Emergence

by C. J. Cherryh

  “Flowers are all right, I hope.”

  “They’ll be pleased. Don’t know if the parents have ever seen them except in pictures, but the kids have. It’ll all be fine. The kids have been through the young gentleman’s investiture and more than one full-blown security alert, so their idea of normalcy is fairly elastic.”

  “Just hope we can give them boredom,” Shawn said.

  “Sir.” Shawn’s bodyguard signaled him.

  “They want us aboard,” Bren said. “Are you going to be in your office this afternoon? I’ve called Toby in. My domestic staff will be shifting baggage—with the help of your security, and an unmarked truck. We’ll be moving out soon as we get back. Thought I might drop by before I go.”

  “Do,” Shawn said. “See you in a bit.”

  They moved off to their separate vans, with Mospheiran security driver and escort—a little low in the overhead for Banichi, who took the seat beside Bren—the smallest of the company.

  And they were off, out onto the drive in the morning sun, trailing Shawn’s van and two more, then diverging on Harbor Avenue, a right turn for them, left for Shawn.

  • • •

  Staff had taken up all the tents, spread them out to dry in the eastern pasture, somewhat beyond nand’ Reijiri’s plane, and gardeners worked to even the ground, spreading sand and earth and tamping it down—that from yesterday through part of the night and before full daylight.

  The kitchen had likewise been busy all night, turning out both regular meals and confections, many, many confections, which Cajeiri had sampled. Even the seniors had had spiced tarts and slices of fruit roll, so that supper had been just a little spoiled.

  Breakfast, however, was scant and quick, and it was back upstairs to dress for the event, before people began to arrive.

  Mother and Beha-nadi stayed upstairs—keeping Seimei in a good mood, was his guess, that and the fact that Mother was in full court dress; Uncle was likewise in his chambers, preparing.

  Cajeiri personally gave Boji a whole dish of eggs, with the hope that Boji, stuffed, would do what he usually did in such a state and simply curl up at the end of his favorite perch, wrap himself into a dark, furry ball, and sleep through all the commotion that was due to arrive.

  The shuttle was on its way down. “Please tell me,” he asked of all his bodyguard, “the moment you have any news, the moment it lands. I want to know. Please find out.”

  “They have not yet given out the precise time,” Rieni said, “and may not until very close to the time. We are advised that there is a gathering of officials. We expect that nand’ Bren will be among them.”

  “He will be meeting the shuttle,” Cajeiri said. “I am certain he will go as close to where they will land as he can.”

  “We will find out as much as we can gather,” Rieni said. “His aishid is not in direct contact with Headquarters, but they have relayed their intent to be there. They have also relayed a request for his brother-of-the-same-mother to bring his boat within reach of the harbor, which is the paidhi-aiji’s intended means of departure.”

  That was somewhat good news, at least that everything was going as it ought.

  “Lord Tatiseigi is going downstairs,” Antaro said. “There are trucks at the gate.”

  The people from Diegi and Heitisi and all were due to arrive; and Lord Keimi had said he would come in, too, and that they would have riders move all their mecheiti back off the grounds and bring them in again when he left, precautions against any sort of infelicity, and, with the wind coming from the west this morning, it was a doubly good idea.

  Nomari had called Uncle, personally, to say that he was not able to come, that his new aishid wanted him to stay close and safe within Ajiden until they could be absolutely certain of his safety. Nomari had called Mother, too, and asked Mother to convey his regrets, but there was no question. Nomari needed to be where he was, and he needed to avoid risks at least until his aishid could feel they were informed and in charge of the situation.

  That order, Mother said, when Cajeiri visited her suite to hear what Nomari had said, had probably come from Guild Headquarters.

  But—Mother said. But they were going to invite nand’ Nomari to Shejidan when they all went home.

