Invader: Book Two of Foreigner

by C. J. Cherryh

  “My grandson would have traded three lords and an estate to get you back, nand’ paidhi. Drive a hard bargain with him.”

  “The dowager is very kind.”

  “Oh, let’s be practical. We’ve a damned foreigner ship in our sky, the rural lords are in revolt, someone tried to kill you, the religious see omens in the numbers, and the television tells us absolutely nothing. Fools sit out at night on their rooftops with binoculars, armed with shotguns.”

  “If you had eyes to see to Mospheira, you’d see the same, aiji-ma. As I said in the joint meeting, opinion as to potential benefits is vastly divided.”

  Ilisidi’s head cocked slightly—she had one better ear, Bren had come to think; and certainly Cenedi lurking at the double doors was taking mental notes on every inflection, every nuance, everything said and not said.

  “Nand’ paidhi,” Ilisidi said, “what you want to say this morning, say to me, straight out. I’m curious.”

  “It’s a request.”

  “Make it.”

  “That the dowager use her influence to assure the Association’s stability. I know how much that entails. I also know you’ve weighed the cost more than anyone alive, nand’ dowager.”

  He touched the old woman to the quick. He saw Ilisidi’s eyes shadow, saw the darkness of a passing thought, the map of years and choices on her face, the scars of a long, long warfare of atevi conscience.

  With two words and the skill of the assassin behind her, this woman could take the Association apart, wreck the peace, topple lords and assure the breakup of everything humans vitally concerned with the peace had to work with.

  And she refrained. Atevi lords weren’t much on self denial. They were a great deal on reputation, on being respected. Or feared.

  Twice the hasdrawad had passed over Ilisidi’s claim to be aiji of the Association that effectively dominated atevi affairs. They’d passed over her as too likely to curtail other lords’ ambitions. Too likely to launch unprecedented worries.

  Little they’d understood the men they’d installed as (they hoped) more peaceful administrators: first her son and then Tabini-aiji in her stead, and oh, how that rankled—her grandson Tabini reputed as the virtuous, the generous, the wise ruler.

  Ask ’Sidi-ji to remain a shadow-player to posterity, as well as the past generation?

  “I haven’t knifed the mayor or salted the wine,” Ilisidi muttered. “Tell my grandson I’m watching him, nand’ paidhi, for like good behavior.” Nothing fazed Ilisidi’s appetite. Four eggs had disappeared from her plate. Her knife blade tapped the china, and two more appeared from the quick hand of a servant. “Eggs, nand’ paidhi?”

  “Thank you, nand’ dowager, but I’m still being careful with my stomach.”

  “Wise.” Another tap of the knife blade, this time on the teapot. The empty one was whisked away, another appeared, the cosy removed, the dowager’s cup refilled. “Not disturbed about last night.”

  “I regret the loss of life.”

  “Fools.”

  “Most probably.”

  “Uncertainty breeds such acts. Debate, hell. What else is there to do but deal with these people? What are they voting on?”

  “I’m sure I agree, nand’ dowager.”

  “It’s amazing to me, nand’ paidhi, at every turn of our affairs, just at our achieving the unity we sought and just at our developing the power for the technology we could have developed for ourselves—lo, here you fall down from the skies and give us, what, television and computer games? And at our second opportunity to adjust the terms of the association, coincidentally with our efforts toward space—behold, this ship in the heavens, and another moment of crisis. There are damned important atevi issues, nand’ paidhi, which have repeatedly been set aside for the sake of unity in the face of human intrusion, issues which have no import to humans but vast import to atevi. And it’s not just because the hasdrawad thinks I’m a bloody-handed tyrant, nand’ paidhi, no matter what you may have heard from my, of course, clean-fingered grandson—there are reasons I was passed over for the succession that speak a great deal more to the political climate at the time my son demised and left Tabini and his junior cronies in position to vote us down. So here we are again, nand’ paidhi.” The knife whacked the plate, commanding attention. “Listen to me. Listen to me, paidhi-ji, damn you. You ask forbearance. I ask your full attention.”

  He’d been paying it. Completely. But he understood her. “All my attention, nand’ dowager.”

