And he, meanwhile, would still get his ride.
“So may we ride this afternoon? Would you ride, Uncle?”
“Sedately,” Uncle Tatiseigi said. “Sedately. We have no wish to stir up that young hellion of yours: she wears peace-caps even in pasture. You will learn to ride on this one, young gentleman, you surely will. But all her first lessons should be manners. Manners. Manners. Three times important.”
Mani raced. Or had, when she was younger. Raced. And hunted, on the great Babsidi. He wished he had seen it.
But out there in a fair-sized herd, being on his own in every other respect, and with the two who could really ride—Antaro and Jegari—off on their own business, he thought teaching Jeichido manners with Uncle was a very good plan.
• • •
“We’re secure here,” Shawn said. And one had to wonder—how much Shawn knew, or how he knew it.
Bren did know. Algini had come in briefly—into the executive office in Francis House, Shawn’s office, with the Presidential seal and all, and set down a little black box, the size of a playing card. It had a green light. That was good. If it turned red, it was not good.
“I take it that thing does not explode if we go off-topic,” Shawn said.
“No.” Bren gave a quiet smile. “But if that light turns red we turn rapidly to discussing the weather.”
“My bodyguards and yours. Perhaps they can organize a card game.”
“May the day come.”
“Did you sleep last night?”
“Actually, yes. Food was great. Compliments to your chef. And my aishid appreciated the extra pillows. They could pile those up and compensate for the mattress length. May I ask for four extra beds. They can turn them sideways to add a little length and be a bit more comfortable.”
“God. The details. I am sorry. If we’d known you were coming over—”
“Honestly, Tabini ordered it. And I think it’s a good idea I did come—as I came. Shawn, I am always available to do just what I did, to represent your interests, and I shall. But the days of applying for Archive items for atevi use are pretty well passing. I won’t mediate that any longer, except to say—if there is anything secret left in there, release it to the aishidi’tat and save us all the bother. On a practical level we can get it from the ship. But that function of the Linguistics Department needs to obsolesce. We’re building an atevi starship, for God’s sake. We should be able to get access to whatever’s in the record.”
“I entirely agree. Explaining that simple reality to certain mindsets is going to be a sales job. But it’s only practical.”
“It’s only practical considering Reunioner science took what’s in there and went on developing with access to microgravity materials and energy for well over a hundred years. We have people up there, on short rations and a mistake away from injury, who know something about that.”
“I’ve talked to Gin. She wants to land them.”
“The aiji agrees and he has a few words on the matter. The aiji will afford them landing on atevi shuttles whenever useful and will bring them to Port Jackson or wherever else you’d like to have them. You deal with them, after that. But insofar as these people bring processes and science with them, these items will not be withheld from atevi industry. We have one instance of a man who’s brought salvaged manuals from a Reunion research lab. Asgard stationside offered him things it had no right to offer, apparently with Stationmaster Tillington’s help, getting his son into a unique program, getting employment which other Reunioners were barred from—not a pleasant situation. Gin’s investigating.”
“I know a bit about this—from Gin.”
“I don’t personally fault the Reunioner in question. He saved what would have been destroyed and used it to get his son out of the terrible situation the Reunioners are in. I don’t blame him. I do blame the company that took advantage of the situation. The Reunioner is, in my opinion, due compensation. I’m not after Asgard on the ground, understand, but they need to know that their on-station manager was engaged in shady dealings with Tillington, in what was ultimately a deal to get Asgard to try to take atevi materials to launch a station-built Reunioner expedition out to Maudit. You know that proposal.”
“Definitely. It’s dead. There’s not going to be a Maudit effort.”
“For the record, atevi mined those resources, atevi have refined them, or lifted them into orbit, and the atevi postponed construction on the starship and held those materials in reserve because of the situation in the aishidi’tat, which is now history. The resources belong to the aishidi’tat. Human project planning doesn’t get to include them. Repair and maintenance of the station is something atevi will support. But Maudit, besides being unworkable, and a dead issue, has one further problem: population balance. Atevi stand by the treaty that set up the station population as equal. And officially calls on the Mospheiran government to stand by the agreement and to repudiate any suggestion that the arrival of the Reunioners changes that requirement.”
“Pretty plain,” Shawn said without offense. “We accept that we’ve got an overpopulation of humans up there, and we understand that we have a choice: the station can either build itself larger to accommodate five thousand more atevi—or we bring five thousand people down.”
“Five thousand people, I have to say, who never passed screening. Who include some problems.”
“So better down here than up there.”
“Far better. I have a proposal. An immediate proposal.”
“What is it?”
“Get the young aiji’s guests down—not to the continent, but here. They’re personable. They’re smart, they’ve had an introduction to realities down here, and they don’t need the meds, apparently, though their parents may. I have a notion, if you’ll hear it.”
“I’m anxious to hear it.”
