Precursor

by C. J. Cherryh

  “So,” she said, “are you embarrassed about Jago, before your mother?”

  “My mother had far rather I’d married my former lover, who still courts her favor.”

  A wry smile touched the dowager’s thin lips, inexplicable for a moment. Then: “Ah. Barb. And does your brother express an opinion?”

  “He regards my staff very highly.” Liked them immensely, but there was no atevi word for that. “I rest assured in his loyalty.”

  “Ha.” Ilisidi was delighted. “Has he asked particulars?”

  He blushed—again, surely to her triumph.

  “Only in the most general way, ’Sidi-ji, and I haven’t answered in any particulars.”

  “Such a gallant lover.”

  He didn’t know on what grounds or on whose behalf he had just been examined, but he found himself on an unfamiliar shore, high and dry, and took, at last, a political risk.

  “I would never lie to you, ’Sidi-ji. And I do need your help.”

  She smiled. Simply smiled. “Welcome home,” she said and, perhaps with a touch of the arthritis that plagued her, winced. “Supper is done. These old bones need a rest. I hate old age.”

  She was not going to say a thing about Jase. And there was a time to stop, cease, let a subject rest where the person of higher rank had decided to leave it.

  “I should withdraw, then,” he said quietly, “and give you peace. In all high regard for your rest and well-being, nand’ dowager. —But if you will I stay, I shall.”

  “Oh, flatterer.” Thin fingers shooed him from the table. “Go. Out.”

  “Nand’ dowager,” he said, rose, and excused himself toward the door, attended by the dowager’s servants, by Cenedi as well, who brought him to the foyer where Banichi and Jago waited.

  “How is she?” he dared ask Cenedi. The dowager being the age she was, he did worry. He never knew; he never knew whether she would intervene or not.

  “As ever,” Cenedi said… no young man himself, but as indefatigable.

  “And Jasi-ji?” He never remotely expected Cenedi would betray a confidence, he knew asking had a risk of offense; but pass him a message the dowager herself could not in dignity relay, that Cenedi might do.

  “He was here,” Cenedi said, “and now he is outside our security, paidhi-ji. We can’t reach him. We are concerned.”

  “So am I,” he said, having no answer. “But not for Jase’s motives.” He passed that word under the table to Ilisidi, who probably would ask Cenedi if he had said anything; and went out, with Banichi and Jago, out into the general hallway, in an area of elegant marble, antique silk carpet, carved tables, and priceless porcelains.

  Then he heaved a sigh, finding the vodka had taken the edge off the day; the bruising encounters were at least at distance enough. But if he couldn’t get to Tabini… then he’d go back to the space center, keep a promise… sleep tonight wasn’t likely.

  “Bren-ji,” Banichi said to him as they walked, “the aiji has just requested your presence.”

  He had his audience. He didn’t know but what Cenedi might have sent word through; he thought Banichi might have asked.

  Or it was equally possible Tabini had his own agenda, and waited for the end of this supper—knowing Ilisidi had invited him.

  Or there was collusion. That was possible, too.

  The aiji called. There was no question he had to accept the invitation.

  * * *

  Chapter 4

  « ^ »

  Eidi, the major domo of the aiji’s household, admitted them to those historic precincts with minimal fuss, and just as smoothly Banichi and Jago, who knew the territory, knew the staff on a familiar basis, disappeared just past the doorway and went aside to the security station as Bren now knew few others would be permitted to do—Banichi and Jago were from this staff, originally, and maintained their ties.

  So, technically, was he from the aiji’s staff, once upon a time, and still technically was on the staff, in respect of feudal loyalty. Any other lord of the Association might have, as he and Ilisidi had discussed, extraneous ties of man’chi, but he did not, and the welcome over the years had varied very little. Eidi provided him a chair in the small side chamber and whisked up a cup of tea, welcome after Ilisidi’s vodka. He sipped that while Eidi went to inform the aiji he had arrived.

  A small commotion returned down the length of the foyer. It reached the door, and Bren rose.

