Visitor: A Foreigner Novel

by C. J. Cherryh

  “I suspect the ship-folk have been watching their own backtrail since we left Reunion. My suspicion is that they spotted the ship on entry.”

  A moment of silent consideration, then Bren ventured: “Or maybe when it started to move.”

  “That is a possibility,” Gin said somberly. “Distances. Distances we’re not used to figuring. We don’t know where the kyo star is. Even if we did know where to look, it could be so far away we could be seeing it as it was fifty, a hundred or more years ago. For them to be checking up on us since we got back from Reunion—they’d have to get within the solar system, for anything current. What we’re watching could be a ship that’s been out there for a year. Maybe a lot longer. But they’re talking to us, the way we exchanged messages at Reunion . . . which means a ship from Reunion has to have come here sometime in the last year to pass that information on. It might be Prakuyo. It might not be.”

  He wasn’t used to figuring time the way spacers did. He’d had conversations with Jase about looking back into time and racing forward into it, how optics and communication were limited by the speed of light, but ships weren’t—how everybody stared into the past when they looked at the sky, looking at stars dead of old age long before Phoenix had ever flown. Jase’s reality could turn his mind inside out. But he couldn’t waste time now speculating into such things. He hadn’t time. There were certainties within his reach. There had been, somewhere out there, in a time definitely relevant to them, one venture of the ship that hadn’t gone well, another that had gone somewhat better when they’d met a kyo ship at Reunion, and a kyo ship now was coming toward them. So it was above all likely that, despite the vastness of the universe and the trickiness of space and time, they had a cause and effect on their hands. Two motes in all that space had bumped into one another, and become involved, and had to figure each other out.

  “Whoever they are,” he said, “however long they’ve been out there, whether they’ve known about us for a hundred years—they turned up at Reunion, and evidently they are going to engage with us in a very few days. Maybe they tracked Ramirez a dozen years ago, maybe they followed us home, maybe we’re a question they now find it important to answer. And we’re not an easy answer. We’re two species, one of which isn’t native to the planet. Ramirez was nosing about where they didn’t want him, but even we don’t know what he was up to, and he took that secret to the grave—so to speak. If they have to come close just to look at us, they don’t know the fine details of who we are. And if looking at the stars is looking at the past, they can’t know the detail of what’s going on beyond us. Can they?”

  “They can’t,” Gin said. “That would be true. Unless they’ve been there, they don’t know.”

  So, unless they’d gone and looked, for all the kyo knew, Earth and Reunion might only be the tip of the iceberg. For all they knew, there was a vast human and atevi empire out there.

  It echoed conversations he’d had with Gin and Jase on the voyage home, idle conversations at the time. So many conversations. So many strange things. So few solid answers.

  He’d not liked to think too much into the strangeness, while it was going on around him. Now . . . it was a distraction.

  “Why they do anything at all is still a wide-open question. But I’ll be trying to get a face-to-face meeting even if it’s not Prakuyo. I know that’s a risk, but so is carrying on a conversation in echoes. Every clue to their mental process matters. I’m lost in the technical business. But talking—if it’s Prakuyo, I have a notion where to start. If I have to start with somebody new—I still know where to start.”

  “You’ve got my backing,” Gin said. “Anything you need.”

  Bren sat back in the chair, increasingly relaxed in her presence and feeling a lessening of the shakes that came from a cold lift car and far too little sleep. For days. “I asked for Kate to come, but am I glad it’s you? Yes. There’s nobody better. You were there, you know what the Reunioners have been through, what they’ve come from—and you know something about the kyo.”

  “Not nearly as much as you know.”

  “Better than anybody else Mospheira could send. You may not have dealt with Prakuyo, but you were there for the decisions.”

