Defender

  It was a piece of bald-faced flattery at the end, but was true, too. Ogun did have a knack for handling the truth with tongs and getting it safely delivered. Sabin could manage sticky operational situations and get out alive—related skills, but in completely different arenas.

  Sabin was the hardest to reckon with. “You take orders, Mr. Cameron.”

  “On ship? I’d be a fool not to.”

  “Are you ever a fool, Mr. Cameron?”

  “I’m alive. Most of my enemies aren’t.”

  That struck Sabin’s fancy. Delighted her, in fact. She almost laughed. And didn’t.

  “Chain of command, Mr. Cameron. Observe it. I’ll take your atevi. You keep them happy. You keep their equipment out of my way. You keep them out of my way. I’m first shift, Captain Graham’s third shift. Pilots will serve in the intervals. I want your primary hours on mine, Mr. Cameron. Say that I want the benefit of your opinions when they do occur. Or if I ask you.”

  “I understand you.” No collusion with Jase. He very well understood that implication.

  “Good,” Sabin said.

  “Any further words, Captain Graham?” Ogun asked.

  “No, sir,” Jase said.

  Sabin’s hands had returned to their interlaced calm. “Then make your arrangements, Mr. Cameron. That’s all I need from you. That’s all I hope to need.”

  “How much time?” he asked.

  Sabin cast a glance at Ogun, glanced back again. “Three days to power up from rest. Three weeks to do this in decent shape. But three days will do.”

  Three days.

  God.

  * * *

  Chapter 12

  « ^ »

  Three days,” Bren said to Banichi and Jago on the way back to their section.

  “Three days,” he had them relay to lord Geigi and to the aiji-dowager even before they reached the security of their own hall. He wondered if Kroger knew, and if Tabini knew, and suspected the dowager already did.

  He stopped personally at Geigi’s door, and learned from Geigi’s major domo that the dowager had already departed to her own quarters—small wonder, since she was straight from a long and difficult journey, and the place was warm.

  He stopped there as well. Cenedi himself came to the door to take the message.

  “One apologizes for the short notice,” he said. “Cenedi-ji. The ship-aijiin seem to believe that the ship will somehow make that schedule.” He fished shamelessly. “Perhaps their preparations were already advanced.”

  “One understands, nandi.” Cenedi completely refused the hook.

  “We hope it affords reasonable comfort for the dowager.”

  “Understood, nand’ paidhi. We are not surprised.”

  Not surprised. No. And therefore prepared? Was that his answer? Three days’ notice?

  If that was the case, no one was surprised but those of them who lived here.

  Meanwhile a small figure appeared to Cenedi’s left, wide-eyed and apprehensive in the visitation.

  Cenedi, too, had followed that minute diversion of his eye, as if someone in Cenedi’s profession hadn’t been aware all along of the boy’s presence ghosting up on him, curious and likely wanting information.

  “And the aiji-apparent?”

  Cenedi gave a little lift of the brow. A motion of the eyes in the appropriate direction. “What of him?”

  “Where will he be, Cenedi-ji?”

  “The aiji’s heir, nand’ paidhi, accompanies the dowager.”

  “With all respect, this is an extremely dangerous voyage.”

  “Yes,” Cenedi said.

  What had he left to say or to object?

  “I understand,” he said, but he didn’t understand. He wouldn’t. Couldn’t. He’d desperately hoped the boy would go to Geigi. And he’d hoped the dowager would have some sort of information for him, but nothing was shaping up as he wished. “Thank you, Cenedi-ji, if you’ll advise her that I came as soon as I had news.”

  “I shall, nandi,” Cenedi said to him—not coldly, but firmly.

  So that was that. Feeling shattered, he walked on toward his own apartment, in Banichi’s and Jago’s company, asking himself how he’d let things come to such a state of affairs—and how Tabini could have sent the boy on such a venture even with other family members, and how Tabini could so have distrusted him as to go to Mercheson, or how he could ask his own staff to risk what they couldn’t readily conceive as real—

  Banichi hadn’t known the sun was a star when the whole space business became an issue.

