would use.

  “Nandiin-ji.” Jase looked into infinity for an instant, then locked onto the here and now. It was Ragi. Bren toggled the Mospheiran symbol-set and typed. “I honored Ramirez-aiji. I continue to honor that man’chi. Ogun and Sabin may vote me out at this hour—and, nandiin-ji, let them. But Ramirez is gone, and I have to do now as I see fit. And I’ll give you what I know, respecting the treaty Ramirez made with the aiji in Shejidan.”

  I honored Captain Ramirez, Bren typed concurrently in Mosphei’. I continue to honor him. Ogun and Sabin may vote me out of my post at any time, and I will not contest that. But Ramirez being gone, I have now to do as I see fit. I’ll tell you what I know, honoring the treaty Ramirez made with the aiji.