  “Maybe. But out of touch with everything for way too long.” Sip of tea, nearly the last. “It’s been frustrating. The lot of us got home—sent down soonest they could organize a shuttle flight. Decommissioned with honors. Extended leave. Our pick. A reward, they called it. Company headhunters lost no time. Great pay. No damn power to intervene up here. I’ve been worried about the Reunioner problem, but once I left the station, I’ve had no information and less input. Tillington’s reports were all ‘everything’s fine.’ Kate took the initiative nine months ago and tried to communicate with Ogun. She got a long formal answer that said absolutely nothing. Then Kate and I wrote to the President and laid out our concerns, our opinion of what needed to be done.” Gin took down the last of the tea, then a deep breath. “Maybe we were a little impolitic. We got a ‘We’re doing the best we can.’ And: ‘We share your concerns.’ Form letters, damn it all, from some harried secretary to a Presidential aide. Last I knew, Kate was still fighting the good fight. You—you had your problems on the other side of the straits. I just settled into my high-paying industry job and tried to do some good there, waiting for a chance to get transferred back up here. All I got was—‘Transport is limited, no options, wait for the Mospheiran program to fly.’ I did propose landing the Reunioners, in our letter to the President, and I proposed it to anyone else I thought might have some influence in the situation. I proposed the option I gave you, regarding the parachutes. The answer was, ‘There’s no decision yet.’ Every bit of funding was poured into the Mospheiran shuttle program, and the companies involved weren’t turning loose of their finance and their prospect of commercial shuttle traffic, hell, no, no interest at all in any cargo landing on anything but the shuttle. —I’ll tell you, Bren, you put this in my hands, give me a good cooperation with Lord Geigi, and cooperation from the captains—”

  “From Jase and Sabin, guaranteed. Ogun—promise to get the Reunioners off the station and out of his concern and you may be able to sign him on.”

  “I’m going from here to Ogun. Directly. I’ve dealt with him before. I can promise him a solution. I can also inform the President that five thousand Reunioners delivered in small groups make fewer ripples than five thousand up here, destabilizing the treaty with Tabini-aiji. I hate to say trust me. But trust me.”

  “You’ve got it,” Bren said.

  “You just keep the kyo happy.”

  “Two, three days,” Bren said, “until we’re fully engaged with the kyo. After that—we go as long as it takes. And I can’t predict how long that will be.”

  “Whatever you need,” Gin said.

  “Just give me peace—on the human side of the station. Solid support from human Central. Geigi has a standing agreement to notify me immediately, at any hour, of any change whatsoever in that ship, or the message.”

  “You’ve got the same from me. At any hour. If they wobble in the least, I’ll be in Central and talking to you.”

  “Appreciated. Understand, granted the kyo will dock, atevi will be the sole agency dealing with them. If we meet face-to-face on this deck, we do it in an area atevi will manage. Best interface, original interface—there seem to be useful points of similarity between kyo and atevi, concepts in common . . .”

  Gin waved a hand. “I swear to you I’ll be content if I can just find concepts in common on the human side of this station. I leave the kyo and the linguistic technicalities to you. But working with Lord Geigi . . . I do look forward to that.”

  Geigi and Gin. Two of a kind. Straight-forward, get-the-job-done. Tinkerers.

  “If you’d been here when Geigi was setting up his landers, God only knew what they’d have done. They’d probably have walked to Shejidan.”

  “He did that design himself. Didn’t he?”

 
; “Help from the workers and techs, the Archive and the University, but, yes. He did.”

  Gin’s eyes fairly sparkled. That was Gin. Pure and not-so-simple.

  3

  Cajeiri had ordered breakfast for just himself, just Irene, just his aishid . . . which he had not intended to involve the dining room—or any great commotion.

  But staff came back to say that Great-grandmother was also awake, that she was aware he had a visitor, and that they both should come to her breakfast.

  That was a scary prospect. And Irene had heard all during her visit to the world how particular mani was, and how one had to walk quietly and stand straight and never fidget. Now she looked worried, and put hands on her coat and her shirt.

  “I am not proper.”

