Emergence

  Moxon was head of the Heritage senior chamber caucus. That was going to have the phone lines active—and they weren’t all that secure on Mospheira, either.

  If everything went well, the upper levels of the Heritage Party, which had backed Tillington, would take the warning, back away from Tillington and stay quiet at least for a few months. That would solve a major problem. With the Phoenix captains as anxious to get five thousand Reunioners off station decks as Gin Kroger was anxious to comply, it was going to happen, starting with the three children about to make that downward voyage. What became of Tillington then was not his personal concern. Tabini-aiji certainly wanted nothing to do with him.

  “Well, let’s hope Moxon sees what we saw. These kids—the ones from Linguistics—can you get them here this afternoon?”

  “I’ll let them know. They’ll be there. Say at fifteen hundred. I’ve run background checks, no problems. Clean kids. Good kids, by their manners. They’ll be overwhelmed to meet you.”

  “Well, I hope they’ll work. I sincerely do. We have to have somebody, and Committee isn’t going to cooperate without a Presidential fiat.”

  “Agreed,” Tom said. “I’ll set up their clearances. And get them a cab. They’re students. They’d probably take the bus.”

  He would have, in their place. God, his memory strayed back to University streets, and counting change for bus fare. Walking, because he was a few coins short. “Good idea. Thanks, Tom.”

  “No problem,” Tom said, and hung up.

  The ultimate resolution of the Mospheiran situation up there was, thank God, not his problem. Nor was the arrangement of passage down for the Reunioners or the choice of who would go first. Gin Kroger and Lord Geigi were handling all that, with the help of Phoenix security.

  He was getting the three children Tabini-aiji was most concerned about, children who had never been to a formal school, and who still would not attend regular classes. They had learned everything they had learned from their surviving parents and from recordings, and occasionally from each other. They had learned to survive on a station shot half to wreckage and faced with a long, nearly impossible reconstruction under enemy watch, with limited food, limited resources, and an intolerable present—with a very good likelihood there would be no future.

  What in that hellish situation had made them the bright and sensible and practical kids they were, God only knew. Flowers bloomed out of bare rock. Life hung on. And the kids were amazingly hungry to know things, as if any understanding they could get their hands on was food, something to absorb. Something to help them survive. A way to see a tomorrow they could hardly picture to themselves. They just kept trying.

  Would they learn as readily in the humdrum of regular instruction? They were already more fluent in Ragi than the last paidhi had been. They had learned it hiding in ship maintenance tunnels, and teaching the aiji’s son their ways and their language.

  They were also too damned clever at finagling their way past security.

  They had to understand, here on Earth, with abundant air and food and room, there were still dangers.

  They had to know that their getting back to the mainland and continuing their association with the aiji’s son was dependent on obeying the rules.

  And they also had to know that five thousand people on the station were relying on their good behavior to make a good impression.

  Tom’s news was good news. Students, for God’s sake. Brave souls themselves, running a different set of serious risks. The full professors had declined to teach the children, scared of the Committee, which was not all that fond of one Bren Cameron. The students that Tom had turned up were gambling with their own futures, on the one chance they might have to use the language the way a paidhi would—because there was, by custom and law, one paidhi, and he was holding that office, with no intention of dropping dead.

  They were even less likely ever to see an appointment as paidhiin, given the presence of these children, who arrived with direct ties to the next likely ruler of the continent.

  But as teachers of those children, they could find an active use for their skills. They could get in through a side door, if they were willing to be content with that, and if they could learn to handle spoken Ragi—a thing actively discouraged by the Committee. That the current paidhi was colloquially fluent—in more than one dialect—was not to the Committee’s liking. Not in the least.

  “We may have tutors for the young folk,” he told his aishid. “One hopes it may work out, and that the children will be happy with them and that they will be happy in the work. One hopes everyone involved with the youngsters will be sensible.”

  “Kate-nadi,” Jago said, “will countenance no bad behavior.”

  That much was certainly true. Kate Shugart took no prisoners. And Kate was the on-premises guardian of the project. A veritable dragon, if someone stepped out of line.

  “One is very happy to have her,” he said. “I am thinking I shall urge the aiji that the children have at least a short visit to the mainland once they have settled in—simply to let them relax, understand that we are keeping our word, and understand the terms of their welcome . . . and while they are visiting the mainland, let their parents settle into Heyden Court and learn something of Mospheiran customs—perhaps offer them their own holiday, to see various sights that will be strange to stationers. As for the children, one believes Najida would offer them a limited, quiet visit with the young gentleman.”

  Eyes flickered with interest. His aishid never asked for time off—nor ever seemed to want it. They were attached to him with a bond that never broke. But a trip to his estate on the coast, and time to relax? Oh, yes. That did catch their interest. Five kilometers off the coast, fishing from the boat, even Guild could relax.

  “One wishes,” he said wistfully, “that I could show you more of Mospheira in this visit. I wish we could go up to the mountains and out to the north shore. You have seen very little even of the city.”

