Visitor

  “Nandi,” was the answer, and their guests, in some uncertainty, stood up, and bowed nicely, and clustered together, awaiting direction, which Tano and Algini moved to provide.

  “Nandiin,” Irene said, with a proper little bow, and to the kyo, “Nandiin.”

  “Good,” Prakuyo said. “Thank you come.”

  “Thank you,” Irene said in kyo, not badly done, Bren thought. Anna Parker, too, managed, “Thank you,” in kyo.

  That . . . was not badly done, Bren thought, standing, watching every move, every twitch of body language.

  “Thank you,” Artur said in kyo, and Gene likewise.

  There could be worse outcomes. The only tense moment, diplomatically speaking, in the last hour, had been his own answer to Prakuyo, and Prakuyo hadn’t raised an eyebrow—figuratively speaking. Hadn’t shown any spots. Hakuut had lost a few. But Hakuut’s freckles had come back quickly. Hakuut stood, now, a little restive, bobbing a little as the children and their parents exited to the foyer, with Tano and Algini. Hakuut was the lively one. Matuanu had never twitched at his refusal. He’d just given a long, low rumble that might be words.

  “Go to Central now,” Bren said, once the kids and parents had cleared the foyer. “Time to go.”

  “Prakuyo go to Central,” Prakuyo said. “Matuanu and Hakuut stay here.”

  Leave two behind?

  Why?

  Leave their establishment to be gone through—with all its equipment?

  They could lock the door to his apartment. That said something, too.

  Was Prakuyo challenging him again? Was that the game?

  Or was it leaving Hakuut’s curiosity and Matuanu’s dour presence alone in this place, to run a little search, or deliver an extensive report to that ship out there.

  It put Guild and household staff in charge of saying no if someone wanted to go where they ought not, which set up a potential difficulty. Ilisidi might manage the situation, fragile as she was. The kyo respected her as one of the original three.

  Jase could stay. But the one of them who could hold his own in language, and who had at least the cachet of the original three . . . was nine years old.

  Cajeiri and the dowager, with Ilisidi in her quarters, Cenedi in charge—her guard, and the Guild Observers—that arrangement upped the stakes if the kyo intended to investigate the premises. Or challenge the staff.

  He signaled Jago, said in Ragi, not remotely making an effort to be quiet, not knowing the limits of the kyo eavesdropping, “The walking involved will be strenuous for the dowager. Since our guests wish to stay, she could well be here, and it would satisfy the numbers if the young gentleman were to remain with her.” The hell it satisfied the numbers. Two and two were the worst numerology—which only worked if he and Jase and Prakuyo were, though absent, part of the arrangement. “I think I am quite resolved on this.”

  Jago was never slow to take a hint, especially when it came with a deliberate move of the eyes toward the situation in the sitting area.

  “Shall I suggest this to the dowager?”

  “Suggest it to Cenedi, indeed.” One sincerely hoped that by his upping the stakes, and countering the two kyo remaining with Cajeiri and Ilisidi, would make Matuanu, in particular, inclined not to act without Prakuyo assessing the situation.

  Jago went off to speak to Cenedi, who would read the numbers very much the same way, and relay them to Ilisidi, who was not in the habit of taking her instructions from the paidhi-aiji.

  But neither was the aiji-dowager in the least slow to take a cue and to find it convenient on her own grounds.

  So he was not surprised when the dowager declared she had had quite enough of hiking about the corridors and riding in lifts.

  “My great-grandson may do as he pleases, but should any question arise among our guests, having someone here able to translate would be a convenience. He can surely find some activity of benefit here, where he is of use. He has spent quite enough time in Central, surely, to satisfy his curiosity. And he and Hakuut-nandi seem to have an accord.”

  Cajeiri had stood up when his great-grandmother had begun to make a statement, and when Ilisidi had gotten to the part about having someone to translate, an experienced eye could see the shift between young boy about to protest, and wise young lad realizing he was being handed a solemn, important order.

