Convergence

by C. J. Cherryh

  “We cannot,” Crockett said, “in the process, destroy the University.”

  “I am in absolute agreement with you, sir. It is vitally important. The University must, for one of its functions, keep up a constant exchange of information with the ship and the station, and it must, in a modern context, prepare other paidhiin, or it ceases to perform a function which, in past and present, has protected Mospheira. We need its records, we need its expertise. We desperately need Linguistics willing and able to go on preparing paidhiin beyond my lifetime, and for situations we have never met. We need one now ready to deal with the kyo.”

  “State concurs with the paidhi,” Caputo said somberly.

  “Defense concurs.”

  That was major.

  “It means money,” Economics said.

  “More science,” Science said, “means more money.”

  “Debatable,” Interior said.

  “I recall,” Shawn said quietly, the agreed-upon safe exit, “that Mr. Cameron has an appointment that will call him away at this point. But he has certainly given us a great deal to consider.”

  “May Mr. Cameron delay long enough,” Justice said, and one knew where this was going, “to give us his opinion on the Asgard matter?”

  “I can give opinion, sir, that it would not be in Mospheira’s program’s best interest to jeopardize a major aerospace company for the sake of one officer’s actions. Stationmaster Kroger is attempting to broker a deal that relies on precedent, and she believes she is on the verge of a solution.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Cameron.” Justice looked satisfied with that.

  And it was a good time for an exit.

  “Thank you, sir. Mr. President.” Bren rose. Bowed, once to the cabinet, once, slightly more deeply, to Shawn. And headed for the door.

  Out. Clear. He’d mortally dreaded that one. They had not asked a single question about the Reunioner landing . . . possibly Shawn had asked them to hold that one, which was bound to become an issue, but not one that needed to interfere with the initial landing—the several children who, without support from the University, were going to have to rely heavily on State to order elements of the University to provide services . . .

  That, or Tabini was very likely to take them into his hands, which was not what Tabini wanted. Not in the least.

  It was tomorrow’s problem. Tomorrow’s issue. Mospheira understood the children landing. Mospheira would understand the children’s parents landing. Mospheira had not liked the idea of the children landing on the mainland, and it would welcome them . . . adopt them, one hoped. Learn their story and get an understanding, through them, that the Reunioners were not the hated administrators of the old station.

  Just—God, imminent as the first landing now was—the rest seemed a very distant hope.

  He was very glad to be back with his aishid, in the hall—people whose minds he knew, whose objectives he knew top to bottom, with no complications.

  He’d had his briefing from Shawn before he’d gone in. He’d suspected Crockett was under pressure from the University, and he knew where in the University that pressure came from, the private kingdom of Linguistics, who was not happy with the current paidhi, no.

  “It went fairly well,” he said to his aishid as they walked toward the stairs. “And they did not ask questions into the station business, except about the Asgard matter. Not even about Tillington, for which I am also grateful. We are free, we are at liberty to go back to the room, where for several blessed hours I shall sit and think of as little as possible. We shall send to the kitchens, we shall have two bottles of wine, and we shall all eat together. Is this acceptable?”

  “Deep-fried fish,” Tano said cheerfully. They had had that Mospheiran dish twice in their time here.

  “I actually know how to cook that,” Bren said. “My mother used to do it. Actually Toby knows how.” His mind sped off to Toby and Barb, out at sea, out of touch, and hoping they were resting safely. They had to be—given two navy ships riding their horizon.

  He so wished he were there.

  “Nandi,” Algini said quietly. “Narani reports a call from Jase. The kyo ship left the system about an hour ago.”

  He stopped when he heard that.

  He thought of a corridor aboard that ship, in dimmer light and warmer, moister air. Prakuyo an Tep. And Guy Cullen, whose name only a handful of atevi and three other humans knew—was on his own voyage. Things he’d set in motion were launched now, beyond recovery, for good or for ill, things that might have effects wider than he could possibly imagine.

  Or come to nothing.

  Not within his power to change, now. There would have been an effect, for good or for ill, whatever he did.

  And he couldn’t stand in this hallway looking perturbed. He didn’t, he hoped. Experience in the atevi court had taught him to keep his face tranquil, and he recovered with a slight shrug and continued onto the steps with his aishid.

  “One hears,” he said. “One wishes them all a long life and a good outcome.”

  9

  There was, indeed, to be no riding today.

  And the white cloth on the gate was an issue that had had discussion, with Uncle Tatiseigi as well as the senior Guild.

  “If we do not signal,” Uncle said, “we shall possibly cause a misunderstanding with people who might become allies. If we do place such a signal, and they make a hostile move, we can deal with that, and we shall know the character of this would-be heir of Ajuri.”

  Everybody thought that made sense. Cajeiri thought so, but it worried him that somebody was going to have to go out to the gate, which was exposed to the road, and place that signal.

