“Oh, it need not be far. I have in mind a place over by Diegi . . . a little house, at a half-day’s remove. That suffices. I have in mind a plan, if you will hear it.”
“Indeed, Uncle.”
“Assuming that your young associates will ride, assuming that you will always have an extended guard—it would make sense to establish an outlying herd, often enough associated that we shall not have warfare between the bands, and indeed, the breeding makes sense. Jeichido will lead, and I have a young male, a two-year-old, young enough to be impressed, of, if I may be immodest, a breeding that might bring something special from Babsidi’s line as well. A new herd, a new stable, a new establishment, a blending of the Tirnamardi and the Malguri lines. What do you say?”
“I do not think I have a sensible opinion.”
“Well, well, let your great-uncle give a gift or two. Your Jeichido will head that herd, you shall own it, you shall favor me with one of that breeding, and in settling a herd at the old summer house I shall pay the mayor of Diegi a favor or two. The old house will suit a small establishment, which Diegi will supply, a stablemaster, which my staff can supply—my own groom has a daughter who could well undertake that enterprise. I shall give her charge of the summer house, and we shall have something of two lines which should produce something extraordinary.”
“Uncle, it would be—it would be very fine—I am sure, but—would mani—?”
“It is perfectly appropriate to consult her. We have long said when we found a likely foundation, we should see what results—and when she proposed a daughter of Babsidi to reside here, at your convenience, I knew it was a great trust. Your own stable. Your line established of the best of both. I do not think she will be displeased.”
“Uncle.” Cajeiri hardly trusted himself to speak. It was extravagantly generous. He treasured Jeichido as the most wonderful gift he had ever had. But he had just reasoned it through that Boji was a responsibility he could no longer manage, and that he had been childish and shortsighted to have thought he could manage a parid’ja. This was on a far grander scale. He had no idea at all what was involved in taking care of a herd, but he could not pay the costs. He had no idea what things cost, or what wages were. Father took care of that. Or Father’s major domo did.
“The grass there is excellent,” Uncle was saying. “The hills moderate the winter wind. The house itself needs some repair, but a little paint, a few shingles—a modest place, but very quaint. And my groom’s daughter is an excellent person, an excellent rider . . .”
“I only worry, Uncle, that I would not know what to do.”
“That is why you have staff, nephew. The summer house will send that herd over for your use here at Tirnamardi, so there will be no question of security, staff will work out the two herds together, and we shall have that very excellent thing, two separate but compatible breeding herds, and my groom’s daughter will have a property and a responsibility to be proud of.”
“If Father approves. If mani approves . . . But, Uncle, I have never even managed for myself, let alone—”
“Staff,” Uncle said. “Staff, nephew, will manage everything. And you will see. That is the thing you have yet to learn, young gentleman. Your responsibilities lie elsewhere than managing the details. Trust your staff. A good staff will not fail you. Your responsibility lies in knowing who to trust, and when.”
That—was a scary thing. Very scary, when he thought about the meeting on the train, and how these four strangers had just—moved in. Older, more experienced, definitely the sort of persons Uncle was talking about. The sort who could turn his younger aishid into—them.
Father himself, after poor Eidi and his guard had been killed, had had trouble finding anybody of that sort until mani had moved in a handful of her own.
He understood now—what Father had lost, what Father was trying to build back. And Father had sent these four to him.
Mani and Uncle Tatiseigi were giving him a stable, not just because riding was one of his favorite things, but because mecheiti were traditional—because the bloodlines went back before there ever was an aishidi’tat. Because these things had to be kept going.
And he could not repay anybody he owed so much—except by being what they needed him to be.
That was the scariest thing of all.
7
The morning had gotten off to a quiet start in Francis House, a delivery of flowers with breakfast, and a note about a little rearrangement of an appearance before the Science Committee.
By an hour before the meeting, a second note arrived, from Shawn personally, with a change of venue from Francis House proper to the new wing, and the legislative hearing room. It seemed several committees wanted to join the session—a cascade of committees, in fact, and they were delayed until afternoon so that the head of another committee could fly in.
It turned out to be, in unprecedented joint session, the Science Committee, the Committee on Foreign Affairs, the Committee on Budget, and the Committee on Internal Affairs. Individually, the committees were familiar territory, on one side of the straits or the other—similar concerns, similar problems, similar posturing of one party with its agenda, and the other with its firm convictions that whatever was at issue was all going to go badly for them if it in any way pleased their political opponents.
In some respects it was indeed very like the continent, absent the influence of the clans, but with the silent influence of corporations and special interests.
And if they thought the paidhi-aiji had an imperfect understanding of how it all worked, they were mistaken.
Bren knew the questions. He saw, in his mind’s eye, the overlay of atevi on human faces. Shawn had said, in the second note, I hate to do this to you on your second day here, but if you think you can satisfy them, it would keep momentum going. They want this joint session, because they all want to have the first session.
Of course. What could he say, then?
