Convergence

by C. J. Cherryh

  As for the specific Reunioner involved in the Asgard case, that was one Karl Andressen, father of Bjorn Andressen, the fourth youngster of Cajeiri’s acquaintance. Cajeiri hadn’t entirely dismissed Bjorn from his concerns, and by Cajeiri’s intent, Bjorn had come under Tabini’s protection, right along with the three youngsters who’d gained court status. Bjorn’s parents wanted him to have what they’d traded secrets to get. And that was their choice, to keep him apart. And Bjorn’s choice, to stay with them. But that could change.

  “So we may have the Tillington matter handled,” Tom said. “Right along with Asgard.”

  “As for the robot landers,” Ben said, setting up his briefcase, and taking out a set of papers. “This is the schedule of production we’d like, if we can get Lord Geigi to cooperate. We just need a translation for Geigi, to be precise.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Once we have an actual schedule,” Ben said, “Tom can present it to the legislature, and we can move on it. The fact atevi land is going to be the drop zone raised a few eyebrows in preliminary discussion, but when we mentioned the degree of imprecision in the drop zones, there was a quick shift in opinion. We don’t have that much flat land that isn’t lived on.”

  “I’ll get you a translation, I’ll talk to Lord Geigi, and get a firm proposal with dates before I clear the island,” Bren said.

  “Fifty down per shuttle?”

  “We could manage more, but fifty is a reasonable load—at the assimilation end of things as well.”

  “A hundred shuttle landings.”

  “Five shuttles, six with yours . . . one landing to start, and a few months to work out the human problems with the first-down. Then fifty come down. If that works, maybe a hundred in the next cycle. At every stage—we’ll have to make adjustments.”

  “On University grounds. You want the University to work with those three kids. And then the rest.”

  “In very different ways. The three kids, first-down, need private tutoring, leading to Linguistics, ultimately to the Foreign Office—my track. And special protection. I’m not saying there’s any resentment aimed at them. But as politics evolve—or some random lunatic gets a notion—they have to be protected. Their entire lives—they have to be protected.”

  “I’ve got an appointment with the University President to talk about that,” Tom said. “I’m assuming funds will be there. They’re around ten years of age, right?”

  “About that, with an education pretty well as a caretaking operation, what I hear, to keep the kids out of the hazard areas. But they’re bright. And what they need to know, they can learn. They speak and understand Ragi, court and a little colloquial. We don’t give a damn about the academic scores. They need to learn Mospheiran history, Mospheiran customs, math, science, and anything else they want.”

  “You’re talking about tutoring. Special materials, special staff. I imagine special everything for that initial group. Not to mention the constant security.”

  “The aiji will fund their program. In a sense, he’s already chosen the next paidhiin. He wants them to represent Mospheira to him and to his heir . . . always presupposing that’s what they choose for themselves. But there’s every indication that’s what they will want. The President supports the plan, and logically it should come under Linguistics, which already has close ties with the State Department, but it might require a new entity handling it, should Linguistics prove intractable. The question remains whether Mospheira will view these three, if they become paidhiin, as representing Mospheira . . . or Reunion. I hope by the time these youngsters stand on their own—that will not be an issue, because I do not foresee Tabini-aiji being willing to make that distinction. I think it very valuable for Mospheira to feel it has a traditional Mospheiran representation, and I think it valuable for those kids to feel a strong indebtedness and grounding on this side of the strait. In the whole process, they need their parents, such as they have. Bottom line, the aiji wants them to have their parents, and wants them to grow up human, to represent Mospheira to him and to his heir, which I think is a very good decision.”

  “Thank you for that argument,” Tom said. “I’ll use it.”

  “There’s an apartment building I’m thinking off—Heyden Court, they used to call it—it was a bequest to the University with the grounds and garden. They’ve never been able to convert it to dorms, because of the restrictions on the will, as I understand it. They’ve used it as storage, they’ve used it as a display hall for the Art Department, they’ve used the upper floor as a guest house. The sports field next to it—Heyden Field—is also part of University grounds, but they can’t build a stadium, and best I can figure it’s been a problem to them for fifty years. I’ve stayed there, on occasion, and it was nice, old-fashioned, full of history. Move the art to another building, if the program has to build them one, and it could take the kids and families next week. With resident security. And offices for the staff that’s going to set up to work with the other refugees as they arrive.”

  “What is your timetable?”

  “Next shuttle flight, or the one after, for the kids and parents.”

  “Fast,” Tom said.

  “There’s something to be said for not shocking people with our speed, but there’s also something to be said for not letting opposition get organized. I’m not set on Heyden. Ames Complex, which is right next to campus, could be ideal if they closed it down before next trimester and moved the students out, but it’s larger than we need now. Mospheiran security may have their own notions. I’m only interested in the quality of security and the notion of a comfortable residence, ideally with a garden. The parents have never seen a tree. Just the freedom to walk in a natural environment, safely, would be good for them. The Heyden gardens would be ideal.”