  “We shall send the bus over to pick up Nomari and his aishid, if they agree, and then come back to Tirnamardi for all of us, including Uncle. That will be tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow!” He had rather hoped, if things settled, that he might have a chance to ride. It was a small hope, but it was a hope.

  “The bus will get us all safely to the train station, and the Red Train will take us all the way to the Bujavid, with no security exposure.”

  “Will Nomari’s guard let him come?”

  “He needs to meet your father. So he will get to offer his congratulations tomorrow, and maybe we will save him some of the sweets. Certainly a glass of wine.”

  But—Cajeiri thought. But—

  “Nand’ Bren will be coming back,” he had said. “And we will have his bus.”

  “We need his bus,” Mother said. “If he comes by sea, that will take a day. And I do not doubt but that nand’ Bren will wish to spend a few days at Najida when he arrives. Your great-grandmother is there, as well, with her guard.”

  So is Machigi and his guard, he thought. It was not that safe.

  “So we shall move fairly quickly,” Mother said. “All of us. And the bus may not reach Najida in good repair, but it will be there for him, and then we shall patch the bullet holes.”

  “It is not a very good welcome,” he said, a little upset at the notion. The bus looked a mess.

  “Well, but it will be there for him,” she said. Which he knew was true. Things were still chancy in the district. The Guild was still searching the basement at Ajiden, and some people might be very upset at what they would find.

  “I do think we should make it up to him,” he said.

  “One does not in the least know how,” Mother said. “Bren-nandi would never begrudge it to you, son of mine, nor ever to your father.”

  “Or you, Mother. He would not in the least. I know that. Nor to Uncle. He never would.”

  “He is a good person,” Mother said. “And while I have blamed him in the past, I have become well aware that the peace we have in the house—we owe in some measure to him. He is a moderating influence, I will not say where, but he has stepped into some situations without partiality, where others certainly had it. I thought of that, on the train coming here, aware that, ordinarily, he would very likely have been involved, if only in keeping your great-grandmother at bay. I will say—she has shown a remarkable restraint, under circumstances I think she appreciated far better than I would have thought. Just tuck that into your pocket, son of mine, for some future time when we prove confusing. Or confused. Go back downstairs. Keep Uncle out of the kitchen, and make him sit down. I shall be down directly. I only do not want your sister in a bad mood. We shall let her have a good nap before the guests arrive, and then do things fairly expeditiously. Go. Be off with you. Take care with the door and do not wake your sister.”

  • • •

  The shuttle’s ground crew and security was set up toward the end of the main runway, which was longer than any other, and fairly well out toward the harborside, at least so that one could see the water from there. The several vans drew up together, and Banichi and Tano got out first, signaled all was well. Bren followed, down the single step, and Jago and Algini exited behind him. From the second van, the six-man Heyden Court security team emerged in gray business suits, not quite identical, but it took consideration to say so—suits, earbuds, and, one was sure, small arms under the coats. That was Jim A, Jim D, Ali, Maurice, Cohen, and Paul: he knew them all.

  The third van gave up the three University lads, Karl, Evan, and Lyle, in their best, plain but neat, collars buttoned, all combe
d and with the queues hidden. They did hesitate at meeting him, but lest they be confused in protocol, Bren extended a hand in welcome, and introduced the young men to the security team, all under the open sky, and next to the massive length of concrete that was the runway. Granted, they had provided pictures, provided IDs, but today was the day it mattered. Today was the day it all became real.

  “Excited?” he asked the students.

  “God, I can’t breathe,” Karl said. “I don’t think any of us slept.”

  “Are we going where the President is, sir?” Evan asked. “You want us to stay with them up there?”

  “Every step of the way. Remember the one rule: don’t get between the kids and their security and don’t let them get separated from each other or their parents. There’ll be new faces at every hand. We’ll be with you through the business with the reviewing stand. But not to put a conspicuous atevi face on the operation, we’ll stay well to the background. It’s the President’s operation. Then yours. You’ll be with them all the way to Heyden Court. And we won’t. We’ll be on our way to the harbor, where I expect we’ll find transport. I trust you’ve got your luggage.”