  “Yes, mani,” he said with a little bow, and, clever lad: “Cajeiri sit talk to Hakuut and Matuanu.”

  If there had been any plan to leave those two to explore the place—which, with senior Guild and Guild Observers in residence, would have been resisted—they had headed that off.

  And if Prakuyo’s hope was simply to have a chance to talk to him off the record that the kyo were likely sure they were making, they had just arranged that, too, give or take the dowager’s presence, and Cajeiri’s.

  20

  Something was going on, Cajeiri was well sure. The one kyo he was most sure of was up to something, or checking what was fact, or just trying to see what the rest of the station looked like, being very like the place he had been a prisoner for years.

  It was a little scary to be left to protect mani, but they certainly had enough Guild in the premises to deal with any threat, except from the ship out there.

  Was mani scared? If mani was ever alarmed, he was not sure scared was the word to describe it, because mani could be dangerous, and he was sure nand’ Bren did not want any alarms at all in his absence.

  Nand’ Bren had left him to deal with the kyo, and mani would watch, unless she had to do something, so it was up to him to make sure that did not happen.

  So how did he keep everybody out of mischief?

  He had a game set. He had brought it because he had never trusted he would be included in everything. He had made plans not to be bored.

  Now, in the most important thing he had ever been trusted with, he thought of that, which atevi had gotten from humans two hundred years ago and changed to suit themselves.

  “Shall we have my game set?” he asked mani.

  “An excellent notion, if our guests find interest in it.”

  “Jico-ji,” he asked Veijico, who asked staff, and they had it from his room very quickly.

  He set out the checkered board. He held up the aiji, and identified it, and the opposing one, and showed their moves. He held up the aiji-consort, and identified her, and showed her moves. In similar fashion he held up the aiji-dowager, and likewise the advisor, and the aiji’s fortress.

  Then the clan lords, all alike, within the association.

  He and mani showed the capture—of course he put a clan lord in jeopardy of mani’s advisor. That piece went to the side.

  Then they reset the game, and mani suggested he play against Hakuut, mani advising him, and Matuanu advising Hakuut.

  He began thinking just then that it showed exactly how they were, except if they substituted the heir apparent for the aiji-consort. And mani was a very, very good player.

  Hakuut, however, was quick, and so was Matuanu.

  “War,” Hakuut said. “It is war.”

  Maybe it was not such a good idea, this game.

  Mani never played to lose.

  He had made dangerous moves. He had involved his guests. He had said things too fast, and Prakuyo, being smart, had asked about them, until it had gotten very scary in that meeting. He had tried to be clever now, and he had set up a war on a tabletop.

  He did not believe in omens. Mani called them stupid. But some people thought they showed the numbers of the universe, the true numbers, that would turn up again and again, no matter what, and if you saw a bad omen it was a warning.

  But some people said you could turn a bad omen to a good one if you were clever, and, baji-naji, by fortune and chance, the flex in the universe would let it be true.

  Where did he find good, now that h
e had set war down between them?

  Could there be good in it? Did mani even consider the omen?

  Probably she really had. Mani was learning something. Mani learned from everything. That was what made her dangerous.

  • • •

  Passing through the crossover point—was a worry. Jase, Gin, and Geigi, however, had it quietly managed—an uncommon presence of security, ship-folk, atevi, and Mospheiran, keeping the area of the lifts quiet and virtually deserted—with the traffic of clericals and warehouse and supply personnel going on beyond the glass, and fingers on the buttons, in Central, to make sure random lift cars didn’t arrive while they were in that critical area. Prakuyo paused in front of the lift, looking about at the security, which he might not recognize as such—only two carried sidearms.

  Then, apparently satisfied, he accompanied Bren and his aishid and Jase into the Mospheiran-side lift system, and took an assured grip on the safety rail, having learned the ways of the zigzagging lift.

  “See Mospheiran Central now,” Bren said, to which Prakuyo said, “Yes. Good.”