  “I’ll talk to the University,” Ben said.

  “I’d like to get a second building, ultimately,” Bren said, “for others, when they come. Teach people the basics, let them form community, move them out together to settle here and there around the country in small groups, no more than ten families per community, with continued oversight. It’s not a case of dumping them down here in one cohesive mass and letting them struggle. We do what we can to socialize them as Mospheiran. Find them jobs, though there’s a whole generation in which certifications and licenses and anything like formal education is a little iffy. Our license-loving Mospheiran authorities are going to have to deal creatively and swallow their objections.”

  “Culture shock on both sides,” Ben said.

  “Absolutely. Medical care. Psychological support. Psychiatric care in some instances. But we can do this. Five thousand people are a huge matter, on the station side of the operation, but in the general population—very minor. We want them to blend in. But we can’t let them get lost, in the bad sense, either.”

  “It’ll still change us,” Ben said.

  “Both populations are from islands,” Bren said, “one stone, one steel. We have that in common. I have every confidence in you two. You can set this up. You’ve got Kate Shugart. You’ve got Gin, upstairs. I’m also bringing in Sandra Johnson—my secretary, from back when I had an office. At least I hope to have her. She’d be an on-site counselor and instructor in basic living.”

  Tom sat, chin against chest, arms folded. “I have a few contacts in mind. If Ben can’t liberate Heyden Court, I know the current Heyden executor from another deal. I think it could be finagled. Turning Heyden Court into a Linguistics center, so long as the gardens are preserved—that might have real appeal, if it comes with finance.”

  “Next shuttle cycle?” Ben said. “Give us a few more weeks. Give us the next Mospheiran shuttle cycle, and we can do this.”

  Four weeks? “I’ll take it,” Bren said.

  He’d like to be on site for the children’s landing, he’d like to escort them over the same way he’d come, a leisurely trip on the boat
, a chance to adjust.

  But if Tom and Ben, Kate and Sandra were on the case, speaking ship as readily as Mosphei’, and taking care of the kids and their families?

  He’d trust that. He’d trust that as the best situation he could arrange on the island.

  13

  It was another conference in Uncle’s sitting room. Cajeiri was there, not just to listen, and Uncle was there, in his afternoon coat, and everybody else was in Guild black, with sidearms, and being very careful of the beautiful gilt furniture.

  Everything going on here had sent disturbance all the way to the Guild in Shejidan, all the way to mani out in Malguri, and certainly to Father’s office and probably, by now, to Mother—who might want him home. But going down to Sidonin, to the train station in the woods, was a real risk. So was, even more so, going up to the township to that train station. There was nothing Ajuri could muster that was going to threaten Tirnamardi, inside its hedges. So he was safer staying where he was.

  More than that, he was what the Guild called a principal in what was going on—which was to say, he was involved as much as Uncle was, and he had an opinion, he was the main person their visitor wanted to talk to—

  It was the second time in not very long that his opinion had mattered, and all he could hear at the back of his mind was mani cautioning him not to be forward, that his having an opinion might be exciting for him, but not necessarily to the room at large. He did not want to embarrass himself, or annoy Uncle.

  Still—he was part of deliberations. And he was forming his own opinion about Nomari, slowly, as mani counseled. On one side of it was the chance Nomari was up to no good, and on the other was the chance that he was telling mostly the truth.

  On the side of the first opinion was the simple fact that Ajuri in general had been up to no good for quite a long time.

  On the other side was the fact his own mother was Ajuri, and she had done her best all her life to navigate between Ajuri and Atageini and to do right in spite of what was going on.

  On the side of the first opinion was the possibility that Nomari was no different than Shishogi, up to the worst sort of mischief, trying to launch another War of the Landing.

  So there was some possibility that Nomari had done what Mother had, and simply ricocheted from one place to another, trying to keep out of trouble until Shishogi was dead and he was in a position to do something.

  It would be very nice to believe all that Nomari said, that there was a whole association of Ajuri, mostly young people who had gone into the guilds for a refuge . . . but there was also the possibility the person who had carefully placed his people in key spots in the Assassins’ Guild had just as carefully arranged spots for people in other guilds.

  If there was a network of honest people who despised Shishogi—and they had the possibility of Nomari telling the truth, and being such a person—then Nomari was somebody they needed to protect—somebody Uncle needed, because of being Ajuri’s close neighbor. He was somebody Father needed, not just because Ajuri was an ancient and important clan—but because of all the years that Shishogi had been sitting in that little office in the Assassins’ Guild trying to corrupt that Guild, and maybe placing people into other guilds, like Transportation and Treasurers, Merchants and Messengers, and everything?

  If there was a way to unravel all of that harm—Ajuri might know names, might know places. Ajuri might remember.

  If—and it was an if worth considering—Nomari might be Shadow Guild himself.

  If he were, surely he would seem—more wicked.

  Would he not?

