Visitor: A Foreigner Novel

by C. J. Cherryh

  Which left Braddock.

  So you were the leader of a trapped population who’d found out the kyo were barreling down on their new location—what wouldn’t you do? What line wouldn’t you cross, to make sure your people survived?

  Spacers could make decisions that, to planet-dwellers, ran counter to instinct and emotion. Jase, in his turn, had been shocked . . . at the way planet-dwellers made decisions that could risk three men to save one. Irresponsible, Jase had called it: emotional decision had a bad connotation in his world. One always had to remember that, at some critical moment, he and Jase might not decide the same.

  And maybe from Braddock’s view, what did scaring hell out of four kids and their families weigh, against a ship that could do what it had done at Reunion and kill all of them?

  Bottom line, Braddock didn’t trust the captains any more than they trusted him. That relationship had gone poisonous long before any of this had happened.

  Jase said that the ship could have gotten all the survivors off Reunion and back to Alpha—maybe with very short rations, but Jase believed they could have made it—and that was probably true.

  The ship, under Ramirez, had indeed arrived at Alpha, at a mothballed station, without supplies or fuel. And they might still have been all right with what was there if they’d been carrying passengers. But because they hadn’t had thousands of half-starved people to take care of, they’d been able to work that much faster, with no shortages. No internal politics slowing every decision. They’d made quick, autocratic deals with the aishidi’tat. Deals with Mospheira. The station had gone back into food production and building, and had no trouble gaining population, refueling the ship, keeping it and the station in good order.

  The ship was everything to the ship-folk. The station—any station—had importance, but only in relation to the ship. That part he had gotten from Jase, very clearly.

  Ramirez had died, command had shifted down the chain, and Ogun, very reluctantly, had let Sabin go back to Reunion. For what precise mission? He wasn’t sure he’d ever heard the plain truth on that, and he’d been there.

  The Captains’ Council had been split and angry for years.

  Ogun’s position was not to disturb whatever was left at Reunion. Possibly Ogun himself had been in the dark as to what that was. Nobody to this hour was admitting anything, and Jase, close as he was to the situation, couldn’t figure who had known what, either.

  It boiled down to one person who was an outside witness. One person Ogun had wanted in his hands . . . for whatever reason.

  He sent a message to Jase, personally, in Ragi. One regrets, but one cannot exempt Braddock-nadi from questions. What I wish to know does not regard technical matters, but time, perceptions, and actions, which are relevant to the kyo mind. The answers will involve more than words. I must see the answers he gives. I shall apprise you of all these matters. Forgive me. It is not lack of trust or confidence, and one asks you follow with your own inquiry, but I must satisfy a constellation of my own questions.

  Jase would not be offended. He was sure of that.

  What Ogun and Sabin might be was another matter. But he was not negotiating with ship command. Not on this.

  No, he was not going to go into a conversation with the kyo without accessing every resource he had.

  And Braddock was top of the list.

  8

  Tea in mani’s sitting room, a very subdued tea, compared to those they’d shared on Earth, for one thing because it was mani’s sitting room (though mani was not present), but also because, Cajeiri thought, Bjorn was with them. Bjorn had not been part of the association on Earth, and besides being oldest, Bjorn had had to argue with his father just to come to tea. Maybe, Cajeiri thought, that was what made him sit so worried and quiet.

  He had invited them, with mani’s permission. He had gone down the hall and brought them himself, hoping they would talk more freely without their parents on the edge of the conversation, but Bjorn had turned glum and the others were clearly uncomfortable and making small talk around him. The three who had been his guests asked after Boji, asked after staff and people they knew, all such things as he could answer, and Bjorn just sat in silence that grew less and less comfortable, staring into his teacup, taking only an occasional sip, ignoring the nice teacakes.

  The others talked in Ragi—they were here to talk in Ragi, and it seemed wrong to talk ship-speak in mani’s sitting room; but for the most part they generally used little words, words surely Bjorn remembered, careful to keep it simple. At one point Gene directly asked Bjorn if he understood, and Bjorn said he heard. He knew.

