And he was out of the picture. He might not ever see his mother again. It was a real possibility. But he could only think of escape, on that front.
Go, he wished Toby. Go with all you’ve got. Change. You can do it at that age. I did. Take Jill out on that boat and don’t answer the damn radio.
“Put the files on my computer, Gini-ji. Thank you.”
He wanted them, not for sentiment, but to remind himself of the facts of the situation every time he grew maudlin.
And to rethink Tabini’s moves, if it became pertinent.
“None so bad,” he said to the four of them. “It explains some things. I canassure you all that Barb’s not coming with us.”
Jago had a look on her face that defied translation.
He added, for her benefit, “Another solar system is too close.”
The news would break soon, that the ship was going. The station and the ship were constantly observed by hobbyists. Its absence would make the news even if Tabini didn’t announce it—and he was sure that Tabini would announce it first. His mother, Barb, Toby—perhaps the President of Mospheira to boot, though one rather thought that his old ally Shawn was a willing co-conspirator with Ramirez and Tabini—were about to learn that the world was, once again, not what they had expected.
“The dowager’s letter,” he said.
This one, it turned out, had come in by courier, not electronic at all—and not within the electronic system the ship could spy on. Tano leaned and gave it to him, a small, familiar message-cylinder.
The door had opened, and he and Jago alike had failed to know it. They weretired.
We will board a few hours before the ship leaves,
the dowager’s note said.
We have sent certain personnel to board and secure premises. We trust that you will find our arrangements adequate. We understand your mother is ailing. We express my grandson’s concern, and mine.
We understand you have taken Mercheson-paidhi into your hands and set her in authority over your household. My staff will respect that perimeter and assist her as necessary.
He showed that letter to Banichi, and it went from him to Jago, and on to Tano, and Algini.
“Will you answer, nandi?” Tano asked quietly.
“Before we leave,” he said. He dismissed all thought of sleep tonight. He thought it might not be until tomorrow night. “Apologies to the staff, nadiin-ji. I’ll have breakfast. Might as well take care of business that has to be done. Staff may have to get sleep as they can—if they cansleep, let them. Tea and cold cakes are enough.”
In no wise would Bindanda permit that to be his breakfast, or the staff’s. Tea there certainly was, and warm cakes, and a reasonable breakfast, an any-hours buffet in the dining room. The dowager’s staff might find it scandalously impersonal, but his own staff had found certain useful compromises in crisis, in the breakdown of regular hours. Bindanda had recognized the signs, and quietly arranged an excellent table.
There was, in fact, very little for the paidhi to do physically, beyond sit at a keyboard and initiate communications to all manner of agencies that needed information and direction—agencies that had thought they knew who it was they were dealing with and now had to change their entire way of looking at things.
There were dozens of memos, this and that tag-end of information and transmission of contact names and communications channels, all to release as the ship undocked, and he had to remember the content, in case there needed to be changes.
There was a letter to the long-suffering staff on the planet, informing them they had to deal with one more set of requirements.
Please assist Mercheson-paidhi and amend her errors fearlessly, as you have done mine. Her frowns are only for her own effort: she has a good heart.
There was a letter to Geigi, wishing him good fortune. There was one to the dowager, stating he was in preparation to board.
And, among other things, there was a list, for Narani, of those things which staff might not think he needed. Certain picture files he wanted—if anything should happen out there, if they in fact were about to be taken by aliens, he could erase them along with things far more injurious. But he wanted the pictures with him for his sanity’s sake, simple images of the coast, the gardens, of his residency in the Bu-javid—and of people, oh, no few of people—Toby, on the boat, in that disreputable hat, smiling. Toby’s kids, building castles in the sand…
He didn’t look long. Here wasn’t a good time to look. It called up far too many possibilities of things he could do if he could only get the time, the contact, the cooperation, and he didn’t have the leisure of that much time.
He sought out reports on ship-status, which was 41% ready, whatever that meant—and he called Kate Shugart and Ben Feldman on C1 for a brief word, in essence: “You’re the ones with University training. Mercheson outranks you and she’s had immersion in the language, but you have the technical channels. Work with her and use them. You know the urgency.”
“Yes, sir,” the answer was in both cases, no question, no demur. They did know. That was their value.
Meanwhile news reports came in from Mospheira, and he saw the distress in headlines: Alien Menace Revealedfrom the seedier press and President Reveals Pactfrom the more reliable, neither of which made breakfast sit easy.
Shawn’s public statement said, briefly,
We have cooperated with our allies in deliberation and preparation based on information now declassified. In accordance with plans made jointly with us and with Shejidan, Phoenix captains will, as agreed with us, undertake a carefully defined two-year mission back to their abandoned base, first to be sure conditions are as anticipated and secondly to retrieve certain personnel who have maintained the base as an observation post. They will then close operations there and return to us, to their permanent base at the station. No alien action is anticipated and none has been detected.
One wasn’t sure what the world expected to see at this distance, unless the aliens exploded a star or flashed a high-powered beacon at them. And in the limitations of lightspeed—an islander’s mind still struggled with the scale of things—they stillwouldn’t receive the message for a number of years.
The planned operation has no bearing on station construction. Key Phoenix personnel will remain on the station and actively participate in the program as planned. There is no change in agreements or schedule.
So what else could they say? Shawn was no fool, either: Mospheira historically distrusted Phoenixcrew. They were nervous about atevi strangeness on general principles and previous bad experience—but generally they knew what to expect with atevi. Distrust of Phoenix, however, had far, far more history with Mospheirans, and the very first conclusion anyone on the island would draw was, It’s all a sham. We’ve been double-crossed. They’re stealing the ship. We’ve been conned.
Still, the worst the seedier report had to say was,
The aliens could be looking this way at this very moment. The starship under construction is dependent on politicians for every bolt and panel. The legislature can debate day to dark, but the real threat is clearly out there…
They could have said far worse. The thread of trust was stretched very, very thin—but common sense prevailed. He took two antacids and drafted the most important letter of his career.