  Tabini came in still dressed in his court finery, black and red colors of his heraldry, and waved Bren back to his chair. “Well, well, Bren-ji. And how is Grandmother?”

  “Very well, as I saw her. Complaining of her age.”

  “So. So.” Tabini dropped into a chair. Tabini was a young man: aiji and paidhi-aiji, chief translator, were both young men. In a certain sense, they had come up together, together survived the tides that tried to wash civilization back onto known shores. “A blindingly quick flight from the hinterlands, and she complains of her arthritis. —Sip the tea, be at ease. I’ve no need of any. And how did the trip to the island go?”

  Governments and theories of government had fallen; they stood, aiji and paidhi-aiji. On Mospheira, at his back, a very odd coalition of hitherto marginalized minorities with nothing in common but their detestation of the conservatives and their fear of war; while the aiji had gathered his former opponents, the bluest-bloods of the Association, to overcome the wealthy conservatives and get atevi into the space business.

  “How fares Mospheira?” Tabini asked.

  “As it has been. Always as it has been.” I was startled as hell to learn you’d admitted four humans to the space center did occur to him. I was upset as hell you’d moved Jase out, was ahead of that, but he let Tabini get there at his own speed.

  “The new paidhi was accepted?”

  “There’s no polite choice. They find no affront in Mercheson’s withdrawal, but they’re not happy and they wonder what she’ll say.”

  “Since they tried to kill her, probably not a thoroughly positive report.”

  “But to recall her… Mospheirans accept this as the Guild’s right over its own representative. I did talk with Shawn Tyers. And talked with the delegates on the plane. They were surprised you granted their visa, aiji-ma.”

  “Were they? And the meeting with Jase?”

  “We talked at some length.” He kept all expression off his face, out of his voice. “I advise the aiji against sending him.”

  “When shall we send him, then?”

  A question, a challenge for an answer. “When the second shuttle flies,” he said. “I need Jase.”

  “And if I say he goes as Ramirez-aiji requires?”

  “Then he will go, aiji-ma. But I’ll wish to go back to the space center. I was surprised, of course. We spent the conversation reminiscing. I fear I came away not having asked things I should have asked. I’m not ready to lose this man…”

  “What would you have asked?”

  “Principally, what Jase thinks they’ll ask next. He doesn’t think they’ll let him come down soon. I find this alarming.” It wasn’t no, not yet. He still schemed to advance a plan. “He might take moderately ill. The shuttle cycles in six weeks. That would give us time, aiji-ma.”

  “Time. —And Trent Cope? Did he recover?”

  “Jase doesn’t favor him. I don’t. Though it’s very difficult for a person to be forthcoming when he knows he’s sedated.”

  “Understandable. He has all of Jason’s physical difficulties?”

  “Moving at night did prove better.”

  “And your household? Well?”

  “Very well, aiji-ma.”

  “And President Durant?”

  God, what was this? A catalog?

  “Very well. I introduced Trent-paidhi myself, though Trent-paidhi was mildly indisposed and took immediate leave to a windowless room. The President asked politely regarding your health, aiji-ma, and extended his wishes for you and Lady Damiri.”

  There was no reaction
to the good wishes. Tabini, even seated, towering in the natural height of adult atevi, was a powerful individual… a hunter on opportunity, besides a student of every curiosity, and of technology. His gold eyes were pale to the point of ill omen, and the predatory look came naturally. There might never have been so progressive and enlightened a ruler as Tabini in all the history of the Western Association. But his direct, continuing stare unnerved his opponents.

  “You were surprised by the delegation, paidhi-ji?”

  “Utterly. I knew they were training a group to go, as of last year. I knew there was going to be a request as soon as the shuttle officially had a flight schedule. I did report that, aiji-ma, I’m sure I did.”

  “You did, nand’ paidhi. I certainly attach no fault to you in this matter of the delegation; on the contrary, I sent directly to Tyers, and suggested this mission.”