The large hearing was not as intimidating as it had been, years ago, when he’d first confronted Foreign Affairs, at a table in front of a committee panel, under television cameras. He’d been younger, unused to politics, unaccustomed to the spates of formality (when the cameras were present) and a little taken aback by the moments of levity (when the cameras were not). Either could mask nasty agendas.
Now the joint committee itself seemed to have been thrown quite off pace when he arrived in court dress, and with his aishid, visibly armed, stationed in the corridor.
Did he think this show would impress them? The chair of Science was smarter than to ask that, but he overheard it in the recess: not surprising.
“I should state,” he said, when the joint committee re-convened, “that I am particularly glad to have this meeting with these key committees. My duties are being reconfigured, not by choice, but by circumstance, to render me an officer of the atevi court—still with strong ties here, but my function as a translator, and my function as an arbiter of technology are both passing into the background. I am here now at the request of the aiji, first to thank the Mospheiran people for their quick response to the emergency situation, and secondly to state that the science we will gain from Reunioner sources, and from observation of the kyo, such as we were able to do—will be equally shared.”
“We cannot have the Archive opened up wholesale,” an elderly senator objected. He knew the man, Anthony Tosco, not Heritage Party, but sympathetic to many of its aims.
He took a certain quiet pleasure in saying, “I was speaking, sir, of knowledge and science atevi possess from the recent contact, which we are offering to share with Mospheira. And certain Reunioner documents which atevi authorities have recovered during the recent difficulties on the station . . . those also, the aiji is willing to hold in trust until ownership has been settled and appropriate agreement has been made with Mospheiran interests.”
There was a moment of stark silence, whic
h at least the senator left alone, choosing that moment to summon and confer with an aide.
“Are we to have a list of these documents?” the chair asked.
“I am certain. Yes. Some are in physics, in astronomy, in materials science: Lord Geigi is cooperating with the Mospheiran stationmaster, is taking measures to locate and protect certain additional documents which were hitherto being bartered secretly—a state of affairs Stationmaster Kroger is currently investigating, and pursuing under whatever door seems necessary.”
“Why,” another senator asked, “is the Mospheiran security force not engaged in this matter?”
“They are, in all operations on the Mospheiran section of the human half of the station. But former stationmaster Tillington created a dangerous situation when he closed the section doors between Mospheirans and Reunioners, and did it so abruptly it caused injury and created great hardship. That incident created a strong Reunioner mistrust of uniformed Mospheiran security. The situation required intervention by atevi and by ship personnel to alleviate the shortages in that area and restore order, a fact not lost on the Reunioners. To date, Reunioners have wished to deal, inside their own sections, with a combination of ship security, atevi, and their own appointed security personnel, though Stationmaster Kroger is making progress in winning back their trust. That is the current situation as I have it.
“But as to your question, sir, atevi acquired some of these sensitive materials on request of a Reunioner who had rescued a store of them. Several other Reunioners, since my departure from the station, have wished atevi to take other materials in safe-keeping, on example of the first instance. We believe others may come forward, if that works well for the first.”
“Mr. Cameron,” burst forth from several at once, a determined gaveling from the chairman, and a small debate between chairman and committee members with competing and politically positioned questions about the existence of the documents, the location of the documents, and the rumor that three corporations on the station had already laid hands on them.
Bren sipped at a glass of water while that went on. The chairman banged the gavel in final decision and framed his own question, as to what documents were being bartered.
“I understand some materials involved materials science and Asgard Corporation,” Bren said, “but as to ownership and propriety, the Mospheiran stationmaster has claimed jurisdiction, since the case involves Mospheiran law and Mospheiran citizens, which the aiji freely accepts, and the aiji does not wish to know anything about the Asgard case but the outcome. Though Lord Geigi is still receiving some applications for aid and protection, he is now referring them to Stationmaster Kroger. The aiji is keenly interested in the protection of the physical documents, and in protection of valuable knowledge. Some of this information, let me stress to the committee, exists not in written documents, but in the memory and technical expertise of certain Reunioners, people in dire circumstances, lately in physical danger, and still existing in shortages and poor conditions—eighteen people to a bathroom, people with children living in what were original station construction barracks, with no furniture but a bed, and water being provided in buckets.”
That roused a little stir. And another application of the gavel.
“The question is regarding the safety of the documents.”
“Buckets, sir. Those are the conditions in which the technicians and science workers who escaped Reunion with their knowledge have lived for the last year, during which time the only planning for their future consisted in sending them to build a mining station at Maudit—a plan that had no source of supply, and that clearly violated the spirit of the station’s founding treaty.”
Gavel. “Mr. Cameron,—”
“The aiji is entirely sensible of the reason for the delay in remedying the population imbalance, and he appreciates the aid of the Mospheiran people in the recent troubles in the aishidi’tat. He will wish me to say that he entirely understands the constraints, including medical issues, that have delayed the resolution of this situation, and that he will cooperate with the Mospheiran people in addressing the matter as soon as possible. He will postpone any increase in the atevi population to current human levels, which would ordinarily mean five thousand atevi going to the station, so long as—”
Gavel, as objections burst forth.
