Emergence

by C. J. Cherryh

  “I trust you will join me in thanking our allies across the straits, who will be providing free transport for much of the effort, and who were likewise engaged at highest official levels in arranging the kyo treaty. Special gratitude to the sitting paidhi, Mr. Bren Cameron, and to various entities who have cooperated to make this good outcome possible. I particularly thank Mr. Aslund for appearing personally on short notice and I profoundly thank him for his patriotic support. Good night and a peaceful rest.”

  Well, that was a fancy bit of political footwork. Asgard Corporation had closed ranks, on world and above, and the whole Aslund family was now officially aboard, setting a stamp of approval on Gin’s actions, with the legal cases settled. The Heritage people right now had to be in a state of shock. The upper echelons of the party were, in a one-minute address, given no choice but fall in or fall out. The rank and file had the same choice: follow the leadership to a rational acceptance of things lately denounced as a conspiracy—or try to reorganize an opposition without the party names that were familiar to everyone, because one could bet the politicians would follow the Aslund money.

  The fringe—well, the fringe would stay the course. There was no persuading them. Everything was all a lie and aliens were secretly running the government by mind-control.

  “That was interesting,” he said to his aishid. “The elderly man was one of the two heads of Asgard, siding with the Presidenta, calling Gin-aiji a commendable and wise official, and promising prosperity to all, with support of the landing of the refugees and an implied condemnation of Tillington.”

  “The Heritage folk will be startled,” Banichi said.

  “To say the very least.”

  “Startled people,” Jago said, “can do very stupid things.”

  17

  It was almost full dark, and time for supper. They had come down to the great hall, to the sitting area, not for supper, but to be closer to the security station in the lower hall. Mother had come down with her guard, and Beha had brought Seimei, who looked about her at the lights, and wrinkled her nose disapprovingly at the echoes. Great-uncle had come down, too, insisting to put on an evening coat, but he had his wounded arm tucked inside it.

  And Uncle had walked down the huge stairs. Staff had tried to get him to ride the servants’ lift, which was a slow and chancy-feeling thing back in the servants’ hall. It had a very old motor, it was noisy: staff used it to get laundry and furniture and such things up and down. No, Uncle would have none of that. He came down the steps with his aishid and two servants hovering about him for fear he would fall, and occasionally taking his one useful hand off the rail to wave off his major domo.

  “Do not notice,” Mother said, with her back to the situation. “He will not wish to be seen in difficulty.”

  That was probably true. But it was scary. Cajeiri was glad when Uncle reached bottom safely and his staff, attending him across the broad central floor, saw him seated with them in the sitting area without incident.

  Cajeiri’s stomach had been upset even before he watched Uncle come down the steps. He had thought Uncle might be ordering supper for all of them, but there was no sign of that, and the table over in the dining area was unlit, with no sign of activity. The kitchen had provided an early supper for the Ajuri waiting down in the servants’ hall and storage areas, and surely there could be some sort of food at this hour if anyone had wanted it.

  Cajeiri thought he should want something, but he found even sugared tea was too much for his system. He asked for unsweetened tea and could not even summon interest in the wafer that came with it. He sipped the cup, staring often at the reflection of the lights on the darkening windows, no help for his stomach at all.

  “Perhaps,” Uncle suggested, “we should ask Guild to be at ease.”

  That was a kindness, but one he could not order regarding Uncle’s guard, under Uncle’s roof: he felt that, at least, and he was glad to agree, so that his bodyguard, and Mother’s, and Uncle’s, could sit down for what was going to be a long wait. Guild arranged their own knot of chairs over by the second pillar of the area, a quiet collection of Guild staying in touch with security downstairs. Veijico and Lucasi wore uncommonly grim expressions—no question where their thoughts were.

  There was no word from that gathering. Uncle talked quietly with Mother, discussing the road from here to Diegi, how it was now, how Mother remembered it, none of which helped anything.