  Without translation? It was impossible. Someone had mediated. Someone knew what was going on. He damned sure didn’t.

  No study, no committee, no hesitation. Bang! Stamped, sealed, approved, and the team suddenly had a visa; use it or else.

  In the same heartbeat came a footfall at the door, a whisper of fabric, a faint whisper of spice, to nostrils assailed with Mospheiran scents for days. Lady Damiri arrived in the room, and Bren rose in courtesy as Tabini’s wife settled in the graceful chair at Tabini’s elbow.

  “We will miss you, paidhi-ji,” Damiri said to him.

  Miss? Bren thought in shock, and Tabini looked vexed.

  “Love of my life,” Tabini began.

  “Oh, you haven’t told him.”

  “No, I haven’t told him, daja-ma. —Bren, nadi, there was a reason I sent Jase Graham to the space center in such haste. Your belongings are by now packed.”

  While he was at the dowager’s apartment? In a matter of two hours? “And I’m going… where, aiji-ma?” To Ilisidi’s estate at Malguri, perhaps. Perhaps that was the connection with Ilisidi’s invitation, and this—he was needed somewhere, maybe another insurgency, some further difficulty with the anti-space conservatives. Twice before, he’d found himself moved out to regions of political stress under extreme security and with little notice.

  “Do you approve, paidhi-ji, this mission of representatives to the station? Are these acceptable persons?”

  “Two translators from the Foreign Office, Feldman and Shugart, belong to Shawn Tyers; or Podesta. She’s department head now. They’re advisors, very junior. I don’t know the other two. One is from Commerce. Anyone from that department is a concern to me. That’s George Barrulin’s old power base.”

  “Translators of Ragi,” Tabini mused. “To go to the space station.”

  “Awareness of nuance and context makes them valuable observers. I understand why Tyers sends them… I know why they formed the team as they did.” Four. Infelicitous four, he thought. It was not a good number. He’d been functioning with the Mospheiran side of his brain not to see that at the outset.

  But Jase was going. Set of five.

  “What does Jase fear?” Tabini asked. “He expressed no fears to me.”

  “He wouldn’t,” Bren said. “He respects you. He knows he has no recourse. And I still ask, aiji-ma, that you not send him yet. The next flight. Not this one. They’ll understand… they won’t expect you to grant their request. A human would delay.”

  Tabini had a wry expression. “Delay, with these aliens coming.”

  “It’s human, aiji-ma. And I need him. They won’t argue. They won’t take offense.”

  “In this additional time… what would you gain?”

  “Questions. More questions.”

  “And three years have not sufficed?”

  It was a very good question… one he couldn’t outright answer, except they weren’t either of them ready for this.

  “Jase wants to see his ship again; and he knows, in the economy of things, he’s become a valuable advisor to them.”

  “As to you.”

  “As he is to me,” Bren acknowledged.

  “He will go, advise his people, then return.”

  “Not likely. They’ve no reason to let him come back.”

  “I shall place a personal request for his return.”

  “I fear your request won’t get him back, aiji-ma. Not from the Guild.”

  “Will Jase remain well-disposed to us? Will he wish, then, what he wishes now?”

  “He’ll feel emotional attachment. He’ll fall into old associations.”

  “And this mission from the island? Will they find things familiar? Will they obey the Pilots’ Guild? Or oppose them?”

  “I don’t know. There’ll be an emotional context for them. The sites of history have their impact.”

  “Naojai-tu,” Damiri said quietly, “nand’ paidhi.”

  “Like that,” Bren said. The machimi plays were the collected wisdom of atevi history, the culture of the Western Association. In Naojai-tu, a cynical woman came face to face with relics she had thought remote and unimportant… and in the impact they had, in the context, she turned on her lover. Indeed, he knew the play, and its conclusion.

  Unguessed association, unguessed emotional reaction, unguessed affiliations devastatingly realized.

  And when one came down to analyzing the emotional impact of the human team seeing the station their ancestors had come from—or the feelings Jason would have face to face with his relatives again—yes, atevi could indeed comprehend that. Sometimes humans jumped the same direction atevi jumped when startled.