“Attach the kids and their parents to the University, the seed of a very small community, to work with the University. Safest environment I can think of, and the Reunioners in general, once we start moving the general population down, can contribute to knowledge. If the Mospheiran public gets the idea there is value in what the Reunioners know, they can have an introduction to Mospheiran society as people with something to contribute—they can have a much easier start than if they’re presented as needing charity. Some do. Some are probably going to be problems. But some are very valuable. Put those valuable ones on University stipend, let the University figure how to use those resources, and the University being the disseminator of the information incidentally spreads out the advantage conveyed by any science they may bring in. Let companies that can take advantage of the information use it freely. There’s also history to recover, where records are now lost; there are genetic studies possible. There’s work for Linguistics, and Anthro, and Law, and Medicine. I’m sure there are others who’ll be interested. Even the Reunioners who aren’t in possession of unique knowledge will be a resource. Present them as such.”
“Interesting. Interesting. Gin’s proposing to start construction on no-return vehicles. She says you discussed it.”
“I’ve presented the aiji with the notion of dedicated drop zones, with atevi transport delivering cargo to the coast, your transport or his, at that point. The shuttles go up with the usual load, and they begin coming down with passengers, about fifty at a time—a full shuttle load, at intervals Mospheira feels comfortable with. Otherwise cargo can go down as ordinarily scheduled. With some passage for station folk needing furlough.”
“You have this worked out in specific?”
“Partially. I’m looking for input from you, among others. It’s far from set in stone. I’ve also thought of setting another small community of techs and skilled workers down on Crescent Island.”
“Any suggestion of taking Mospheiran technical jobs won’t go over well.”
“If they bring the knowledge I think the
y do, there’ll be more jobs in the long run. Unfortunately, there will be a period of tension in the short run while things get started, and there are going to be questions—how does it affect me? And inevitably—these are the descendants of old station management, that we hated enough to bail ourselves out of the station in parachutes. Why should they get special treatment? In point of fact, the real station management bailed with us, also with parachutes, but that’s not how people think of it. These people are the descendants of people who just opted to go with the ship, and tracing the families may prove that, but the Heritage Party won’t care. They’ll raise the issue.”
“They’ll definitely raise the issue,” Shawn said.
“So. I’ve done the talking this far. I’m interested in your view.”
Shawn shrugged. “I agree with you. I absolutely agree with you. It’s the only thing we can do, and your idea of working them into the University community—I don’t know if your estimate of value these people bring down with them is overly optimistic, but I do know I don’t want a crew of upset people sitting out at Maudit planning how to get back here and get revenge for the way we treated them. Hospitality, a little legal oversight, a firm policy of knitting the Reunioners back into the social fabric—that’s smart. They’ll change us a little. We’ll change them a lot.”
“Reunioners don’t understand leisurely approaches to things, but they do understand about minimal interference until they understand a system. Stationers and earthborn take similar precautions: they just describe them differently.”
“I hope that’s true.”
“I’ve a notion who to involve in setting some of this up.”
“Kate Shugart?”
“Kate. Tom Lund. Ben Feldman. Kate to handle the University interface, Tom Lund to handle the legalities and corporate interests, employment, the whole legal mess. Ben Feldman to handle the technicals and interpret Kate in a kinder, gentler way.”
Shawn gave a wry little laugh. “The old team.”
“Together with Gin.”
“If we can talk them into it.”
“Sonja Podesta.”
Shawn’s executive secretary. “Sonja’s officially retired from State. I miss her.” A long deep breath. “This is for your ears only. She spent the mainland upheaval in Intelligence. That’s where she still is. And she will do what I ask.”
Bren nodded, accepting. “One more I’d like to have, working directly with the children’s parents, first team down. Sandra Johnson.”
“Sandra. God.”
“Married, two kids.”
“Four.”
“Four?”
“Last I heard. We do track her. We track everybody who had a close connection to you.”
“Sandra’s smart, she catches details, she’s got typical kids, a husband—John, I think it was, and she’s got the best sympathetic ear going. I’d call her at midnight, saying, Sandra, I need a message passed, or I need a permission, and she’d keep after it until she found whoever it was, and got me whatever I needed, if she had to track it down. If I had to pick somebody to keep a watch on the first-down, somebody who’d just be a decent neighbor—Sandra.”
“I remember. I couldn’t forget. Guess who Sandra called when all else failed.”
He nodded. Of course she had.
“So that’s your list,” Shawn said. “I’ll track them down. Never mind Kate. She’s been in touch. I’ll tell her.”
Old names. Old allies. New problem. But if he could get the old team assembled—
He’d have to leave them to do the work alone. He’d not be who he had been, back in the old days, when he’d come often to the island, when it was him and Shawn, Sonja and Sandra—or when they’d been cast into a wild rush to space, building on plans from the old Archive, and they’d had to set up the station.
Gin had come to his rescue, up on station.
Now they needed the others. And whoever they could pull in.
For a situation they’d never planned to have.