  “You are perfectly proper, nadi.” He was a little worried, but if mani was angry, she was angry at him, not at Irene. “It is a perfectly good country coat, and mani mostly prefers the country anyway. Come.”

  His aishid would not join them at table if mani was inviting him. They would take breakfast by turns, in the kitchen, which was the ordinary way bodyguards managed their comforts, and they would not go wanting.

  He went first to the door, Irene following, and he waited for her in the wide hall, so they could walk together, his aishid about them. Mani’s dining room was the middle of the apartment, and of course next to the kitchens. Back in the Bujavid mani regularly had breakfast on the balcony, with the wind and all; but here it was a moderately large room, a table reduced by half the size it could be, and to his chagrin, mani had arrived before them, and waited.

  He bowed. Irene bowed. They sat down, as mani’s servants stood ready to seat them, on opposite sides of the table, with mani at the head.

  “Good morning,” mani said. “And a surprise this morning. Good morning, young woman.”

  “Nand’ dowager,” Irene said very faintly, and with a bow of the head.

  “Well, well, eat what you fancy, young woman. The green bowl contains the one dish you should avoid. The rest are safe. The paidhi-aiji has breakfasted with us and has survived. We shall not ask if you slept well—it would be a wonder—but we trust you have been comfortable.”

  “One is comfortable, yes, thank you, nand’ dowager.”

  “Eat.”

  Irene reached for toast. So did Cajeiri, quickly, to have something other to do than stare at Great-grandmother, who spooned preserve onto fish, and for a little space there was gratefully nothing to do but eat.

  “Nand’ Bren is up and about,” mani said, in the way of gossip, “and has met with Gin-nandi, who is in the process of displacing Tillington permanently, to our great satisfaction. We have had no change in the kyo message. Lord Geigi is still holding Central, valiant man, and once he turns its operations over to the humans, he will doubtless wish to retire to his apartment and rest undisturbed.”

  “One wishes,” Cajeiri said, “to pay courtesies to Lord Geigi’s guests, very quietly, before he arrives. As a courtesy, mani-ma.”

  Mani did not look at him, but she did not frown. “You may do so. There are delicate matters which need addressing. They are your guests. You may see to them, but do remember there will soon be other demands on your attention.”

  His guests. He had not been prepared to hear that. He was not unhappy to hear them described that way.

  And mani said, not, “See to them!” but “You may see to them.” That was, he was sure, only because there was company at the table and she was talking to him as a grown-up.

  He was also grateful for that. “One understands, mani-ma.”

  Talk moved on to trivial matters, proper at table, the menu, the doings of staff, the observation of how the apartment had changed since mani was last in residence.

  But after breakfast, in their departing, mani said,

  “Are you, Great-grandson, capable of making sensible and secure arrangements for your other guests? And can do you do so adequately today, since we cannot rely upon the future?”

  “I shall try, mani-ma.” He was surprised, a little dismayed, utterly caught without ideas. “How shall I do this?”

  “Ask staff. One understands your young guests have wardrobe in storage. You may retrieve that. The parents may have concerns about property left behind. Reassure them on this point, but make no promises regarding any return to their residences. You may, however, order clothing and some food and items of their preference, which will have to come from the Mospheiran side. Lord Geigi’s staff will likely know how to arrange that, and you may assume that they will remain Lord Geigi’s guests for some time. Do not, however, leave this restricted hallway under any circumstance, nor send your staff or bodyguard outside this hallway. Rely on senior staff for any errands which must be run, and if they cannot, refer to Cenedi. Otherwise do as you must, stay as long as you wish, but do not disturb nand’ Bren and Lord Geigi, who may wish to rest when they return.”

  “Yes, mani-ma. I understand.”

  “If you need assistance in any matter, ask Cenedi. Do what you can within the resources of this section, and refer all simple requests to staff, all security questions to Cenedi. Do you agree?”

  “Yes, mani! I shall do that.”

  A motion of mani’s hand dismissed him. He bowed. He went to Irene, who stood aside with his aishid.