“—so long as there is progress toward reducing the human population of the station by five thousand individuals . . . counting children. And so long as the agreements hold regarding sharing new technological developments, where information comes first to human authorities. In effect the paidhi’s office will no longer arbitrate the surrender of technology from the Archive to the aishidi’tat. That part of my office is done.” He overrode the murmur. “The aiji looks forward to a new era of cooperation, wherein Mospheirans and atevi manage their separate territories in safety and cordiality, neither disturbing the ways and traditions which make us what we are. The world was changing even before the kyo’s intervention. With the return of the ship and the technological changes that came on us with the space program, atevi as well as Mospheira adjusted to a new reality. Our recent experience with the kyo has given us a new awareness of our place within the universe and shown us all, kyo as well, what intelligent species should do on meeting—beginning with respect and a willingness to negotiate . . .”
A murmur arose, and drew another rapid-fire gaveling.
“The kyo are out there, ladies and gentlemen, but they are not our enemies, nor wish to be. They have satisfied themselves that we are not a threat—and they are this moment departing the solar system.
“Our agreement with the kyo is extremely simple. They are, in effect, willing to shield us from their ongoing conflict so long as we do not cross into their territory. We are free to explore all other directions of a sphere as wide as the heavens, but in that narrow path, we are not to set foot until they are done with their war, and until they contact us to say so. If they never contact us again, that is also their prerogative, but another contact is likely. When it may come, there is no predicting.”
He finished. There was silence. Lengthy silence, in which scarcely a hand moved.
He had said it. He had delivered the whole message in one packet—ex temp, and not precisely as he would have planned it, but he had had to operate that way far more often than he ever liked, wedging information into minds that really didn’t want it—but on which their survival hinged.
“Atevi took it on themselves to make this agreement.” That was the chairman of Internal Affairs. Depend on it. That was exactly the argument he expected, from the individual he expected to make it.
He said, with particular satisfaction. “Atevi negotiators were the kyo’s specific request—for a reason. The kyo’s chief negotiator was held prisoner for six years in a glass cage at Reunion. He was rescued by atevi, with whom he developed a good relationship—and consequently he chose to approach this world in a mood of gratitude, not revenge. He was, during this visit, able to meet certain Reunioners who helped him purge that unpleasant memory, but he chose to do all his face-to-face negotiations with atevi and in the Ragi language. We have established that kyo weapons are quite powerful—more so than anything we have. Nothing forced them to come here to make this agreement. They acknowledge a massive error in their attack on Reunion—a mistake on the scale of a war we do not want to see. They deeply regret that error. They wish to establish a firm border with their peaceful neighbors and keep us out of their conflict, so as not to have another Reunion. They wish us well, human and atevi alike, and hope that the Reunioners may recover from that traumatic event—that humans here may find a way to heal the wound they dealt the Reunioners, as they never could. The kyo exit wiser than they were, and more careful. We exit wiser, all of us, and with a certain pride in being able to deal with each other, on this planet, in ways that could teach the kyo something. They respect us for the mutually beneficial civilization
we have built here. I think we have a right to be proud.”
“We exist—we have always existed—under atevi domination.”
The gavel came down.
“Mr. Woodenhouse.”
“We have atevi in possession of important documents, negotiating with these outsiders, negotiating with the aliens, continuing to make private agreements in the assumption they are the authority. What part have they given us in all this arranging of our future?”
He wasn’t remotely interested in debating the opposition, whose rhetoric went for charged words and aimed to stir up hate. He had known there was one Heritage Party seat on the Committee for Internal Affairs and he had opted for a joint session purely to have State chairing the meeting, by precedence of committees. He had expected to hear from the gentleman from Hamptonsville, white-haired, wiry, and prone to outshout any reasoned debate, and he had walked into this session absolutely ready for war.
Charged words? He owned a few.
And rather than let his own blood pressure get up, he waited for the gavel to establish silence from Mr. Woodenhouse, then said, with the full power of the microphone, low and close, “This the kind of argument that pre-Landing administration used, that humans and atevi could never work together. That administration’s overuse of power, its police state tactics, in a situation it could not manage, drove our Mospheiran ancestors to risk death and seek an accommodation with the atevi.” Woodenhouse shouted his indignation, interspersed with pounding of the chairman’s gavel. The racket might affect those nearest, but the microphone was an insurmountable advantage: it fed to the overhead sound system, magnifying even a reasoning, controlled tone to thunder, when he put an impassioned push behind it.
“The administrative mindset of human superiority and no negotiation with aliens was a minority attitude on the pre-Landing station, and it remains a minority attitude now, because Mospheirans willing to risk encounters in an appropriate way remain in the majority. Our ancestors were willing to contact the atevi, and they were open to learning how to do it in a way atevi could accept. Fortunately. Because humans and atevi learned. In the encounter with the kyo, considering the situation, we would have been mad to consider refusing contact.”
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