  The behavior of humans and atevi, confronted with the completely unknown in the same room with them, was a worry. But of all sets of humans and atevi available, outside the ones appointed to deal with the kyo, the ones working in Central and in ops were surely the steadiest in meeting the unexpected and the least apt to do anything to startle the kyo.

  Gin and Geigi would have prepared their staffs, Bren had no doubt, and experience of both gave him faith in both staffs. For Central as a whole, it was yet one more change in the handoff schedule, just one more rescheduling and one last trial of their nerves, one could only hope—and after this, Bren hoped they could work toward a regular, sensible rotation, even before the kyo ship left. The Mospheiran staff had been set at watch and watch when Tillington had ordered the Reunioner sections shut. Then Geigi, getting control back, had held his staff on watch and watch until he could hand off to Gin on her arrival; and the latest drain on energies, the kyo ship’s arrival, had meant odd schedules for ops, generally requiring atevi staff to be on duty nonstop. The schedule had been a patchwork for weeks, and was sometimes a question of whether they had consistently clear-headed people sitting at the boards, on whichever side of the operation.

  This was the day, the hour, they wanted steady nerves. The appearance of the kyo was intimidating enough, but the subsonics were something none of the techs would have experienced, and they were frightening, close up, maybe damaging if a rattled kyo really cut loose. One could imagine, Bren thought, the relationship between Prakuyo and the humans who had held him for six years. Prakuyo had suffered neglect. Nobody had been in that immediate hallway. And that story might have two sides.

  Prakuyo uttered small sounds, all to himself, watching the numbers tick past. Anxious. On edge. One had to account, too, what Prakuyo might feel, moving within the station halls—sparse, bare of ornament, scant even of signage, and very much like the corridors of Reunion: same architecture, same materials, same dimensions. It was nothing like the kyo ship.

  A long time, in that barren cell. In that barren hallway.

  Had Prakuyo opted not to bring his companions on this venture—because he was not emotionally prepared to deal with company in the experience? The kyo were emotional—Hakuut more than Prakuyo, and young still was the impression one had. But Prakuyo was far from at his ease.

  Dry air, for a kyo. Brilliant light. Prakuyo blinked rapidly as they walked down the hall from the lift and entered the starkly lit Central—no shadows there: all bright as planetary noon. Prakuyo gave a controlled, quiet thump, and drew every eye in the room, techs turning heads, swinging chairs just slightly. Gin waited in the center of the arc—Gin, in Mospheiran business wear, a brown suit and a bright gray blouse.

  She gave a little bow. “Prakuyo-ji,” she said, which was what they had called him on the ship, and Prakuyo gave a moderate little boom, a little mouth-gape, which could be pleasure, or just relief.

  “Gin.” It came out Kin, or something close to it. Prakuyo returned the bow, and looked about him. “Gin. Good see.”

  “Good to see you,” Gin said cheerfully. “Very good. My staff—”

  Jase stood there. Bren stood there with his aishid, all familiar enough to the crew in Mospheiran Central, while Gin solemnly, as if all the names would be remembered, introduced Prakuyo to the chief of the shift, Okana, to the communications chief, the utilities division . . . every section, very matter-of-factly, and introduced Prakuyo to them, told Prakuyo what hours they worked, and how they were holding just a little overtime to be able to demonstrate how they routinely switched control to Lord Geigi and the atevi side of the station.

  “First,” she said in ship-speak, “the chief calls the atevi chief and we both agree we’re ready.”

  Bren translated that into Ragi: “Gin will ask this man call the atevi Central and say they are ready.”

  “Go,” Gin said, and the chief tech pushed a button on the console. Three flashes came back.

  “The atevi chief says ready,” Gin said. “Utilities goes first. Communications goes last. Works best that way.”

  There was a low buzz of technician talking to technician, confirming, screens coming up with green display, buttons blinking red, then going green, starting with the utilities console, where screens one by one went out, and boards shut down.

  “Shall we just do as ordinary?” Chief Tech Okana asked.