  And they had to get messages to the Guild and to Father and to Taiben, which would have to get contact with Antaro’s and Jegari’s family, which they said had moved down to the Sidonin train station, at forest edge, because of the summer heat.

  Which was exactly where Nomari, who was Transportation, said he had come from.

  And they also had to tell Taiben that their visitor said he and his associates had not disturbed their border with Ajuri—which left Ajuri itself as a possible problem.

  So before noon one of Uncle Tatiseigi’s aishid, dressed in country clothes, like a groom, mounted up on the herd-leader and took the herd on an exercise lap of the grounds. Cajeiri watched from the windows of the breakfast room as they came along the side of the yard—on their way to the gate.

  Nobody would want to be on the grounds afoot with the herd abroad, and one whiff of a foreign scent, even hours old, would have the herd on the alert. No ambush could conceal itself at the gate without the herd knowing, and Uncle’s bodyguard was not unarmed.

  Still, everybody was relieved when that man was back safely, and when grooms had gotten the herd settled again in the stables.

  Uncle had had, meanwhile, a talk with staff in the lower hall, saying that while they had wanted to keep the news services generally informed, any trips of staff to town were canceled. It would not be good to lie to the news services, but it would not be helpful to have the whole country involved in the situation, either.

  “We will all benefit,” Uncle said, “if we can resolve this incident quietly, but likewise there will be adjustments until we have a resolution. Sio and Dylani, you had an excursion planned.”

  “For supplies, nandi,” a man said, from midway in the gathering. “And fresh vegetables.”

  “We shall postpone that a few days,” Uncle said, “by which time it will either be fully clear that we have a difficulty or we shall be relatively certain we do not.”

  There was a little murmuring about it, a suggestion they might ask the grocer to deliver, but Uncle said no, that if there were trouble, they should not be inviting the grocer’s employees into it.

  Right now messages were flying back and forth. Uncle was not enthusiastic about phones
, for himself, but he insisted on hearing every scrap of information that came in. Guild was talking to Headquarters in their own way, and maybe to Guild in the townships and over on Kadagidi land, and they reported what they had been able to learn, which was detail from Transportation, which gave Nomari’s previous assignments and the fact that he was currently on a seven-day leave from the Shejidan repair station.

  Then Father called, himself, to talk to Uncle and Uncle definitely accepted that phone call. They were by then in the sitting room, which was the place where everybody came to report and exchange information, and Cajeiri sat quietly in an adjacent chair, listening as Uncle told Father about Nomari, and gave the names Nomari had given, with some discussion of which Cajeiri could only hear one side. Then Uncle assured Father they were safe, and that, yes, he had heard the nomination was vetoed, and yes, they were well set and supplied.

  Then Uncle passed the phone to Cajeiri. Cajeiri had hardly ever in his life had a phone call, even a borrowed one.

  “Yes, honored Father?” he began it.

  “How are you getting along with your bodyguard? Are you listening to them? Are you comfortable with them?”

  “Yes, honored Father. I truly am. So is my aishid. So is everybody. And I am not being a fool.”

  “I would trust not,” Father said. “Riding can wait. Do you hear?”

  “Yes, honored Father. I do. Uncle says so, too, and I understand.”

  “Good. Good. Take care. Listen to your bodyguards.”

  “Yes,” he said, and gave the phone back to Uncle, who handed it to his major domo, who unplugged it and took it away.

  “Your great-grandmother is aware,” Uncle said, “and is threatening to fly back to the city and take the train from there, but we are all trying to dissuade her, since this problem does seem to involve the train station, and it would only draw attention, possibly from some random individuals, only to complicate the situation. We also have an advisement from Lord Geigi that he is observing an uncommon amount of activity of vehicles and mecheiti around Ajiden. Can he look down see such things?”

  It was something, when one had to say to Great-uncle, “Yes, Uncle. I think he can. They use very strong lenses.”

  “One is tempted to draw the curtains,” Uncle said uneasily.

  “They do not observe people, generally, Uncle. They have to set up to see a specific place. One asked, once. It is fairly complicated to do, and they do it only for business.”

  “Well, well, this modern notion complicates matters. And makes them simpler. So our neighbors are stirring about. One would have thought news that your father has vetoed the nomination would have settled them somewhat. Perhaps they have caught wind of our visitor’s people, whoever they are.”

  “We are safe where we are, surely.”

  “We certainly should be. If our signal at the gate does not bring down attack, then we may simply sit snug and hope not to involve the news, though our postponing our ordinary grocery trip may bring gossip on its own—and deprive us of what news our people ordinarily pick up on such trips. It is remarkable that we have had no calls from the townships—so they have spotted nothing conspicuously questionable. Word of the situation has gone to Taiben, and they are doubtless watching both within Taiben and the Sidonin train station. Still there is no report. It does seem that if our visitor has asked us to put a signal at the gate, there will be someone out there in a position to see it, so are we to believe that approach will now be made at the gate, and not through our abused western hedge? We have advised the Guild unit keeping watch over Kadagidi that our visitor used the gap in the hedge, but truthfully, our intruder only skirted the very edge of their land, so one cannot fault them. They are on the alert for anything crossing their area. My aishid has taken measures at that gap, so we shall not, at least, be surprised.”