  But you didn’t take for granted it was the same reason for the reaction. Or the same outcome. “And what was Jason’s reaction to the mission?” Tabini asked.

  “He didn’t meet with them immediately. He had a short time to see me; he chose that. We met, we talked, and I forgot to ask him questions I should have asked. He didn’t ask me, either. On a certain level I think we knew we’d become separate in our man’chi, so to speak. When he goes back—he’ll have no aiji but Ramirez. So we reminisced, and said good-bye.”

  Tabini listened soberly.

  “That’s very sad,” Damiri-daja said.

  “Do you have confidence in the President’s intentions?” Tabini asked. “And Ramirez?”

  Not—is the President of Mospheira lying?—which would be one question, but—do you have confidence in him; and in Tyers; and in the senior captain of the ship-humans?

  “Aiji-ma, it’s the same story: Mospheirans want to lead their lives and not worry. A leader who makes them worry isn’t popular. Right now, they remember that the Heritage Party nearly took them to war. Now ship-humans make them worry about the chance there are unfriendly aliens out there. They’d rather not think about it. So they won’t. All this mission learns will create a furor at first… then lose attention. All the President does and all the conservatives do about it will be quiet unless there’s a direct, imminent threat. There’s no energy for it, not so soon after the people kicked the conservatives out of office.”

  Tabini smiled. It was certainly the short version of the politics of Mospheira, but it compassed very similar emotions on the mainland: Bren knew it did. Never upset the midsection of the Association, never annoy uncle Tatiseigi… or Lord Geigi.

  “One day I should meet the President of Mospheira,” Tabini said, implying there would be no few frustrations in common with Hampton Durant. “So shall we proceed in tasteful silence through these machinations? Or shall we wake two populations from their sleep?”

  “Only to tell them both we’ve found a good solution, aiji-ma.”

  “Therefore I asked this mission to go with Jase. Time is ours now; perhaps not, if these remote aliens begin to dictate the schedule. Therefore, paidhi-ji, I’m sending you to the station.”

  My God, he thought.

  And: No. I can’t.

  It was the dream of his life, that the space program should have just gotten off the ground with him to witness it. That Shai-shan should turn out to be his creation… he’d stood on the si
de of the runway and watched its first flight half a year ago, watched the shuttle become a gleam in the sky, and a dot, and a memory and a hope. When, two weeks later, he had stood on that same runway and watched Shai-shan land as easily as any airliner—God, he’d wept.

  But go up there? That wasn’t for him.

  His face, he discovered, didn’t react, hadn’t reacted. Like his predecessor, Wilson, who’d forgotten how to deal with human emotion, he’d stopped reacting.

  “Aiji-ma,” he said quietly, accepting that this would happen, “on this flight?”

  “On this flight,” Tabini said. And one could not say: but my business, but my possessions, my duties, my staff. One listened. “To remain until you’ve understood them, and then to return to me. You can conduct your other duties by radio, can you not? And your staff is adept enough to carry on without you, at least the commercial aspects. Diplomatic matters with the Pilots’ Guild take precedence until there is an agreement regarding our station.”

  Our station. That was Tabini’s position. Humans had built it, Mospheira didn’t want it, didn’t want to lose it, either. Atevi weren’t historically happy about it being there, didn’t want Mospheirans to have it, and Tabini wanted it under his authority.

  He hadn’t thoroughly explained that position to Mospheira, but Jase knew.

  Get me the sun and the moon, paidhi-ji. Toss in the good will of the Pilots’ Guild for good measure.

  Everything was in motion. Everything had been in motion before his plane had set down on the runway. Everything had gotten into motion during his five days isolated and out of touch on Mospheira. Tabini started planning this the day the ship called Yolanda Mercheson home; they called Jason, the day before the shuttle launched, expecting a wrangling argument, and Tabini… simply complied, high and wide.

  The ship-humans wanted the program to move faster?