  He’d missed them, he said then in ship-speak, and looked a little wistful.

  “Why don’t you just tell him?” Artur asked, likewise in ship-speak.

  “Tell him what?” Irene asked.

  Tell him. There were secrets the boys knew and Irene did not, and Bjorn just sat there staring at his teacup, not even looking at them. Cajeiri had no idea how to deal with this different Bjorn. He had been hopeful when Bjorn had argued with his father to come with them. He had hoped this visit would help bring Bjorn back to them, but so far it was just . . . awkward.

  “Bjorn?” Artur said, but Bjorn just set his cup aside, and said, in ship-speak, that he thought he should go back to his parents, that his father was upset and would upset Geigi’s staff.

  That much, Cajeiri followed.

  “Antaro,” Cajeiri said, with a nod. “Go with Bjorn.”

  “Yes,” Antaro said, and Bjorn got up, said quietly, “I’m sorry. Artur,—my father’s not—” There were words Cajeiri missed, involving, it seemed, Bjorn’s reason, and his troubles with his parents.

  Antaro stood ready to escort him. And without a bow, without any courtesy, Bjorn just went to the door, looked back at them with still no courtesy, looked at Antaro, and left into the hall. In a moment the outer door opened and shut, and they all sat in silence.

  “He regrets,” Artur said then in a hushed voice. “His father has trouble. His father took papers. Gave to people so Bjorn can study.”

  “So Bjorn can have a tutor,” Gene said. “Bjorn’s father took papers from his company, gave papers to a company here so Bjorn can have a tutor. Bjorn is scared. He thinks his father is in trouble. And his father always gets sick when Bjorn says no.”

  Bjorn’s father had had heart trouble on the ship, Cajeiri remembered that. Bjorn’s father had been with the ship-folk physicians for several days. But Bjorn had said he was all right after that.

  Was he not all right, now? Was he still sick?

  “Nand’ Siegi might visit him,” Cajeiri said.

  “Atevi upset him,” Gene said, and added, “We think he gets upset so Bjorn stay.”

  One began to understand. “But Bjorn’s father is truly ill.”

  “Maybe,” Gene said.

  “Bjorn wanted to go down with us,” Artur said. “But he says now . . . Irene, translate for me.”

  Artur talked. They all listened, and Irene frowned and said:

  “Bjorn says—he is almost grown up. Four years and he is adult. And he cannot make his father different. But he wants to make good place for his mother. He told Artur he wants to keep his study, but also keep association. Always keep. He learns this station. He learns Mospheira. Someday—he may be on the station, may be on the planet, but he will associate with us, help us, help you, Jeri-ji. He is grateful and he is embarrassed. One does not know what he will do, but future time, all time, he is our associate. He wants to say this to you, not to nand’ Bren. He is scared for his father, thinks maybe he is sick. He protects his mother. He wants to keep association with us.”

  “Man’chi,” he said. It suddenly, to him, seemed very simple. He realized he was fortunate in his own parents, in mani, in nand’ Bren, in all his associations—they were all strong, strong enough to protect him when he had needed it and strong enough to protect themselves. But for all his angry shouting, Bjorn’s father was not strong, and his mother w
as not. Her man’chi held her to Bjorn’s father, both of them weaker than Bjorn. Gene’s mother let Gene run free, and worry about her only a little. Artur’s parents worried, but they were strong. Bjorn’s parents were constantly pulling at him, and Bjorn could not leave them as they were and walk away. That was not the character Bjorn had, right now, though ultimately, when things were more settled and his mother was safe—it might be different.

  “One understands,” he said. “He will join us when he can and help when he can. Tell him we said so, Arte-ji. We understand. And he will still be our associate. He gets a pin. Tell him that. Make him understand.”

