He promised Prakuyo an Tep that indeed this was the son and grandmother of the great ruler of the atevi planet (a mild exaggeration) and a partner with humans (true, mostly) in their dealings with the cosmos. He had done that, in fact.
Humans having greatly offended the kyo, he had collected the whole stationful of them that had so offended, and delivered them back to the star they shared with atevi.
Humans having so greatly offended the kyo, he had persuaded the kyo that atevi were a very great authority who would make firm policy and guarantee humans’ good behavior in future.
Most of all, he had shown the kyo, who had never seen another intelligent species prior to their exiting their own solar system, and who had somehow gotten into space with noconcept or history of negotiation—one shuddered to think how— that two powerful species could get along with each other andwith the kyo—a thunderbolt of a concept the paidhi had no illusions would meet universal acceptance among the kyo.
Prakuyo an Tep, over a massive plate of teacakes, miraculously and suddenly resupplied in this dream, vowed to come to the atevi world and document this miracle for his people, a visit which would persuade them to conclude agreements with this powerful atevi ruler and his grandmother and son—agreements which would of course bind all humans—and together they would find a way to deal with the troublesome neighbors on the kyo’s otherperimeter: God knew whether that species had a concept of negotiation, either.
But the paidhi, the official translator, whose job entailed maintenance of the human-atevi interface, and the regulation of mandated human gifts of technology tothe atevi—according to the treaty which had ended the War of the Landing—had apparently another use in the universe. He was supposed to teach the kyo themselves the techniques of negotiation.
And simultaneously, back on the planet, he had to make sure Tabini’s regime was secure and peaceful.
And make sure Tabini’s grandmother was in good humor.
And make sure Tabini’s son didn’t kill himself in some juvenile venture, anddidn’t take so enthusiastically to things human that he ended up creating disaster for his own people on the day he did take over leadership of the aishidi’tat.
He really had hated to say no to the boy, who had harder things to do than most boys. He hadpromised him a boat trip.
And he sat there having tea with the kyo and telling himself he was firmly in charge of all these things. He had lied a lot, lately. He really didn’t like being in that position, lying to the boy, lying to the kyo, lying to—
Just about everybody he dealt with, exceptBanichi and Jago, and Tano and Algini. They knew him. They forgave him. They helped him remember what he had told everybody.
And pretty soon now, he was going to have to lie to the atevi legislature and tell them everything was under controlc when they all knew that there were still plenty of people out there who thought the paidhi hadn’tdone a great job of keeping human technology from disrupting their culture.
This didn’t, however, stop atevi from being hell-bent on having wireless phones. Some clans thought his opposing their introduction was a human plot to keep the lordly houses at a disadvantage—because the paidhi’s guard had them, and probably Tabini’s had them, and nobody else currently could have them. Clearly it was a plot, and Tabini was in the pocket of the humans, who secretly told Tabini what to doc they became quite hot about it.
Tea with Prakuyo became the windblown outside of a racing locomotive, with a great Ragi banner atop, and the paidhi sat atop that engine, chilled to the bone by an autumn wind, hoping nobody found his pale skin a particular target.
They were coming into the capital. And the people of Shejidan might or might not be glad to see Tabini return to powerc
“Bren-ji.” Jago’s voice. “We have just passed Parodai.”
They were approaching the lowlands. In the red car. Carrying all his baggage.
He was appalled, and looked at Banichi and Jago, who had gotten less sleep last night than he had, and who were still wide awake.
Maybe they had napped, alternately. Maybe Tano and Algini were taking the opportunity, safely sealed in the baggage car. He certainly hoped they were.
Had he been wound that tight, that the moment he quitted the capital, he slept the whole day away? He still felt as if he could sleep straight through to the next morning.
But he had now, with Banichi’s and Jago’s help, to put on his best coat, do up his queue in its best style, and look like the returning lord of his little district.
He owed that, and more, to the people of the district, who had held out against the rebels.
He owed it to the enterprising staff, many of them from the Bujavid—who had fled during the coup and simultaneously spirited away his belongings—which had consequently notfallen into the hands of the Farai.
His people had held out on his estate, staying loyal to him when that loyalty could have ultimately cost them their lives.
That it had not come under actual attack had been largely thanks to the close presence of Geigi’s neighboring estate and the reluctance of anyoutsider to rouse the Edi people of that district from their long quietc the Edi, long involved in a sea-based guerilla war with almost everybody, were at peace, and not even the Marid had found it profitable to add the Edi to their list of problems. The west coast was remote from the center of the conflict, which had centered around the capital and the Padi Valley—and it just hadn’t been worth it to the rebels to go after that little center of resistencec yet.
He’d gotten home in time. Tabini had launched his counter-coup in time. The estate had held out long enough. The threat of war was gone and Najida stood untouched.
And the paidhi-aiji owed them and Geigi’s people so very much.
He had fresh, starched lace at collar and cuffs, had a never-used ribbon for his queue—the ribbon was the simple satin white of the paidhi-aiji, not the spangled black of the Lord of the Heavens, which he very rarely used. He sat down again carefully, so as not to rumple his beige-and-blue brocade coat, and let Banichi and Jago put on their own formal uniforms, Guild black, still, but with silver detail that flashed here and there. Their queues were immaculately done, their sleek black hair impeccable—Bren’s own tended to escape here and there, blond wisps that defied confinement.
He opened up his computer for the remainder of the journey. He’d hoped to work on the way, on matters for the next session. He’d slept, instead, and now there was time only for a few more notes on the skeleton of an argument he hoped to carry into various committees. Atevi, accustomed to the various Guilds exchanging short-range communications, had seen the advanced distance-spanning communications they had brought back from the ship, and gotten the notion what could be had.
Worse, humans on Mospheira had adopted the devices wholesale and set up cell towers, and the continent, thanks to improved communications, knew it.
He had to argue that it wasn’t a good idea. He had to persuade an already suspicious legislature, reeling from two successive and bloody purges—one very bloody one when Tabini went into exile, and one somewhat less so when he returned—that he was notarguing against their best interests, and that after all the unwelcome human technology he had let land on the continent, he was going to say no to one they wanted. And the paidhi’s veto, by treaty law, was supposed to be absolute in that arena. That, too, was under pressure: if he attempted to veto, and if Tabini didn’t back him and the legislature went ahead anyway, that override weakened the vital treaty—and did nothing good for the world, either.