  Reijiri had taken off in his plane hours ago. They knew that. One of the big planes could cross that space very fast and fly at night with no difficulty. The little yellow plane was much slower, and he was not sure it was at all safe for Reijiri to be up there in the dark. He had asked, and Reijiri would try . . . but he worried now that he had asked something too hard, and that Reijiri would put himself in danger.

  There was no question that the hedges, and the Guild, and the stout walls that had withstood cannon would keep them all safe, whatever was happening out on the road.

  Guild could come from Shejidan. They might be on the way right now. They might have started hours ago. He hoped so. He wished most of all that they had reassurance from the bus.

  Lucasi left the congregation of Guild over by the pillar, came to him and dropped down beside his chair. “Nandi. We have deserted you. We are not finding out anything of note. There are Guild units moving in. They have gone up to Diegi by rail, to get transport.”

  “Is there any word from the bus?”

  “A signal, at regular intervals, that they are all right.”

  “Could not our enemies send it?”

  “They could, nandi, but if the wearers felt they were about to be overwhelmed, they would send a code to that effect. We believe they are still aboard the bus, still safe.”

  He dropped his voice to a near-whisper. “Why did the enemy give a warning shot?” That had bothered him since he had heard it. “Were they stupid? Or are there explosives?”

  “We suspect there are not,” Lucasi said quietly. “We suspect they organized this in haste. We do not believe they were constrained by the law of the aishidi’tat or the rules of the Guild, but they may not have found the means. The shot alarmed the bus and stopped it, in fear for the bridge. They may have hoped the driver would attempt the ford, and in that situation, the bus could become stranded. The driver could turn around and go back to Diegi, but to retreat from such a flimsy attack, under the circumstances? Lord Tatiseigi is not in favor. I tell you, nandi, so that—”

  “It would be bad to retreat,” he said. “Antaro and Jegari and another entire unit are on that bus. What would they advise us?”

  “They can hold that bus unless the opposition brings in heavier armament, Jeri-ji, which is why we are moving first to interdict all intersecting roads from the west.” That was to say, Ajuri. “And we should—”

  Antaro paused, eyes fixed on infinity for a moment. “Something has happened.”

  “What?”

  “One is not sure. Something has changed.”

  “Favorable?”

  “One believes . . .”

  There were running steps on the lower stairs, and one of Uncle’s servants arrived, breathless. “They are moving, nandi. The Guild is moving. The plane—the plane has dropped flares to light the positions. The Guild-senior says—” Pause for breath. “We shall have them.”

  “Go,” Cajeiri said to Lucasi. “Find out. Ask. I am perfectly safe here. Go!”

  Lucasi gave a handsign to Veijico, who came closer, while Lucasi ran for the stairs. They were not using uncoded communications, not even within the house, not trusting anything when they had other means to rely on—like code that would be disseminating with the units sent into the field.

  One hoped. One desperately hoped.

  “Lucasi will find out,” he told Mother and Uncle quietly, but Seimei stirred and began to fret, and Mother took her onto her lap for a while
, seeming to pay no attention.

  “Flares,” Uncle said.

  “Fireworks, Uncle, to light up the grounds.”

  “We are aware,” Uncle said, frowning.

  “Ajuri has skirted the rules for years,” Mother said.

  The rules of engagement. The rules against explosives in places where the public might meet them, or attacks that might harm bystanders, or specifically shooting from airplanes, of which there were only four left, of nand’ Reijiri’s type, in all the world. There had been seven, briefly. But an open cockpit of the first planes had invited things the Guild disapproved, intensely.

  Reijiri would not be shooting at them, however. Fireworks hedged the prohibition against explosives. But it was not, quite.

  They waited, anxiously so. Seimei grew quiet against Mother’s shoulder, and stayed that way.

  Then Lucasi came back up the stairs, at a run.