  He had told lies in his life. When he was younger and up to no good he had thought himself quite good at tricking people, and he had made up some very good lies. But to come into a place and make up absolutely everything with all those credible names of people with man’chi that fitted together like puzzle-pieces, that would not be so easy, if it were a lie.

  He wished mani were here. He was sure mani could tell. Mani could look at somebody and know things.

  But he saw what the Guild had been doing, repeating the same question in different ways, and getting names, and calling people. He listened to what they reported, and in every case, there was such an individual, and they all happened to be on emergency leave with sick relatives or just on personal leave, and they all had turned in a request for that leave on the same day, which was the day after Uncle had nominated a lord for Ajuri.

  That showed, not surprisingly, that Uncle’s nomination had started something in motion. All these people were Ajuri, they were in different guilds, and they all were connected to Nomari.

  Rieni said, too, that the Assassins were investigating their own records, but that they were relatively sure they could account for the whereabouts of all units.

  Then a servant came in and handed Uncle a note. Uncle read it with no change of expression, then passed it to his Guild senior, who passed it to Rieni, who then passed it to Antaro. Cajeiri wondered just what, and why.

  He also saw hand-signs pass, and the one that passed from Antaro to Jegari said, just, Father.

  His father? Was Father doing something? Sending someone?

  But a second hand-sign said trouble and from the north and west.

  Then he realized there was one other father involved in the current situation: Antaro and Jegari’s father.

  North and west . . . of Taiben.

  That was Ajuri.

  14

  Office of the Chairman

  Department of Linguistics

  University of Mospheira

  1 University Street

  Port Jackson SE

  Dear Mr. Cameron:

  You are requested and required by the terms of your office to report and give account. A hearing will be held in a special meeting of the Committee on Linguistics on the 15th, at 1300 hours promptly, in room 33 of Obert Hall. Please bring a copy of your written documents and materials.

  Sincerely,

  Albert Salin

  Secretary to the Chair

  It was the same wording as he’d gotten the last time he’d been in trouble with the Committee.

  A letter from the chairman’s secretary. Nice.

  “Will there be a reply, nandi?” Narani had brought the letter, couriered in. “One understands the courier did not wait.”

  “Well, I shall request a courier from Francis House,” Bren said. “I am, as of about a year ago, not receiving pay from the Department. One rather thought they considered me no longer under their supervision. But I shall answer them. They want my attendance at a disciplinary hearing—so to say.”

  “Is this worrisome, nandi?”

  “As a response to my message to them, it is frustrating.”

  He took Francis House stationery. The executive secretary wrote. The executive secretary was due the reply.

  Bren Cameron

  The Bujavid

  Shejidan

  Currently to be reached in care of: The Francis House, Port Jackson.

  Dear Mr. Salin:

  I regret to decline your invitation to address the Committee on the 15th, at 1300 hours, as I am otherwise engaged at that hour. I have not yet had time to prepare the materials which I mentioned in my last communication, but I shall find that time in the near future. Please convey my regrets to the Chairman.

  Sincerely,

  Bren Cameron,

  Paidhi-aiji

  That . . . was not going to sit well with certain people . . . certain people, most of whom would be on the Committee. There had been a time he would have worried. And he had a strong feeling that Wilson would be there.

  He had some faith in his predecessor’s professionalism, that Wilson still maintained his loyalty to principles—the breach of which Wilson so decried in him. In the rules of Wilson’s day, Wilson had never spoken the language. He’d communicated with the aiji
in he served only in written memos, and over the decades of his service had become a very strange, withdrawn man. One could respect Wilson’s steadfastness, one could feel sorry for what he’d been through—but Wilson had tried, early on, to get him dismissed from office, had tried to alert the State Department to his dealings with Tabini, and gone fairly well off the rails when the ship-folk had decided to deal with atevi rather than Mospheirans, with one Bren Cameron deeply involved in the entire process.

  That had been the last straw, with Wilson. The Heritage Party had published no few of Wilson’s observations, and Wilson had been a darling of the Heritage faction during their brief time in power.

  Since the Heritage Party’s decline, Wilson had been much more on the sidelines, and once Bren had come back from deep space with the Reunioners in tow, he honestly wasn’t too sure what Wilson thought—a rare situation in prior years.

  But there was a reason he’d set up his own staff to deal with the first-down Reunioners, including the children, with Kate Shugart and Sandra Johnson, and set Tom to pull strings with the University Administration, and to be sure there was no nonsense from Linguistics, which was probably highly upset that he had not consulted regarding the kyo approach, and doubly upset about his suggestions to the Cabinet regarding changes in the Department.

  Wilson would likely take it all personally. Which was probably justified. Were Wilson not involved, he might well have gone directly to the Department with certain of his requests, but it was impossible to deal with the man. There was no denying Wilson was absolutely expert in some aspects of classical Ragi. As a scholar, he was brilliant, producing a grammar that was absolutely invaluable for courtly nuance, including the ins and outs of numerology. Wilson had done a lot of reading, and made a good many useful additions to the dictionary and the grammar.