  He had believed Tabini almost grasped the universe at large, but now, with Tabini’s sending the dowager and the boy up here as if this was a short-term venture to another island, he was no longer sure Tabini did know.

  He wasn’t sure, among other things, that the aiji-dowager herself particularly cared about stars, or knew this wasn’t the next planet over, despite her association with the Astronomer Emeritus, and he wasn’t wholly sure Cenedi had a grasp of the geography—or lack of it—either.

  Granted it wouldn’t be that long a trip, at least as perceptions made it. The ship folded space—folded space, as Jase put it; and outraged mortal perceptions just didn’t travel well in that territory.

  “Nadiin-ji,” he said to his companions as they walked, “understand, if the sun were a finger-bowl in the aiji’s foyer, then where we’re going would be as far distant as…” He didn’t know. But it was far. “As far as another such bowl in my mother’s apartment. Almost as far as a bowl on the dining table at Malguri. Do you see?”

  “Quite far,” Banichi said.

  “And once we get there, there may not even be a station. This is not a mission to a station like this station. Nothing so comfortable. This is a ruin. This is an area of conflict and destruction, with unknown enemies that might simply blow up the ship before any of us know we’re in danger. And Tabini’s sending the dowager, and a boy who won’t see the sun, won’t see the sky, won’t have any freedom aboard—” He was about to say they had sufficient time to make other arrangements and to persuade the dowager against bringing Cajeiri. But Banichi was quick to answer.

  “Then he will learn the discipline of the ship, nadi-ji. He will learn.”

  “And risk his life, Banichi. Is it worth it? What can he learn? What can a child do?”

  “If he were a potter’s son,” Banichi said, “he would learn clay. Would he not?”

  Among atevi, yes. A child would, if he was among potters. If he were among potters he would not be fostered out to every powerful lord in the Association.

  “Yes, one assumes so.”

  “So being the aiji’s son, he will learn this clay, will he not? He will learn these leaders. He will learn these allies.”

  What was there for the paidhi to say to that? He foresaw he wouldn’t make headway on that score.

  And where was the proper school for an energetic, somewhat gawky boy who had thus far damaged an ancient garden— where was the school for a boy who would someday succeed the architect of the aishidi’tat, and for whom, all his life, even now, any untested dish on the table, any careless moment at a party could turn lethal?

  Was he in greater danger here, where all the staff was vouched for? Or down there, in a time of Associational uncertainty?

  “I’d hoped a safer life for him,” Bren said forlornly. “For everyone on the planet, for that matter, nadiin-ji.” They had reached the door. “I suppose the ship-children won’t stay on the station, either.” He’d held that discussion with Jase, theoretically, and in a safer time—how the ship had always voyaged with its children. How very fortunately they hadn’t left them on the station, which despite appearances had turned out to be the riskiest place of all. The universe isn’t safe, Jase had said at the time.

  The universe seemed downright precarious for children at the moment.

  But from the viewpoint in Shejidan, if the heir were absent, out of reach of assassins, and would presumably return—one hoped—older, backed
by potent allies, and by that time possessed of unguessed true numbers, what was more, why, then dared any enemy of Tabini’s make too energetic a move, with so many numbers in the equation unknown and unreachable?

  In a sense—no. An atevi enemy was far less likely to move against a boy one day to appear out of the heavens with potent allies and gifted with mysterious new numbers.

  Never say Tabini was a fool. Not in this, scary as it was—and not in other decisions Tabini had made. Neither a fool nor timid in his moves.

  Never get in his way: hadn’t the paidhi known that among first truths?

  Jago opened the door. Narani was there, in the foyer. Of course Narani was there to meet him. Bindanda was. Several of the others attended, with worried faces.

  “We have begun packing,” Narani informed him with a bow. “One trusts court dress will be in order, to meet distant foreigners.”