  “We have permission to get your clothes from storage,” he said, “and everybody else’s, and that will be easier than sending to the human side. We shall have to ask Lord Geigi’s staff to bring them. We shall make up lists of what everybody needs besides. You will sleep here again tonight, since mani has not said otherwise, and mani says everybody else will stay with Lord Geigi.”

  “I stay here?” Irene asked. Sometimes she could keep her face as quiet and proper as could be, but when she talked to him, she let things show. And she was very anxious to be sure she understood.

  “Yes,” he said. “Yes. At least tonight. Maybe tomorrow night. You are my guest, now. Mani will not let anything happen to you. Lord Geigi will protect everybody else. You will not have to go back to the Reunioner sections and you will not have to go back to your mother. Nand’ Bren will say so, to the ship-aijiin and to everybody. You will not have to go back to her.”

  • • •

  It was a temptation, Bren thought, a sore temptation, once he was safely in the lift, within the atevi half of the station—to head back to the apartment and go back to bed for at least two more hours. He wished to do nothing thereafter but eat, sleep, stare at the ceiling and assemble the vocabulary and the connections and clues he had from the last meeting with the kyo . . . until it came time to use them. He wanted no more distractions.

  But there was information he needed. He had potential sources. The Reunioners he had at hand—the parents of Cajeiri’s young associates—were not the ones apt to have that information. But there were others—people he was not anxious to deal with, but had no intention of turning over to the ship-folk. Or to Gin. Not yet.

  He could ask Jase to interview them, but he couldn’t be satisfied with secondhand information. He’d think of questions Jase might not think to ask, questions that might well need asking at the right moment, not after the fact.

  There was no getting around it. He had to talk to Braddock.

  Sleep first. Just two hours. That was all he needed.

  He had already understood from his aishid, who kept abreast of details with other staff, that there had been a change in one of the situations he was tracking. Irene, and only Irene, had gone home with Cajeiri last night. Whatever had happened to suggest that relocation was a worry, but he thought he understood, and it was a sad business, a kid whose situation was not a happy reunion, and who might have been realizing it all too well. Geigi’s staff would allow whatever the young gentleman wanted unless the dowager countermanded it . . . and the dowager had been asleep when that move had happened.

  He was sure that situation was already handled, however. The dowager’s staff would never permit an improprie
ty on the dowager’s premises, so he was confident that things involving the dowager’s premises had been done as properly as need be. He was also sure the dowager would have not brought down the weight of her displeasure on a guest this morning, when she did find out. She had probably found out by now.

  No, the dowager would definitely not reprimand the girl, though what the dowager’s real opinion was, Cajeiri would surely find out privately. And so would he, Bren was quite sure. He was prepared to go smooth that over if need be. He should do that, at least, before he settled into his own apartment and took hold of their more threatening problems.

  “How has the dowager received the guest?” he asked, while the lift went through its changes.

  There was a delay, while Banichi consulted via pocket com. That was usual. The length of the delay, however, suggested more to the answer, and more to the answer—

  Was not good.

  It was not necessarily good when Banichi made a second call for information, and that conversation involved, he gathered from the name referenced, Lord Geigi’s staff.

  “Nadi?” he asked, in the not unlikely case Banichi was reluctant to distract him with another problem.

  “The young gentleman has brought Irene back to nand’ Geigi’s staff. And there is some trouble which the staff does not understand. Gene and Artur have been translating, prior to this, and there is not an active disturbance, but there is distress of some sort.”

  “I should go there.” If Irene was upset, if parents were upset, or if adjustments of some sort needed to be made in her situation, he needed to be involved. Geigi had offered to solve the human situation by lending his large guest quarters. Geigi, on watch and watch for days, and still due to wait for Gin, deserved to come home to domestic tranquility.

  Nor did Irene deserve to have to explain herself.

  “Is Irene moving back to Geigi’s apartment?” he asked, and Banichi asked the question of staff.