  “That will be fine. Don’t linger in the hall. Go home. If anybody asks you, say it’s all fine. Talks are going well. You’re doing your part, and well done. Night, people. Good night. Go home. Have a drink there. Not in the bars.”

  “Two,” someone said, and there was a little nervous laughter.

  “Happy sound,” Bren said in kyo. “Gin says go drink alcohol.”

  Low ripple of booms. “Good. Prakuyo like drink.”

  Had Prakuyo just made a joke? He ventured a soft, single laugh of his own. “Yes.”

  The shutdown completed with fair dispatch, leaving dark screens, dark boards, and people filed out quietly, talking among themselves only when they reached the hall.

  Lights dimmed to something comfortable for kyo. Gin walked over, gave a little nod. “Respects from the President to our visitors.”

  Bren translated that. Prakuyo gave a little boom and a nod. “Good to Mospheira Presidenta. Good to Gin-nandi.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Gin said, and left, down the hall, solo. Mospheiran security remained at the doors. Bren made a gesture toward the same door, and, with his bodyguard and Jase, escorted Prakuyo out past the security guards, and on down the deserted hallway to the lift.

  • • •

  The game progressed. Hakuut reached, began to knock over a clan lord.

  Thump, from Matuanu. Hakuut’s hand hovered. Cajeiri sat expressionless, giving no clues. He saw what mani had set up, directing him. Now Hakuut saw it.

  “Good,” Hakuut said with a slow series of booms, and declined to take the clan lord.

  • • •

  The situation at atevi Central was the same . . . but this time the individual who met them was plump as Bindanda, almost as prosperous as Prakuyo himself, and dressed in court splendor for the occasion.

  “Welcome,” Lord Geigi said, and technicians all about made a small turn of chairs, a little nod of courtesy. “Welcome, nand’ Prakuyo! Nand’ paidhi! A felicitous meeting!”

  “Nandi,” Prakuyo said, with a little bow, and he seemed happier in the meeting, perhaps with more comfort knowing what to expect, more comfort in the greater proportions of the room and slightly less light, less sense of threat from an atevi environment.

  “Has our guest heard the function of the boards from Gin-nandi? I shall spare him, if so. But you see we have received the handoff from human Central. The three blinking lights indicate ongoing problems they wish
us to continue to monitor, and the steady lights mean no difficulty.”

  Bren paraphrased that as best he could, pointing to the three lights as “Human Central ask atevi Central fix three bad things please. Others are all good.”

  “Reunioner in Mospheiran Central?” Prakuyo asked, in the relative safety of this place.

  “No,” he said in ship-speak. “This station belongs to Mospheira and atevi. Reunioners will go down to the planet.” And in kyo: “All Mospheiran in Mospheiran Central. Reunioners all go down to planet. Learn Mospheiran.”

  A nod. A little rocking, whether or not Prakuyo understood or believed it.

  Geigi, meanwhile, introduced his staff, named clans, named associations, to which Prakuyo also nodded fairly enthusiastically—perhaps that associations made some sort of kyo connection.

  “Atevi have Central twelve hours,” Bren said, “then give to humans. Twelve hours humans give back.”

  Nod of understanding.

  “All good,” Prakuyo said.

  “We go back to Hakuut and Matuanu now? Yes?”

  Prakuyo nodded, bowed generally to Lord Geigi and the techs, and Lord Geigi showed them to the door, to the hallway. They walked toward the lift station that had brought them, with one more transit of the crossover yet to go. Jase talked on com, advising security to watch the area of the lifts.

  Everything was going smoothly with the kyo downstairs, Bren was quite sure. The place was under close watch. Any cross word, any problem would have reached his aishid, and they had a signal prearranged which would have told him.

  Things were going as well as they could have possibly hoped. Prakuyo had seen what he had wished to see, nobody had panicked, they had been able to answer all the questions, and there had been no report of problems from the dowager’s vicinity.

  • • •

  They had reached a lengthy problem. Cajeiri looked at the board, and thought, and thought he knew what mani was doing, but he was not sure.