  There was a map in his little office at home, and they knew exactly what he was talking about. It had colored pins for every associate he had gained, each in their geographical place. He was not sure right now where he would have to put this one. It would be a separate color from the other three, perhaps. And he was not sure whether it would be somewhere on Mospheira, or on the station. He was going to have to get a new map for that, if it was the station.

  But that pin was going to be there both to call on and to take care of—no matter how many years.

  9

  “God. It’s the traitor.” Braddock had definitely aged in the last two years—lost weight, lost hair. He’d had, once upon a time, an angry, forceful presence. Now . . . delivered by Lord Geigi’s security into a small room near the detention center, he looked uncertain. Angry, perhaps. But not like the man who’d stood off kyo and Phoenix alike. “I figured it’d be Sabin. But it’s you.”

  Bren held the seat at the end of the table. Banichi and Jago stood behind him, Tano and Algini held the doorway. In a room full of Guild, there was no sense of threat.

  Besides, violence had never been Braddock’s personal choice.

  “Mr. Braddock,” Bren said, gesturing at the chair at the other end. “Please. Sit down.”

  “You’re responsible for all this,” Braddock said, attempting to take the offensive. “Your people arrested me, your people and that Taylor upstart. What does Sabin say about it?”

  Bren put on a pleasant expression. “Tea, sir?” And in Ragi, “Tano-ji, two cups.”

  There was a service on the sideboard, utilitarian, plastic. And prepared. Tano moved.

  Braddock dropped into the chair at the other end of the table. “Skip the courtesies. What the hell do you want?”

  Tano set a cup in front of Bren, provided another in front of Braddock, who swayed away, sending Tano an uneasy look. Bren picked his up and took a sip. Braddock pushed his away.

  “I’m wondering,” Bren said, setting down his cup, “what you actually hoped to do, in moving closer to the section seal.”

  “Who’s asking? Sabin?”

  “Do you have some lingering quarrel with Captain Sabin?”

  A flicker of thought, perhaps reconsideration. “What do you think?”

  Bren gave a gentle shrug. “I authorized the move to sweep up your group. It wasn’t Captain Sabin. Captain Graham, who was the captain of record at the time, simply provided reinforcement, primarily to reassure the Reunioners with a human presence—and keep ship’s authority involved. But I’m here because you’ve managed to cross the plans of the man who rules most of the planet down there, and you’re verging on alienating the President of Mospheira, which is not to anyone’s great benefit. I represent both in taking that action. I’m here, now, to explain the situation to you, and to give you a chance to re-characterize your actions, maybe to start over. That chance won’t always be available. But Ms. Williams offered some information that might cast your actions in a better light. So I thought I’d ask you personally, at least, just to satisfy the record. My attention is fairly well occupied by the visitors approaching us. But I can spare enough time to figure out whether there is any reasonable explanation for what split the ship and Reunion. I met Ramirez, though briefly. I understand you and he didn’t get along.”

  All along, that constant flicker of thoughts darting this way and that, a frown that grew darker.

  “Who the hell are you?”

  “We’ve also met, briefly.”

  “I know your name. That doesn’t tell me who you are. What you are. Why you and these—” His gaze swept the room at an overwhelming atevi presence. “These people have any say in how this station runs.”

  Interesting view. Like Lord Topari, Braddock was having a little trouble with that word people. But then—Braddock’s ancestors had departed this station when humans alone had run it, and back then, the ancient human Pilots’ Guild had been in charge.