  “Very good,” he said, and felt as if a safety net had turned up under him. Of course information flowed on the station. They knew. “Rani-ji, there is a choice to be made, staff to stay, staff to go with me. I want this establishment to stay active. There’ll be specialized needs. Mercheson, Shugart and Feldman will be operating out of the station. They’ll be translating for the court. They’ll need extensive expert help.” Tano appeared at the door of the security station—Tano and then Algini, who had been following as much as they could, passing things along where appropriate. Thanks to them in particular, things ran smoothly. And he had to make a decision very unwelcome to them. “We have to have security staff remaining here, too.” Narani, too, elderly and fragile, and very, very skilled at keeping the household running—ought to stay here, out of danger. “Rani-ji, I set you in charge of the household while I’m gone.”

  “Yes, nandi,” Narani answered.

  “Tano, you and Algini, you have to run matters here. You’ll be in charge of Associational security on this station, right next to Lord Geigi’s staff. Directly linked to the aiji, as I expect, too.”

  “Yes, nand’ paidhi,” Tano said quietly. He might already have a direct link to the aiji’s staff—more than possible, that, all along.

  “One hopes to be with you, nandi,” Bindanda said, uncharacteristically setting himself forward: Bindanda, who made his own reports to the aiji’s uneasy ally, uncle Tatiseigi. “I ask this favor. Who else can cook for you?”

  “I’ll weigh the matter, certainly, Danda-ji. You’re of extraordinary value in either place.”

  Listening staff. Worried staff. They hadn’t foreknown, at least, no more than he.

  And he still hadn’t personally absorbed the shocks of the day—he proceeded on automatic, doing what he thought had to be done, but he knew he shouldn’t be deciding things on the fly, disposing of people’s lives like that, treating their loyalty as something to pack or leave…

  But given three days, God, what could he do?

  He stood there in the foyer, having shed his coat, and felt a distinct chill—the ship secretly prepared to move, Tabini aware of the mission for months, years, and bypassing him—

  He questioned his situation, and realized he was looking at Bindanda, knowing at base level that his own household, like any household, had leaks to certain ears. He had to take the distress in stride. It was inevitable Tatiseigi and the conservatives would hear any faltering, any hint of weakness.

  And did an ordinary human, however honored—set up for a decoy, perhaps—expect Tabini to tell him everything, once Tabini had gained a certain fluency in the language?

  No. Not even reasonable. Everything in Tabini’s character had advised him to watch himself.

  And Ramirez.

  Dared he say his human feelings were, personally, hurt?

  That he felt cast aside?

  So he made similar decisions regarding his own staff. Could he forget that?

  “Your service,” he said to Narani, when, immediately after, he caught Narani alone in the hallway, “your service, Rani-ji, is of inestimable value to me, either here—or going with me. I spoke just now in what I thought your best interest, in proper honor, and knowing the household will need a skilled hand. Or, Rani-ji, if it were your wish, you might also retire—with a handsome pension, I might add, and my profound gratitude. But—”

  “Retire I shall not, nand’ paidhi.” Rare that Narani ever interrupted him. This was extreme passion.

  “One hardly did ever think so,” Bren assured him in a low voice. “But despite all I said, I urge you choose, Rani-ji, and settle the household either with yourself or another of the staff, and I trust that choice absolutely. I do want you to choose staff to go with me, to the number of four or five servants: I leave the fortunate numbers to your discretion. Security will be Banichi and Jago. I do think Bindanda might be of great use.”

  “Then if the choice is mine, nandi, I shall go with you, myself, for one, and I shall prefer Bindanda, if you agree.”

  He was not sure he had ever quite, quite broached the subject of Bindanda with Narani. He considered, then took the plunge. “One knows, surely, Rani-ji, that he is Guild.”

  Narani lowered his gaze ever so slightly and looked up again with the most clear-eyed, sober look. “So am I, nandi.”

  He was absolutely astonished.

  “In my man’chi, dare I ask, Rani-ji?” He almost asked now if there was anyone on his staff who wasn’t in the Assassins’ Guild. But he politely refrained from requiring Narani to lie.