  “We took it up this morning, sir,” Evan said. “We’re moved in, well, at least, where we’ll be. University is not happy with us. We have a summons to appear before the Committee.”

  “Ignore it. You’re employees of the State Department. Salaried employees. If you need diplomas, we’ll arrange it from Sagiadi University, on the mainland. And let them spin in the wind.”

  “Mr. Cameron. Sir.” They had pulled up near a cluster of service vehicles, at a signaled spot, and two in the green jumpsuits of the Mospheiran space program had walked over to them, at an angle not crossing his aishid’s presence. “Sir, they’re over the western coast right now.”

  “Thank you,” he said, and turned to look up the length of the runway. The reviewing stand, festooned in bunting, was up there, festooned in bunting, packed with news people and dignitaries, about at the first touch-down point.

  “You’ve flown this approach before,” the man said.

  “I’ve been a nervous passenger, sir, but yes, thank you.”

  “That spot of sky, right there.” The man from Mospheiran Space pointed to an area to the west, blue sky to the south of the city. “You know to stay clear, sir.”

  There would be the initial cooldown, various trucks moving in to hook up, and finally the personnel mover. “I do know. Thank you, sir.”

  He’d translated the manuals out of the Archive, watched the procedures develop, flown the route. He knew. And he was still anxious. The airport landing wasn’t optimum, but it was what the Mospheirans had—which was why most of the landings were at the atevi spaceport.

  But Mospheiran pride was deeply invested in this one. The spaceport, they said, should be operational by spring. And there would be a second shuttle flying.

  A good thing, for various reasons. A very good thing.

  “There,” he said, catching a pale dot in the sky. He pointed, and the young people beside him looked. His aishid—and to their credit, the other security team—was not distracted, not even by that. He watched, and what had been barely discernible became definite, a larger and larger dot, until it was clearly the shuttle, on course and coming fast.

  It seemed forever. But it was coming way faster than any plane, large, nose high, and then on level, tires smoking, chute deploying to slow it down, all wheels down, now.

  It grew larger in their sight, and slowed, and slowed. Is it going to have enough room? Bren wondered, holding his breath. There was scarily little runway left as it trundled to a stop, and sat there, the air around it rippling with heat, the smell of heating in the breeze that reached them.

  “God,” Lyle said shakily, and Evan and Karl just clung to each other’s shoulders and breathed.

  The cooldown had its procedures. Inside, crew would be shutting down systems, passengers would be gathering up whatever they had put in lockers, feeling Earth’s gravity and experiencing the changes. And maybe thinking about Reunion, and Alpha, and asking themselves was being first down—such a great idea.

  Trucks moved in. Finally came the personnel mover, which scissored up and extended a platform. Crew opened the hatch, and from this angle it was a little hard to see detail, but they were here, they were finally out and safely on Earth, as the module scissored down to ground level.

  “They’ll be a bit wobbly,” he said. “Might suffer a bit of headache.” He so hoped Irene hadn’t been sick this trip. He hoped nobody had.

  Doors opened on the personnel mover, and there they were, one of the shuttle crew in fatigues, then three adults, three children, all dressed Mospheiran-style. He walked toward them, and the youngsters all waved and grinned—Artur, red-headed as his father, with his father and mother behind him; Gene’s mother, and Gene, dark-haired, but not so dark as Irene, who had grown a little more curl than her impromptu disguise had left her, a black and close-curling cap, still with blond ends here and there, like sparks Different from each other as they were, they were a set that neither Braddock’s misdeeds nor Tillington’s had ever fractured. And now they came with family. Artur took his parents by either hand and pulled them forward; Gene and Irene each put an arm about Gene’s mother and they walked together.

  The news and all the cameras were barred from this area. There was no record to be made, even by the Space Service. Bren flung his arms wide, let a welcoming smile reach his face and walked toward them as they came close.