  “We are content,” Algini said. “Even this building is interesting.”

  “Edu-cational,” Tano said, and they laughed. That had been young Cajeiri’s favorite word, when it came to something he wanted and ought not to have.

  “I hope it has been,” he said, “at least educational.”

  “The trip to the University,” Jago said wryly, “was very educational. We were very glad to have seen that. We were glad to have been there.”

  Would the Committee create all sorts of roadblocks for the students who wanted to do what the Committee had made professors afraid to do?

  In a heartbeat.

  Would the Committee deliberately create unpleasantness for three absolutely innocent children?

  He was sure of it.

  Could they? Not so easily. He had brought in a few personal allies, people who could call up the President of Mospheira and say, “We have a problem.”

  Bet on one thing: Cajeiri’s three young associates would never live on a leash, responsible to the Committee on Linguistics, the way he had started his career. They were now and would be henceforth under the oversight of various authorities, including the Department of State and the aishidi’tat.

  And if at some time they chose not to represent Mospheira, but the aishidi’tat, as he did, that would be their choice to make, too.

  “Tom-nadi wishes me to meet these students,” he said. “I have indicated they should come here this afternoon. One would not expect them to pose any threat. How they might react in your presence might tell me something about their suitability. But if you think it best, there are ample meeting rooms to use, instead of this apartment.”

  “I doubt they would threaten us,” Jago said dryly.

  “I do doubt that. Tom-nadi says they accosted him, with the notion that teachers were needed. They are probably not wealthy young folk. Since I hold the only high post toward which their study leads,
their likely employment would have been to sit in a large office reading Ragi trade documents, for very little pay. Still, given the opposition of the administration, if they do this, they cannot go back, even to that option.”

  “What would move them to this?” Algini asked.

  “In their place,” Bren said, “at an age close to leaving the educational system, and with a paidhi by no means ready to retire—I think I would have taken the chance, if it offered, no matter the Committee’s disapproval. The children will be under the authority of the Department of State, so the University has no direct power over them, and Tom-nadi suggests the same status for their tutors. But if they hope to have that job translating trade manifests and such—they will be throwing that stability away, and possibly making lifelong enemies of the Department of Linguistics, who do have some political impact on translators of all sorts. I shall solicit your opinions on their fitness, wherever we meet them. Shall they come here?”

  “One sees no detriment in their coming here,” Banichi said. “They are young people, are they not? Will they take instruction and stay by it?”

  It was a question. “Far better, I suspect, than will older ones who answer to the Linguistics Committee. I am encouraged, Jago-ji. I am actually quite hopeful.”

  6

  Cajeiri, balanced on a ladder, investigating the highest shelves of the library, had all the histories of clans he had never heard of in a long row before him—histories, and drawings. He liked drawings. He was fascinated by how a collection of lines could make such dimensional pictures. He particularly loved finding the oldest books, some of which were in a writing style full of hooks and curls that made it very hard to read. One became lost in the printing itself, absorbed in the way a simple character could be so important.

  He had found a prize, with both the old text and an abundance of drawings that showed towns and places about the Midlands, in a quaint old way of building he had only seen in a few places, ever. “Nadiin-ji!” he said, only in a conversational tone, because the library was such a hushed place, even with only an ornate grill closing it off from the great hall, that every movement seemed to echo. His junior aishid, gathered at a low table, had been looking through books of their own choosing. They looked up as he scrambled down.

  And at that moment, with a quick, regular step, a shadow arrived in the doorway of the grillwork. The juniors looked that direction immediately, and stood up. Rieni had come. Guild-senior of the seniors.

  “Nadi-ji,” Cajeiri addressed him, and carefully descended the last two steps, laying the book on the shelf nearest.

  “Nandi. Your mother is calling.”

  In truth, when Rieni began with your mother a little chill had struck him, a little fear that something had happened in Shejidan. But—immediately on that thought: “Is my father all right?”

  “We have no word on that, nandi, other than that your father authorized the call on our equipment.”

  Well, Father was able to authorize a call on Guild equipment, which ordinarily even Great-grandmother would not be able to do, except in direst official need.

  “Where?” he asked.

  Rieni simply took a little Guild unit from his pocket, adjusted it, and gave it to him on the spot.

  “Honored mother?” he asked.

  “Where are you, son of mine? Who is there?”

  “I—am in Uncle’s library, Honored Mother. Rieni is with me, and my younger aishid, no one else.”

  “No servants.”

  “No, Honored Mother. Only they.”

  “What is this about visitors?”

  “Honored Mother, do you know a person named Nomari?”

  “I once knew someone of that name. I had to look in records to be sure. How did he come there?”