  The good gentleman lowered his eyes and bowed, ever so slightly. “As tightly so as your security is.”

  Dual, then, one of Tabini’s own—it made perfect sense. As Bindanda was within Damiri-daja’s man’chi, and within Tatiseigi’s. And that bound up within his household the same potent alliance as bound very important elements of the Western Association.

  “Who will be your third?” he asked.

  “Asicho,” Narani said, naming the young woman who attended Jago, at need. This was not the first young woman—and ask, Bren thought, in what merciless school Asicho had had her training, and to whom she was apprenticed.

  “Accepted,” he said, not even asking to what other power Asicho might belong; and he wished he had Tano’s and Algini’s technical expertise, but in the field, and this was, he rather relied on Banichi’s. “Do as needful with the numbers. You have my complete approval, Rani-ji. You’re impeccable.”

  “Nand’ paidhi,” the old man said, and gave a little bow and went to do what he knew how to do.

  Absolute loyalty within the walls.

  Betrayal straight from the top, from the aiji, it might be… and yet he was embraced by those in the aiji’s man’chi, who didn’t know they were betrayed. He tried to make that column of figures add, standing there like a fool in the hallway, and he couldn’t.

  Because, dammit, he was feeling, not thinking. Standing between species as he did, thinking was a survival skill, feeling was a useful barometric reading, and the job, the important thing wasn’t the survival of Bren Cameron—it was the accurate reading of situations that enabled Shejidan and Mospheira to survive.

  And whatever the ship did or arranged, he couldn’t let it sell out those interests.

  He took himself to the study to gather his wits, while his staff dealt with less abstract matters.

  And, one world touching the other, a servant appeared, regular as clockwork, asking amid the necessary confusion whether he wished tea—he often did, when he ended the day.

  “Yes,” he said. A little routine was good for him—reassuring to the staff. So he agreed to the tea, and sat, and stared at the walls, the familiar shelves, the environment he had designed, he himself, with his own hand.

  His place. His creation. It wasn’t for him to resent being ripped out of it, sent off into danger as casually as he dealt with the servants.

  Barometric reading? Betrayal was something he’d personally felt more than once with atevi. It was an emotion he’d most specifically learned to turn loose and forget, because the equations of behavi
or just weren’t the same, and a human couldn’t feel the tugs and pulls that made some decisions, for an ateva, logical and reasonable—even automatic, lest he forget. He’d been locked in Ilisidi’s basement and beaten black and blue, and he’d forgiven that; he’d been handed over to an enemy, and set up for assassination, and he understood that. Forgiveness didn’t matter a thing to an ateva who thought the decisions logical. Man’chi was man’chi and actions within it were all reasonable, when a lord needed something.

  But there were puzzles.

  Why would Tabini call him down to the planet for a completely empty mission? Why call him down for a small private talk that only discussed court gossip and then send him back again with not a word of what was coming?

  Why, why, and why, when Ramirez was at death’s door and events were sliding toward the brink?

  Granted Tabini had known that, in specific—was the whole ceremony down there only cover? A way for the dowager to get to Shejidan and then board a shuttle—but for some reason not the shuttle that carried him, though he had become inconsequential to the aiji’s plans?

  Had his trip down and back been diversion, to attract the news services and raise empty questions, keeping the news away from Ilisidi? His presence was far more unusual than hers—and it had attracted notice.

  Possible. Entirely possible. He could accept being used in that sense. It made perfect sense, and didn’t at all hurt his feelings.

  But the timing—right before Ramirez’s death. Right before the news broke.

  No. Cancel that thought. Assassination wasn’t likely. The one thing, the one unintended event that let the cat out of the bag had been that worker with the injured hand, the one who’d overheard Ramirez giving Jase an emergency briefing. That had thrown everything public before the captains could move: that had brought the acceleration in the program, when a couple of thousand crew found out they’d been deceived, tricked, delayed, and lied to. If not for that one accident, the surviving captains could have had a year or more to plan the mission.