  “Remember Malguri. Remember the world as it was. Remember the things that should survive.”

  “With all my mind, nand’ dowager.” It was the truth. Malguri wasn’t that far away in his mind. He didn’t think now it would ever be: the uncompromising cliffs, the fortress, half primitive, half modern, electric wires strung along ancient stones. The wi’itkitiin crying against the wind, gliding down the cliffs.

  The towering threat of riders on mecheiti, shadows against the sun.

  “Yet one more time,” Ilisidi said, “the hasdrawad bids me step aside for progress. I am old, nand’ paidhi. My associates are old. How many more years will there be to hear us? How many more years will there be, before everything is television and telephones and satellites, and there’s no more room for us?”

  “There will be wi’itkitiin, nand’ dowager. I swear to you. There will be Malguri. And Taiben. And the other places I’ve seen. If a stone-stubborn human like me can be snared by it—how can atevi not?”

  For a moment Ilisidi said nothing, her yellow eyes lifeless in thought. Then she nodded slowly as if she’d reached some private decision, and made short work of another egg. “Well,” she said then, “well, we do what we can. As we can. And these atevi, these humans sitting on their roofs this dawn, nand’ paidhi, what would you say to them?”

  It was a question, one without a clear answer. “I’d say they shouldn’t panic yet, I’d say no one on this world has an answer, except that wholeheartedly I’ll speak as the aiji’s translator, nand’ dowager, to the humans above and the humans below. And I’ll make you personally aware as I can what I’m hearing.”

  “Oh? Is that Tabini’s word on it?”

  “I don’t know why he didn’t stand in the way of my being here.”

  “Clever man.”

  Argue with Ilisidi, and you needed only supply the cues. She was amused in spite of herself.

  “I will get word to you somehow, nand’ dowager. It’s a frightening job to be an honest man.”

  “A dangerous job, among fools.”

  “But neither you nor Tabini is a fool, nand’ dowager. So my life is in your hands.”

  “You claim no debts, nand’ paidhi?”

  “I’d be a fool. You’re also honest.”

  “Oh, paidhi-ji. Don’t ruin my reputation.”

  She touched such dangerous and human chords in him.

  “The dowager knows exactly what she’s doing,” he said, “and the world won’t forget her, not if she did nothing more than she’s already done. She needs nothing else.”

  Ilisidi’s brows came down in a thunderous scowl. But didn’t quite stay that way. “You are reprehensible, nadi. It was a marvelous performance last night, by the way. I don’t say brilliant, but the faint was a nice touch.”

  “I honestly don’t remember what I answered the gentleman.”

  “Damned reckless.”

  “Not if I went out there to tell the truth—as I did. Too many sides in this, nand’ dowager. It’s hard enough to track the truth. And if the paidhi once begins to shade the truth at all, the difficulties I can make for myself are absolute hell. Please, nand’ dowager, never read anything atevi into my actions. It’s very dangerous.”

  “Wicked, wicked man. You’re so very skillful.”

  “Nand’ dowager, in all seriousness, Malguri touches human instincts, so, so deeply.”

  “What, greed?”

  “Respect, nand’ dowager. A sense of age, of profound truths. Respect for something
hands made, that’s stood through storms and wars and time. It persuades us that things we do may last and matter.”

  “That’s the best thing I’ve ever heard said about humans.”

  “I assure you it’s so, nand’ dowager.”

  “More tea?”

  “I’ve a meeting I shouldn’t be late to.”

  “With my grandson and the Policy Committee?”

  “The dowager’s intelligence is, as usual, accurate. May I ask a favor?”

  “I don’t say I’ll grant it.”

  “It’s to all our good. Nand’ dowager, be frank with me constantly. I value your interests. Give me the benefit of your advice when you see me stray, and I swear I’ll always trust the tea at your table.”

  Ilisidi laughed, a flash of white teeth. “Away with you. Flatterer.”

  “Aiji-ma.” He did have the appointment. Jago had told him. It took effort to get up. He made his awkward bow, and Cenedi showed him toward the door—“Nand’ paidhi,” Cenedi said, when they reached the front hall, “take care. There are more fools loose.”