  “Hug,” Bren said. “You’re on Mospheira, and it’s entirely different manners here. You’re human. Enjoy it.” He gave them each a gentle hug, one after the other, despite the hazard to starched lace, and offered his hand to their parents, one after the other. “Cajeiri can’t be here, of course, but he sent me. These six gentlemen are your security, your aishid.” The parents had lived this last while with Lord Geigi, and well knew what that was. “And these three earnest young fellows—” He waved the three translators forward. “These three are your tutors. They’ve given up careers in the Linguistics Department to devote themselves to teaching you, youngsters, so be good to them. They know a fair bit of Ragi, they know customs—and they know a very great deal about Mospheira and the local accent. They’ll be staying in the same building, they’ll be teaching you, answering questions, helping you. You’ll live upstairs, they’ll have a classroom on the floor below. You’ll actually enjoy school, I think.”

  “Are you going to stay for a while, nand’ Bren?”

  That from Irene, who did not look to have been sick at all.

  “I have to get back,” he said gently. “I’ve been here for a while setting this up, and I have to report to Tabini-aiji. I also have to report to Cajeiri, for one very major thing. You will get to visit for a couple of weeks as soon as you’ve had a chance to settle in and rest and learn a little about the house and Mospheira in general . . . I think Captain Jase might have explained some of it. We’ll set up a phone connection for you in not too long—so you can talk to Cajeiri, at least. Visits come a little later. But they will come.” He looked at the parents, at more sober faces. “It’ll be good. You’ll be wobbly for a few days. But it passes. If what you find at Heyden Court is anything short of good, any of you, you talk to someone, and if that doesn’t work, you can just call me: pick up a phone and ask staff. We’ll fix it.”

  “We’ll have to depend on our children,” Artur’s mother said. “They’ve been filling us in. Telling us—all sorts of things. We’ll do our best.”

  “We’ll do our best for you, too. Let me be very frank: you know how Tillington felt. There are some few down here who are Tillington’s sort and willing to act like him. It’s a population. Some people aren’t nice. Most people down here are just relieved that the kyo have agreed to a peace, they’ve had their own scare, they know you’ve been through terrible conditions, and they gener
ally accept that you need to be down here so the station can recover from the damage it’s had and everything can get back to normal. Ordinary folk just want you to have a fair deal. They want to see newcomers live nicely but not better than they do—you can understand that, I think.”

  “Absolutely,” Artur’s father said.

  “You and your children, however, need security, because of your connection to the aiji’s son, because of a history of war, and because of a handful of people of Tillington’s bent. So you will be housed in what will become not only your residence, but also for outward appearance, the clerical and operational headquarters for the whole resettlement effort. So you won’t conspicuously be living in a palace. You’ll be our test cases, and people who’ll deal with other Reunioners will be learning from you on a day to day basis. If you meet one who’s a problem, there will be people to advise of that fact. I’m sure there will be problems we haven’t thought of. We’ll fix them. I know you’re tired and under physical stress. But just get through this. We’re going up the runway a bit to a ceremony welcoming you. Shake the President’s hand. Smile, look friendly. He’s a nice fellow. He means you well. Let the President make a speech, shake his hand, shake any hand offered to you. Then I solemnly promise we’ll get you to your own residence, where you can sleep for a week if you want to.”

  “We’ll be fine,” Artur’s mother said, her arm on her son’s shoulders. “We’ll really be fine. We were warned. We understand.”

  “Just don’t look into the distance,” Artur’s father said. “That’s fairly stomach-churning.”

  “Particularly don’t look out the windows while we’re moving,” Bren said. “The youngsters were that way at first. Captain Graham was. It’ll get better. Especially with the meds. Short views at first. We’re going to take a short drive. You’ll be able to sit down, your security will be with you, and it won’t be a long lot of speeches.”