  “The way is clear,” he said. “The bridge is clear. More Guild are coming down from Diegi, and Taibeni riders are standing guard on both sides of the bridge. The enemy has withdrawn, but Guild-senior advises us be ready and do not let our guard down.”

  “By no means,” Uncle said.

  “Are they safe?” Cajeiri asked.

  “Those on the bus are perfectly safe,” Lucasi said. “The bus is somewhat damaged, but they can move. Guild will inspect the bridge. Everything is all right.”

  One could breathe, then. Almost.

  “What of Reijiri?” Cajeiri asked. “Is there word?”

  Lucasi nodded. “Yes, nandi. He is heading for Diegi. Guild there is ready to receive him. He drew fire: one is uncertain whether the plane was damaged, but it is on its way, and Guild will meet him.”

  One had no idea where Reijiri was going to land—he was not even sure there was an airstrip at Diegi. But Reijiri had used pasturage and roads, before this, and Guild meeting him was good news.

  “Nandi,” Lucasi added, with a small bow to Uncle, “one believes Guild will move on the matter of your Filing. One has no idea at the moment whether that is the Guild Council or whether there is an operation in the field. That is what they know downstairs.”

  “The woman will have received a letter, if that is the case,” Uncle said grimly. “That may indeed be behind this. Folly. But it would be nothing different than I have known of this woman for decades.”

  So there were units moving that were not part of Uncle’s guard or his. The attack had not drawn off anybody from Tirnamardi or the guard over Kadagidi, Cajeiri was relatively sure. It had brought in Guild from Shejidan, maybe from Diegi, or even northward.

  It was all scary. Cajeiri had not thought of people shooting at the plane. Or about landing anywhere but here. But there were tents on the lawn, which he had not even thought to say. He was so glad they were taking care of nand’ Reijiri.

  Now—whatever was going on—they had to sit and wait for the bus to come, and wait for reports to be far more specific.

  “Well,” Uncle said, “we shall get things moving now. I hesitate to enter the formality of dinner amid such disturbance. Under the circumstances, will service here suffice?”

  There was a two-breath silence, and then Cajeiri realized that in this matter, too, Mother waited for him to say. His own stomach was in knots. He was all but shivering in pent-up desire to do something. “One would agree,” he said calmly, since that was what he had to say, and Mother said to Beha, “I think it safe to take her up to the suite, Be-ji. There may yet be commotion tonight, but it will not pass the doors. See she gets her sleep.”

  Beha left, taking Seimei, one of the two servants departing with her. Uncle gazed after her as she went, concern furrowed into his expression. The pain and the disturbance that had had Uncle frowning all evening changed for an instant and became—wanting something, wanting it, very much on this chancy night.

  Then Uncle glanced back, and down, and the expression was gone. He seemed only very tired and a little worried. A servant poured him tea, and listened to instruction.

  Mother had not watched Uncle, but Beha, going away. Mother always fussed with Uncle, had run away from him once, to public comment, a great embarrassment to Uncle. But relations had gradually gotten better—over time.

  Cajeiri looked at his own hands—well-manicured hands: his valets saw to that. He held a very precious ancient cup. It had a painting in the bottom, which was a djossi flower, pink-edged. One had to drain the cup to see it. When he had been very young, he had been so amazed by such a set in mani’s suite aboard the ship. Hers had had white flowers. They might have been from the same artist.

  There was so much of Great-uncle’s life that extended back and back to years he could not reach. Years when mani had been regent, years before that.

  So many, many secrets. So many years of Ajuri and Kadagidi wanting power over Atageini, and Atageini holding power over them and never, ever being beaten, not even in the worst days, when Father had been overthrown and the conspirators had raised Kadagidi and Ajuri as high as they had ever been—they had not dared touch Uncle. Maybe they had accounted him old, and heirless, a shadow power that would just go away without effort.