  “Honored Mother, he arrived first, and startled everybody; and Great-aunt Geidaro turned up at the gate and stood in Uncle’s great hall and demanded Uncle nominate her son Caradi for the lordship. Uncle told her no and sent her away. So then Nomari and Uncle talked, and Uncle put a white flag on the gate to signal Nomari’s allies that it was safe to come in, and he asked the Taibeni not to take exception to them coming from the train station. They walked here, mostly. And Uncle took all the big hunting tents out of storage and set them up, which is where they all are now, on the front lawn. And the Guild has been investigating everybody, and we have names.” The we was impertinent, but it was mostly true, even if he had never seen the list, because he had helped Uncle talk to Nomari. “Uncle had to send out after groceries. There are sixty-three people out there. But we have lost three. So Uncle has asked Nomari to come into the house to sleep until we find them, and asked Guild to guard him. They are being careful.”

  There was a silence.

  “Honored Mother?”

  The silence persisted. He was not sure on the one hand whether he had lost the contact, and on the other—it could be one of Mother’s silences, which meant Mother was mad.

  “What does Uncle suppose is the location of these missing people?”

  “Uncle thinks either they slipped out the gate when the truck went in and out, or they could still be somewhere about the grounds, maybe frightened when Uncle started taking names, but there are alarms on everything and there is Guild on the roof and all, so the house is safe. They are being very strict now, and I know I cannot go out to see Jeichido. I am minding what I am told, Honored Mother. I am not going anywhere I should not.”

  “Your senior aishid was not with you just now.”

  “They were right down the hall, Honored Mother. I am in the library, there are Uncle’s guards downstairs, and the juniors are with me, right across the room. Is there a problem?”

  Another small silence.

  “You are taking proper precautions.”

  “Yes, Honored Mother.”

  “Are you dealing personally with this Nomari? Are you at any time alone with him?”

  “If I meet with him, and I have talked with him, I am always with both my bodyguards, Honored Mother. I am never alone. Ever.”

  Silence. But a brief one. “Is Uncle inclined to trust him?”

  “Uncle has not made up his mind.”

  “Do you trust him, son of mine?”

  He had to hesitate, asking himself the honest answer. “Not yet, Honored Mother.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because—because there are things I want to know, things about Ajuri. And here. That is why I am in the library.”

  “I am coming to Tirnamardi, son of mine. I am packing, and I am coming, with my guard. Your great-grandmother is in the air this moment, and intends to come there, but this will not happen.”

  A lower voice intruded—Father’s. Cajeiri was sure.

  Then Father took the unit, and said: “Son of mine, a moment.”

  “Absolutely, Honored Father.”

  Something happened to the unit on the other end. He heard, “How long do you intend to stay? Miri, if you open this nest, we will have no choice but deal with it.”

  “Uncle Tatiseigi has fairly well opened it already, has he not? It is camped on his lawn!”

  “Your uncle can feud with Ajuri until the sun turns black, and the fact that he happens to be entertaining his nephew is complete coincidence until you turn up.”

  “Or until your grandmother moves in, either of which will have the same effect, and she is not coming to Shejidan on an idle whim. This is an Ajuri matter, and a Padi Valley matter, in which your grandmother has no reasonable interest—”

  “Except her grandson and her longtime ally.”

  “My son! My uncle! And my clan! Both my clans, as far as that goes.”

  “Light of my life, you know once you step into this—”

  “It must have a conclusion. I know. It will have a conclusion. I cannot foresee what conclusion, but Ajuri has to be either broken or mended,
built up or taken down, and if I have to bring it down myself—I will. It is my clan! Your grandmother has no part in it, and neither does my uncle.”

  “I have.”

  “And you appoint lords and you remove them. But this is a matter internal to the Padi Valley Association. My aunt and this person claiming to be Ajuri both went onto Atageini land and brought this dispute into Lord Tatiseigi’s hands. If you set foot in Tirnamardi to take sides before appointing a new lord for Ajuri, you set a precedent that will echo in every associational issue that ever arises.”

  “Gods less fortunate, woman! I am somewhat conversant with the law!”

  “And you know your grandmother will go there, if I do not. I know that woman. She will have an opinion, she will bring force in, and that will set its own precedent!”

  “What my grandmother does sets no precedents. She has no governing authority.”

  “She has a standing army!”

  “Not necessarily with her.”

  “Oh. That makes all the difference. No. I am Ajuri. And Atageini. I have a right. If you want me to send your son back, that I will do.”

  A silence.

  “I am here!” Cajeiri said sharply, hoping they would realize he was listening, and just stop arguing.

  They did not stop. His father said, “Cajeiri is a guest under that roof. He has reputation at stake, likewise. He should understand that.”

  Go home, leave the scene because his mother was taking over? No, he thought. No. He had rather be with his great-grandmother if there was going to be fighting. The thought of his mother in the middle of things such as he had shared with Great-grandmother was just scary.

  But Mother was going to do it. She had said why she would. And his father was listening to her.

  “You will not put yourself in danger,” his father said. “At no point will you go to Ajuri. I ask that promise. The units with Cajeiri have him as their priority, and your presence must not distract them. I want a double guard on you, from the time you board the train. And listen to them. Do me that favor.”