But Cajeiri’s three human guests—were about to pioneer a program that would ground the Reunioners. Give them a world. Take away their access to space, unless they were both determined and qualified.
There were compensations. Sunrises. Sunsets. Mountains. Irene—gazing into an oncoming storm, rapt in wonder.
Some might be terrified. Some might be thrilled. But it was all in their expectations of life on Earth . . . which should be not too extravagant—but not too little, either.
• • •
The lamps shed gold light over the sitting room.
And one sat carefully. Quite carefully, despite a long, warm bath.
They had ridden, oh, for much of the afternoon, and Uncle had shown him finesses that Jeichido knew, when she was reminded of them.
She had shed out bronze for the summer. She had eyes like the sun. With long lashes that Uncle said mecheiti had evolved to protect against dust. Her long neck was muscled and strong enough to take the rein away if one lost leverage, and her peace-caps were a good thing, because she was very sly at getting near enough to one of the other mecheiti to swing her head. The peace-caps were blunt, preventing real damage. That had happened once, to his embarrassment—but he had stopped that game.
And in the saddle, he was tall as anybody, well, almost, and he had not done badly, not half. He had ridden before. He had ridden the way most people did, happy to stay on, and on a mecheita mostly content to follow. A young likely herd-leader was another sort of creature, and Jeichido had had time now, living at Uncle’s estate, to get another season under her and to form a notion of just how few of the herd dared get in her way.
Not many, in fact. She was bent on getting farther up in the order, and there were only five in Uncle’s herd who could bluff her down.
It was scary how fast she could get out of hand; but Uncle, who did not look like a strong person, told him exactly when, and where, to use the quirt—gently, in fact, but distracting; and where to put his balance if she tried certain tricks. He was really surprised at how Uncle had an answer for most every bad behavior, and how to keep the rein gentle, too.
They had talked about the land, talked about the seasons, talked about orchards—which were fruiting now; and the condition of the hedges, and what it took to maintain them—a thousand things about the estate and things Uncle knew.
He wondered if Uncle were as sore as he was, where he was sore, and decided probably not, because Uncle rode more than once a year, and always had, he supposed, from back before there were airplanes or computers, let alone atevi going into space.
“The soreness goes away,” Uncle said, “after three days at it. But you will want to have another long bath this evening. If you were here more often, you would not be so inconvenienced. And you may be here more often, should you wish. The children, too. One understands the paidhi is arranging for them to come down.”
“He is,” Cajeiri said, teacup in hand, and hoped that matter did not constitute business, which would be rude, during tea. But Uncle had brought up the topic, so he supposed it was allowed. “And one hopes they will visit often, and they would be very happy to be invited. I would be happy.”
“Well, we shall host them here as often as they choose to come. You may tell them so.”
“They very much enjoyed Tirnamardi. And your stories about the antiquities. They were very excited by those.”
That pleased Uncle, he could tell. Tirnamardi cellars were packed with marvelous objects, all of which had a history, some of which went back to very earliest times. It was a collection like a museum, and Uncle’s scary stories and the dark and the artifacts themselves were an experience he himself would never forget.
“And this kyo youngster, this son of the kyo aiji . . . do you anticipate his return? Perhaps a visit to the mainland?”
“One would doubt it. Kyo are very
different. I think they would be very uncomfortable. Cold, always. If he were to visit, too, I would have to visit him. Nand’ Bren calls it reciprocity.”
“Re-si-pro-si-ty.” Uncle tasted the human word. “And is this a kyo idea.”
“Nand’ Bren says he knows no Ragi word that quite fits. He says the closest would be an echo. The kyo made a signal. We repeat it. At every stage of complexity we repeat it. What they do, we do. What we do, they do. Until we agree. Nand’ Bren thinks Prakuyo brought an elder person, perhaps even a relative, and his son, because mani and I were part of the meeting at Reunion Well, I think so, and nand’ Bren thought I could be right.”
“You are very quick. Astonishingly quick. I told your father this would be an asset someday. And clearly he agrees. Of course your great-grandmother is convinced. So we shall not expect this boy—Hakun?”
“Hakuut, Uncle. Hakuut an Ti.”
“Well, well, Hakuut. We shall not expect him to join your association of youngsters, shall we, then?”
“I think not, Uncle. I think he will be as old as Lucasi before he reaches home.”
“Such lengthy and inconvenient traveling. One cannot undertake it lightly. But soon we are to have the youngsters and their parents at a much more convenient distance.”
“Father does not wish the parents to visit, I think, and probably this is how it should be. Mospheira will be strange enough for them. But my associates will learn both sides of the strait.”
“And visit.”
“And visit.”
“I will tell you,” Uncle said, and set his cup down, in the way of someone who had reached a point that needed discussion. “I am considering a new establishment. A new stable.”
“Indeed.”
“Jeichido is special. She is the product of Babsidi and Saidaro—very apt to challenge my old lad, possibly even by next year.”
“Would you have me move her, Uncle? I might persuade nand’ Bren . . .”