  The very size of the grounds made it difficult to watch all the approaches, but likewise that great open expanse posed a problem to enemies. That was the notion that had defended Tirnamardi back in the days of cannon, and it still worked, but now there were modern safeguards like a camera at the gate, which they hoped might catch anyone taking interest in the signal set there; and there were an array of perimeter alarms which could be set, except wildlife was always setting them off and Guild had any number of ways to get past them. So the small alarms were not that reliable, if it was someone trained in the Guild, who were the ones most to fear.

  Guild Headquarters and everybody proper was on their side. But Haniri had said it: the old man in the Guild, Shishogi, had ruled the Office of Assignments there for a long, long time, and while they had taken out the Shadow Guild wherever they had found it, they were never sure they had gotten every last hidden problem—and if there was any place where Shishogi’s people might still be holding out, Ajuri itself was high on the list. Individual Guild might retire, but they never, ever resigned, because there was nothing but death that could take away all they knew, and the skills they had—so if a person tried to leave field work, they either took a job at a desk inside the Guild, or remained on call and available for the rest of their lives. If they went rogue, the whole Guild hunted them down.

  The problem was—Shishogi had kept only paper records in his office, and he had blown up his office around him, so that the records that had not burned had literally to be pieced together, so they might have missed some placements that they would want to know about.

  Ajuri land was just a good ride across the hunting range outside the gate, and Atageini and Ajuri shared that range, a rolling expanse of grass and small brush, occasional copses of trees, but nothing like the deep forest that was Taiben . . . which had poached that hunting land for generations, and now itself had an agreement with Atageini to use it—but none yet with Ajuri.

  Politics, politics. Dull, until one looked out the second-story windows toward the hedges and wondered what was going on out there on the part of one’s mother’s own family.

  “We are watching the gate,” Veijico said, we being the Guild. “And the perimeter system is now on. We may have false alarms. Fruit is ripening, and a variety of orchard pests will set it off now and again.”

  “Taiben is moving other groups in to watch Sidonin station,” Jegari said, “and our parents are advised of the situation. They are ready to move back to their camp near the gate, but they are trying to observe without confronting our intruder’s people—assuming they are somewhere within view of the gate. Guild occupying the Kadagidi estate are likewise on alert.”

  “Do you think the news is aware?” he asked.

  “Likely they will be watching.” The law forbade the news from giving any notice of Guild maneuvers. They could only report what had happened once a licensed action ended, and they could not intrude into the area of dispute unless the incident broke around them.

  But once the news started looking interested, it was sure the townships would.

  And if that piece of white cloth was Nomari’s signal to his associates that he was in Tirnamardi and safe, it was meant to be seen by somebody on the road—so if they were out there, they were likely trying to look like ordinary people on business or holiday, or any reason one could imagine for somebody to be hiking a road in the middle of a vast grassland, north of a very large woods and a train station that almost nobody stopped at. The two estates, Atageini and Kadagidi, formed a sort of island, restricted land almost back to back, in the heart of the region’s largest hunting ranges, and Sidonin, one of the oldest train stations that still existed, and overgrown by forest, nowadays served just Uncle’s estate and the Kadagidi estate, but the public stations northward, in the townships that sat on the river, and east and west of those, were busy with freight and ordinary passengers, so it seemed likely anybody could slip in there, among the crowds.

  He imagined so, at least. He imagined all sorts of problems just walking down the platforms, in ordinary clothes, carrying tools or goods o
r such, looking just like anybody. It was very hard even for Guild to tell that a certain person was Ajuri, just that he was headed somewhere peacefully, and catching a bus for, say, Diegi, after which it was possible to walk down to Tirnamardi’s hedges, even with Geigi watching from the heavens and news people watching everything in Diegi. Regular people were entitled to do that, and sometimes regular people did things just on a whim, so one could not say anybody walking along the road was a problem. Regular people routinely went places and did things they thought of, unless there definitely was a problem in the area.

  His bodyguard would never let him put on town clothes and go for a walk in Shejidan. Or in Diegi. Or wherever. He thought he should, sometime, do that, so he should have some better idea what it was possible to do out there, or what people actually did do.

  Leave Guild business to the Guild, Father would say.

  But Father himself had taken the field in the south, when they had fought the Shadow Guild. Father and Mother both had hidden out in this very district, sleeping in hedges and getting food somehow.

  And he had never even walked a regular street in Shejidan.

  Could he live the way his father had? Could he even walk up the road to Diegi and even find food or a cup of tea? He knew it cost money. But he had never even held a handful of coins.

  His father, right now, could say a handful of words and give Ajuri another lord, just like that. But was it the right lord for people who had trades and businesses and sold tea in shops?