  But that all seemed apt to change tonight, the whole long history of Uncle’s feud with Ajuri, fighting them for years, without even knowing what a dangerous thing he was fighting. Now they were about to be overthrown, and Uncle would have the most potent vote besides Mother’s, as to who should be lord of either Ajuri or Kadagidi.

  Father would listen to Uncle. Even the Liberal legislators listened to him, because Uncle survived everything and knew so much.

  Mani knew that much. But who else? Father had learned from mani, and he had learned from her and from Uncle.

  But how could a boy learn everything?

  One had to drink the cup to see the secret at the bottom. Magical, when he had been a child.

  He could not drink them all, could he? It was never a matter of drinking them all. It was a matter of connections who, together, could do that for every clan, every village. He had his map, and his pins. Dur had come to help tonight, not only because Uncle had asked, but, he was convinced, had come more gladly because he had asked.

  Taiben, who had been technically at war with Uncle, now was helping them, because of Father, but also because of him, and because of Antaro and Jegari, and Father’s Taibeni guard.

  They were not alone in whatever was about to come.

  They had to protect all that was fragile inside Ajuri, too, and get it out of Great-aunt Geidaro’s hands, and put it safely somewhere, in the hands of somebody who would not break it more than it was broken.

  That was how the aishidi’tat stayed alive. One put the fragile things into good hands.

  He set the cup aside. A servant filled it, and another set down a plate with three little sandwiches. He was not inspired to eat. His stomach was still too queasy for that. He just sat, and listened for news.

  “Two of the enemy unit are down,” Onami said at one point, all the Guild up here listening to the flow of information from Rieni and Haniri and Uncle’s guard downstairs. “The rest are running.”

  That was good news. Then:

  “The bridge is clear. The units from Diegi are arriving with trucks. The bus is starting to move.”

  It was good. It was all good news. He reached quietly and took one of the little sandwiches, which tasted good. Uncle, he noted, finally ate one of his. So did Mother.

  “They are safely across the bridge,” Janachi reported. “They have two tires damaged, but they are not impaired from moving.”

  “We shall replace those at our expense,” Uncle said quietly to his major domo. “See to it. Advise Najida.”

  “Perhaps,” Mother said, “we can also send word to Nomari downstairs, that the situation is on its way to being resolved. They should bed down and spend the night, if they have not alread
y.”

  “That would be good,” Uncle said. “Yes. Small gain in everyone waking through the night.”

  Cajeiri took another little sandwich, hopeful, now. It was past midnight. Well past midnight.

  • • •

  Long day. And sleep was spotty. Bren waked, aware of Jago sleeping beside him—longtime arrangement, that—and tried to stay still. Jago tended to wake at any movement, a noise as soft as a sigh. He truly wanted a drink of water. But he wanted more to let Jago sleep.

  There was too much on his mind—too much changed.

  “You are thinking,” Jago said out of the dark.

  He swore she could detect a change in his breathing, between waking and sleep. And wake to it herself.

  “Nothing dire, Jago-ji. Nothing to disturb anyone’s sleep.”

  “But the changes afoot are considerable.”

  “Beyond any doubt.”

  “Others will be thinking tonight. And wondering.”

  “I do not doubt that, either.”

  “Are you confident, Bren-ji?”

  “A fool would be confident. But we have done what we can do.”

  “The children will be launching,” Jago said.

  “If they have not already. We will know in reasonable time, but they will not announce it to the world at large until they have actually begun descent. Time enough to assemble a herd of dignitaries. Time enough to arrange security.”

  “How many dignitaries?” Jago asked.

  “Dignitaries, about a hundred. News services, half that.”

  There was a moment of silence.

  “You will speak?” Jago asked.

  “I had rather not. I had far rather leave it to Shawn. Unless he insists. We shall welcome the children. That. But no more than that.”

  “After that, we shall be going home.”

  “Yes. Are you anxious?”

  A small silence. Then: “I shall be far less anxious, Bren-ji, once we leave Port Jackson.”

  • • •