  “Is it a specific threat?”

  “I can’t name names.”

  “Forgive me.” He didn’t know the inner workings of the Guild.

  Cenedi shrugged, avoiding his eyes. “My profession allows no debts, nand’ paidhi. Understand. Ask Banichi.”

  “I haven’t seen him.”

  “Not unrelated.”

  “Guild business?”

  “That might be.”

  “Is he in danger?”

  They’d reached the door, and two more of Ilisidi’s security were on duty there; men he knew, men he’d hunted with, ridden with.

  “Never worry about us,” Cenedi said. “I can only say that fools have moved—several are dead fools—and there are voices in our Guild who speak for the paidhi. Contracts have been proposed, and voted down. I’ve spoken more already than I should. Ask Banichi. Or Jago. They’re within your man’chi.”

  “I’m very grateful for your concern, nand’ Cenedi.”

  “In all matters,” Cenedi said, “I take instruction from the aiji-dowager. Understand this. A favor given weighs nothing in my Guild. But if the paidhi were to come to grief in Shejidan not by the dowager’s express order, certain of the Guild would sue to take personal contract.”

  “Nadi, I am vastly moved to think so.”

  “Do you understand, nand’ paidhi, the burden you’ve placed on ’Sidi-ji?”

  “I can’t,” he said. “I can’t possibly, nadi, but I can’t refrain from it—because she’s essential to the peace. Capable of ruling the Association, I’ve no doubt. But her place in these events is greater than that. Which you and I both know—and I can’t tell her that, nadi. I want to, in so many words. But she’d toss me right out her door. Deservedly—for my impudence.”

  “’Sidi-ji knows her own measure,” Cenedi said. “And her value. She defends herself very well. Come. I’ll walk you down to neutral ground, nadi.”

  “Where,” he asked Jago sharply, when Jago picked him up after the committee hearings downstairs, “where, nadi, is Banichi?”

  “At the moment?”

  “Jago-ji, don’t put me off. Cenedi says there’s trouble. A matter before the Guild. That I should ask you and Banichi. —Is that where Banichi is?”

  “Banichi is involved in Guild business,” Jago said, the first that she’d actually admitted.

  “About me?”

  “It might be.”

  “Is that reason to worry?”

  “It’s reason to worry,” Jago said.

  “So why can’t you tell me?”

  “Not to worry you, nadi.”

  “You’ll have noticed,” he said, “that I am worried, I think I have reason to worry. Is he in danger?”

  Jago didn’t answer. They’d reached the door, and Jago spoke on the pocket-com to Tano, inside, asking him to open.

  Bren said quietly, standing by Jago’s side, “The dowager knew Barb had broken with me.”

  And, casting that stone into the pool, he gave Jago something of her own to worry about. She did. She cast him a frowning glance.

  “How, do you suppose?” he asked as Tano opened the door.

  Jago didn’t answer. They walked in, and servants wanted to take his coat. “Nadiin,” he said to the servants, “I’ll just pick up my work. I’m on my way down to my office.”

  “Nadi,” Jago reproved him.

  “To my office,” he said. He’d never gone against Jago. But he’d never had Jago give him an order not regarding his performance of his job.

  “No,” Jago said, “nadi. I can’t have you do this.”

  “Where am I supposed to get work done?”

  “One has this rather extensive apartment, nand’ paidhi, which I might remind the paidhi includes ample rooms and resources.”

  He was halfway stunned—was dismayed at his situation, Jago making him out an ingrate, or in the wrong, or somehow at odds with reasonable behavior. There was so damned much—so damned much to do: there were papers to write, there were positional statements to prepare….

  There were, Cenedi had warned him, serious matters before the Assassins’ Guild, in which Jago had warned him Banichi was occupied.