  “Because, Mr. Braddock, humans never owned the planet, and human residents abandoned this station to go down to the planet shortly after you left. When the ship came back—humans didn’t have the resources to get back to space. Atevi did. Atevi graciously share their planet with humans. They graciously share the station with humans, who until very lately used atevi shuttles to reach it. The atevi government very graciously transported humans back up here, and both nations of the planet jointly run this station. A treaty binds the Mospheiran government and the atevi government to share equally in that operation. Mospheira had a recent problem with Mr. Tillington, who wanted to believe he had more authority than his position warranted, but now the President of Mospheira has replaced Mr. Tillington, with instructions for the new stationmaster to fix what Mr. Tillington tried very hard to break. As for who I am—in the polite sense of your reasonable question—I speak for the atevi government, where they have to deal with outsiders. And I speak for outsiders where they have to deal with the atevi government. I’ve also been granted a fair amount of power to propose and dispose—so that things don’t annoy the atevi government. The ship—is the ship. It docks here. The ship is the guest of the two governments of the world. Forget the balance of powers that prevailed here when your ancestors and mine were last on this deck together. That’s ancient history, sir. This station is not governed by the Pilots’ Guild or by the ship. So believe me when I say it is possible for you to have a fresh start here. You are not now dealing with the ship. You’re dealing with an atevi official, who is asking you who you are.”

  “This is our station.”

  “No. It isn’t. It contains a part of a station humans built, then abandoned, centuries ago, a part in which you were clearly not pleased to be contained. And you are not now in the hands of your own government, or even of the Mospheiran government. The ship is asking you be handed over. I can do that, if that would make you more comfortable. It would certainly make Captain Ogun happy. Or you can become accustomed to atevi presence for the rest of your life.”

  That was not, perhaps, what Louis Baynes Braddock had expected. Not in the least, from his sullen glance about the room, the uneasy shift in his seat, what he wanted.

  Though admittedly, a contingent of Assassins’ Guild on watch were not a lighthearted and encouraging presence.

  “I won’t say that the people behind you are my friends, Mr. Braddock, because that word doesn’t translate in any sense that leads to good places. But four of them are my family in every good sense—I live with them, we take care of each other, we laugh, and we trust each other absolutely. Whether you can envision that for yourself—I don’t know. You don’t look as if you even believe it’s possible. And that’s a problem, sir. It really may be a problem you can’t overcome.”

  The sullen look had cracked, given way to a general pallor. Braddock’s hand curved around the cup, turned it, turned it. Maybe he was thinking of some entirely foolish move with it. Perhaps it was just the only source of warmth.

  “Are you afraid, sir? I assure you—you’re in a different place, where things will always be different. No one will harm you, granted you don’t try to harm anyone, yourself. But to be happy, sir, you do need to accept that things will be different.”

  No answer. No answer at all. And no happiness, either.

  “Here’s my point, sir, and please listen to this very carefully. Mospheirans are different from
you, too. Mospheirans are not the people you left here. They’re not the rebels. They’re not the colonists. They’re people who’ve adapted to life here, and changed themselves in ways that will probably startle you more than atevi will startle you, because your tendency will be to assume they’re like you. They’re not. And you, and your entire group of survivors, are a very small number compared to the population of Mospheira. You wouldn’t even constitute one small town, and Mospheira has cities, large cities, which vastly outnumber the population of this station. So believe me when I say adapting to people who look very different from you at least gives you fair warning that there will be differences . . . but adapting to get along with Mospheirans—as ultimately you must—means understanding that there will be differences between you and people that look just like you.”

  “Don’t lecture me.”

  “I do apologize, then, for disturbing you. I’ll leave you in peace. But I do hope you’ll give it some thought. You aren’t going to change things. I might. But that’s your choice.”

  “You want something from me.”

  “Not if I can’t trust you, sir, and I don’t think I can. I have other things on my mind, and I’d better go back to them, since this appears to be a mutual waste of time.”

  “You’re going to try to meet with the aliens.”

  “Yes.”

  “I gave us a chance,” Braddock said. “And I was damned right. I found out what Ramirez was up to. I tried to stop him and he ran off and did it anyway. We paid for it.”

  “Now I’m interested.” He set his arms on the table. “What was Ramirez up to?”

  “The ship was set up from its origins to find life. It’s got equipment the station didn’t have. I got word that Ramirez had found a living world—not just living, but advanced. How advanced—he apparently wasn’t sure.”

  “Timeline,” he asked Braddock. “When and how did you hear, relative to the first attack on the station?”