Visitor

  The boy had had one association in his life with kids his own age, and those kids had been these kids. Cajeiri was at an age where he should be forming critical associations, a pattern of relationships that would not change much in later life . . . essential connections that were not friendships. Man’chi didn’t wear out, change with age, or weaken with time and distance—one had figured that out over time. Man’chi was something else.

  But it could grow strange and strained. It could, if neglected, rupture catastrophically. He’d seen that in more than the machimi plays. He couldn’t, being human, feel identically with the emotion, but he could certainly feel an analog, and he didn’t take any atevi relationship—including hatred—as transient. A breach of man’chi was serious.

  And in the dowager’s household, in her context, with Irene—he suddenly thought he did detect a glimmering of Ilisidi’s reasoning. The one of the kids who was most threatened, the one who’d just had a life-altering breach with her mother—Irene was, in Ilisidi’s eyes, a point of instability far more critical and dangerous to her great-grandson than Andressen could be.

  So he did get it.

  Come here, girl, be here, feel safe.

  Conform. Enter, and cooperate.

  God, of all people to attempt to shape a human child’s relationships, Ilisidi was not the one he’d choose. But it was always and only Cajeiri she was protecting, damned straight it was. Ilisidi was going to shape her grandson’s contacts, his associations, and his opportunities to attach man’chi. Irene, unattached, claimable, and shapeable, had gained the dowager’s attention.

  Things once associated, the kyo had said, were always associated. They’d said it as plainly as they’d said anything. Humans in particular had tried to construe it a dozen different ways, tried to figure out if it was friendly or threatening . . .

  But a connection in atevi terms was neither. Friends didn’t exist, and man’chi couldn’t be shed, not without catastrophe.

  He felt a little chill he hadn’t felt in a long time, where it came to atevi. He’d failed to understand. He was preparing to talk to people who were truly alien, and he’d failed to grasp what was making frequent passage right past his front door, among people closest to him.

  Would his aishid ever leave him, ever break from him? No. They could not. And he would not leave them. Therein was the difference between species. Could and would. Two very different things, provoking the same action.

  The logic was there. They didn’t do things the same way. The dowager didn’t react to crisis by closing in and shutting out. She expanded out. She reached for what was loose, and instinctively secured it.

  Things once associated are always associated. The kyo can’t unmeet us. They can’t undo the decision to attack Reunion. They can’t carry on as if none of these profound things had happened. They want to nail it down. They want a resolution, not a problem.

  Something to their advantage.

  “Paidhi?”

  He was not that unperceptive. He’d felt his way through situations with a tolerably good vision for a good path. Understanding the logic might take a while. But the path—

  “Nand’ paidhi.”

  Bang. The formidable cane. On the hard flooring.

  For one brief moment, he was back in ancient Malguri, in the dowager’s domain, sharing a cup of tea at their first meeting, and then . . . he was back. The dowager was, in vivid present tense, standing in the doorway of her sitting room, hands on her cane, having arrived at his request.

  He stood up immediately, gave a proper bow, to which Ilisidi nodded, and walked in, not without curiosity. The dowager was never without curiosity.

  “One begs pardon, aiji-ma,” Bren said, chagrined.

  “The paidhi-aiji was thinking,” Ilisidi said. “One trusts it is a recoverable thought.”

  “It was a useful thought, aiji-ma. Your presence—has a favorable impact. Always.” He stood until Ilisidi sat down, then settled back into his chair. Cenedi was with her—Cenedi was almost always with her, constant shadow, but Nawari was not, at the moment, which likely meant Nawari was talking to Banichi and the rest of his aishid out in the foyer, a routine sort of exchange.

  “Flatterer,” Ilisidi reprised, as the servants moved about, serving tea and little cakes. “A useful thought, you say.”

  “I have now firmly resigned worrying about humans or atevi, aiji-ma, or worrying over any difficulties that Lord Geigi can solve. I have begun to think concentratedly about the kyo. One is in process of planning.”

  “We hear they are now coming to dock at the station,” Ilisidi said. “You have invited them to do so.”

  “It seemed more convenient than committing our mission to a junior captain aboard Phoenix, aiji-ma. Riggins-aiji is closely allied to Ogun-aiji, and we do not know him. The offer we have made the kyo to come to the station tests their willingness to trust us, if they will do so, and signals our willingness to admit them.” His arrangement would also be safer and more comfortable for Ilisidi, but he gracefully omitted that consideration. “As to what I was thinking, as you entered, aiji-ma—I was considering that if they believe things once associated are always associated, they may have something of that motive in coming here . . . simply to examine what we are and to reach a certainty instead of a conjecture. Perhaps to assess the damage of our association to themselves, perhaps to discover what a continued association could mean—and in that light, it might well be the same ship and crew we met. That was my thought, among others.”