  There was a man dead, last night, an otherwise decent man, by all the information he had on the subject; he’d had a long morning, a trying, tedious meeting rehearsing details and eventualities that only meant more letters to write; a towering lot of letters to write and no staff he could rely on for clerical work, the paidhi never having had the need for a staff because very few people had to consult the paidhi—who had been very safe in a minor office in a minor job in the Bu-javid doing very routine things and scanning trade manifests and long-range social concerns, before a human ship decided to pull up at the human station and multiply his mail by a thousandfold and his avenues of contact by the same, with no—no—proportionate increase in his resources. He saw no way over the stack of paper, he’d gotten three new jobs during the meeting with Associational lords who were asking questions all of which he could answer, but not without being sure of the numerical felicities of the situations they described. He was feeling desperate as it was, and all of a sudden he saw his whole job circumscribed by Jago, and Cenedi, and Banichi, and Tano, and assassins and their precautions, and no means to do the things he needed to do—the mail and the messages alone were stacked up to—

  “I am very sorry,” Jago said quietly, “and I offer the paidhi all respect, but I cannot permit him in an unsecured area.”

  He’d done rather well in an unsecured area this morning, he thought. He’d gotten through the breakfast with Ilisidi with a sense of actual accomplishment, in that he thought he might have made some progress toward reason with the other side of the shadow-government that doubtless inspired his would-be assassins, a power that kept a cohesion of political forces that opposed the aiji scarcely in check—lately in open rebellion, but currently in check. Waiting. Dangerous. But, dammit, he’d drunk the dowager’s tea. They got—

  —along.

  Human interface again. The emotional trap. Cenedi’d sucked him right into it. He didn’t think atevi knew what they were doing.

  But if any did understand, Ilisidi and Tabini were the likeliest.

  “Forgive me,” he said to Jago, and patched that interface. But he’d crashed on that reflection, plunged right into that hollow spot that existed in the atevi-human relationship, the one that couldn’t ever work, and it took a second, it just took a second not to be angry, or hurt, or desperate, or to feel like a prisoner hemmed in at every turn.

  “Bren-ji?”

  Tano was standing there, too, not knowing how to read what was going on; Jago was embarrassed, he was sure, and Jago would walk over glass to protect him. Jago would even make him angry to protect him. It was daunting to have that kind of duty attached to you. It was hard, when one was frustrated and desperately afraid one couldn’t handle the job, to be worth someone like
Jago.

  “One’s been a fool,” he said, calm again. “I know I’ve resources. I apologize profoundly.”

  “I was perhaps rude,” Jago said.

  “No, Jago, just—no.”

  “All the same …”

  “Jago—it comes of liking people, that’s all.”

  He surely puzzled Tano. He puzzled Jago, too, in a different way, because Jago had met the human notion of liking as an emotion. Banichi had, too, and still protested he wasn’t, as the atevi verb had it, a dinner course.

  “Still, one feels betrayed,” Jago said. “Is that so, Bren-ji?”

  “One feels betrayed,” he said, “and knows it’s damned nonsense. Tano, nadi-ji, you’ve been through the mail. What’s the nature of it? Are there things anyone else can possibly handle?”

  “I have a summary,” Tano said. “Most are officials, most are anxious, a few angry, a few quite confused. One could, if the paidhi wished, find staff to prepare replies, nand’ paidhi. Perhaps even in the household there are such resources. I can, too, go to your office and bring back necessary materials.”

  He’d embarrassed himself thoroughly. His staff was well ahead of the game, trying their best, and he was, he realized, in pain from the tape about his ribs, from long sitting, from long speeches, impossible demands on his mental capacity, and utter exhaustion. “Tano-ji, please do. My seal, a number of message cylinders. I’m very grateful. I need a phone, a television—Jago, is it possible to have a television without offending the harmony of this historic house?”

  “One can arrange such things,” Jago said, “I’ve been advised that the paidhi may bring in whatever he needs, only so long as we protect the walls and woodwork.”

  A courteous, well-lined gilt-and-tapestry prison. One with his favorite people and every convenience. But at Malguri, equally concerned for the historic walls, they’d let him ride, and hunt, and he’d had fear of the staff, but no anxiety about where their reports of him were going, as he did here—every smiling one of the women either analyzing him, watching him, or holding secret communication, he was sure, with Damiri. And one of whom, Ilisidi had let him know this morning, was feeding information to someone who talked to Tabini’s rivals and enemies, among whom one had to count Ilisidi and her staff.