  “Indeed, a reasonable consideration,” Ilisidi said.

  “Does it seem so?” he asked. “At times, aiji-ma, I question my own reasoning. Particularly in this case. The variables are so many.”

  “How would Mospheirans deal, in their situation?”

  If one gave information to the aiji-dowager, it stayed, for all future purposes, available to her.

  “We are very mutable,” he said, “and we would argue a great deal among ourselves about the composition of the mission, their associations, their instructions, and their limitations.”

  “Mospheirans would wish to continue the matter subject to debate even into the event, no matter the shifting nature of the information,” Ilisidi said wryly. “One has occasionally observed this tendency.”

  “One regrets,” he said over a sip of tea, “one finds this same lamentable tendency in oneself.”

  “So doing, you question your own reasoning, debating within your own mind.”

  “A factor, indeed.”

  “And yet, this mutability is a useful trait,” Ilisidi said, “since you can change your footing more quickly than some atevi of our acquaintance. We spent two years dealing with the ship-folk and the Reunioners, at some small remove. Prakuyo an Tep, on their side, endured six years of Reunioner governance, so he may find dealing with atevi a relief. We are perhaps less complicated than the Reunioners.”

  “One would never call the aishidi’tat uncomplicated.”

  “Ah, but we do manage ultimately to make a decision. And in this, we have an objective—a reasonably simple one: to continue as we are, undisturbed.”

  “Indeed, aiji-ma.”

  “Human agility of thought, and slowness in decision. And atevi stability of thought, and quickness to respond. I have the impression that the kyo themselves are not without complexity. For that very reason, stability on some points is useful, else we slip off into confusion and assumption. Atevi and humans have also learned, from the War of the Landing, that even ancient certainties can change. We have lately been reassuring these western Guild, these Observers, for instance, that your judgment is reliable, when they have for centuries held that they cannot trust us Easterners. And they are about to trust us Easterners to deal with the kyo, and they will soon be asking you how far to trust these visitors.”

  “I deeply regret if I have challenged their trust in me.”
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  “Your very presence challenges them, and they have stepped far out onto that path. They have seen firsthand the dangerous territory that exists up here between two sorts of humans, and they now observe the dangerous territory you have navigated for the aishidi’tat—to our benefit. They are impressed. They are not so confident in the Reunioner children, and they ask what influence these different humans may bring to bear on my great-grandson. Well, well, time someone dared ask such things. But they have seen the advantage my grandson derives from his human association in his administration, and they understand with some amazement that it is your intention to make Reunioners and Mospheirans one people.”

  “By no means a smooth road, aiji-ma.”

  “Yet the journey is begun, thanks to you, and the Observers have seen this and are in favor of your doing it. They have also realized that up here in the great heavens there are forces and numbers which must be dealt with, now that we have entered this territory. We must rule ourselves wisely, so as not to be ruled by others, and the aishidi’tat as a whole must rapidly form wider associations and make new alliances—as we Easterners did when we joined with the west. We did not lose by it. Nor did the west.” A wicked smile stole forth, a twinkle of amusement. Controversy? Intrigue? Scandal? The dowager maintained her legendary orthodoxy while being a ruthless agent of change. “I have shocked these Observers, perhaps, but they have come here to be informed at all manner of things, and they take their advisements from Cenedi, from Banichi, and from Geigi’s bodyguard as well. We are oil and humans are water. We do not need to be other than what we are to exist in the same vessel. Are the kyo yet a third thing? They seem so.”

  “One is glad to know the Observers are seeking advice.”

  “The Observers do ask politely to be briefed on the kyo situation.”

  “I shall definitely make that effort.”

  “And they will advise the aiji to accept your judgment on the Reunioner solution.”

  That was off the map. And not entirely comforting. “Aiji-ma, one hopes for review and advisement.”

  Ilisidi gave a dismissive flick of the fingers. “Oh, eventually we shall have an opinion. But our word to the Observers was that Mospheira itself will do quite enough debating on their own. We should not complicate it unnecessarily. We simply say that if the Reunioners stay up here we must match their numbers on the station, and that if they go down to the world, they will not settle on atevi land. Both things you have already said. We are also confident you will not work to the detriment of the Presidenta who has been so serviceable to the world at large, and you will make it very clear that good relations with the aishidi’tat are always to Mospheira’s benefit, in this matter and others. We have every confidence in you.”

  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 e
xpected. 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.”