“Shortcut by the plain fact the Old Man was poking around among planets with our life requirements,” Jase said. “So the Guild had an alien hostage. And they don’t, now. We do. We’ve got Jenrette. We’re short a robot, but the word is out. We’ve papered the mast with our fliers. They’ll have hell’s own time rounding those up.”
“We dispersed others on the far side of the station.”
“Any shooting?”
“We made a fair amount of racket—Jago tossed a few grenades, but nobody got killed, nobody hurt on our side. About the brochures—I confess I told certain people they were first-boarding tickets.”
Not much had struck Jase as funny in the last number of hours. The laugh was startled, quickly gone. “We urgently need to talk to this alien. Any possibility?”
“Six years in confinement… if he hasn’t learned at least yes, no , and go to hell I’ll be surprised.”
“But that’s not guaranteed by anything you’ve heard.”
“No. It’s not guaranteed. I’ve sent him to five-deck. Furniture that fits his size. Personnel with the physical strength to hold him. He’s large. He’s far too strong for human guards. He’s almost too strong for Banichi.”
“I trust you know what you’re doing.” Jase tapped a stylus on his desk. “We’ve made a fair stir here. Observers on that ship out there are going to start wondering. I don’t want to back this ship out and take them the hostage, for several reasons. I don’t want to panic the station. And I don’t want to get involved in negotiations with the aliens out there before we board our people. I want it a fait accompli. But if we take all that mass on, we’ve got to chase the fuel situation to a conclusion, next number one priority. We lost a robot. We did get some pictures. And we know where the guns are.”
Risky venture. But so was everything.
“If we could get a long-distance understanding with that ship out there,” Bren said, “if we knew we could gain time…”
“That would be very useful, if we knew that for certain,” Jase said. “I’d really like that—if you can figure how.”
“I’ll find a way,” he said to Jase. “I don’t know yet what our guest may know. Hold off on attempting the fuel for at least six hours. I’ll see if I can learn anything.”
“Six hours,” Jase said. “Six hours, if nothing else happens. Don’t bet too heavily it won’t. The stationers you met have seen atevi—not to mention Jenrette’s almost certainly told what he knows. So that secret’s out. Becker’s out and away, armed with more of your travel brochures. He and his men say they’re going to get their families and relatives packed and ready—or they could could to run straight to the Guild, if any one of them thinks what they’ve learned is that valuable to Braddock.”
“You can judge their intentions better than I can.”
“I don’t know,” Jase said. “Likely they themselves didn’t know what they were going to do when they left. In their line of work, they’re cautious. They don’t trust things. They’ll try to verify what’s been going on before they make any decision. And my bet is they’ll go immediately to their closest contacts. They’ll take a look at their wives and their kids. I think they’ll come back. The way I half way figure Jenrette is adding up the odds and thinking how to get Sabin back here in one piece.”
“One hopes so,” Bren murmured in Ragi, and reached in his pocket and handed Jase the builder’s key. “This was useful, nadi-ji.”
“So nothing’s changed.”
“One new door not on the system. That was all we found that failed to answer it.”
Jase pocketed the key himself. “Useful to know. I’ll advise Gin of that.”
“I’m going,” Bren said, switching languages without thinking. “I’ll call when I know something.”
Scary business. A change of clothing was in order, at very least, a change of clothing, a quick wash, a change of direction, a change of mind and mental state away from fight-flight and panic, and toward orderly problem-solving.
Among first things, the gun went back into storage. He was as glad to shed that as he had been to turn the key back to Jase’s keeping.
“One is grateful, Rani-ji. It was extremely useful.”
“Nandi.” Narani absorbed the compliment as graciously as Bindanda would accept praise for a fine dinner. The gun had not been fired—a condition that pleased them both.
“One wishes also,” Bren said, “Rani-ji, a change of clothing for our guest, somehow. One observes a very great girth.”
“One has already provided him an adequate bathrobe and estimated his measurements, nandi. One hopes this was proper.”
“Indeed. Thank you, Rani-ji. And food and drink?” Without knowing his preferences, one might think bland food close to its natural state might be a safe choice, but there were hazards in atevi cuisine, a fondness for alkaloids humans had found quite distressing. Even fruits were not without difficulties, for some individuals. “Bland fruit juice. Abi , I think, and cold water. Unleavened breads.”
“At once, nandi. We have only awaited your order.”
“Perhaps sweets as well.” Food must be one of those very basic things to species which didn’t live on moonbeams, sugars were fairly simple, as best he could recall, and a cool drink, a meal, and a change to comfortable clothing improved any disposition.
Narani accordingly went off to inform Bindanda, and he went for a shower that might relieve the stinging in his eyes—a discomfort worsened since he had rubbed them on the way down. Red-eyed, he was sure. Slightly smoky. But generally undamaged, except for seeing that clerk’s frightened face every time he shut his eyes… God, he was not cut out for Banichi’s and Jago’s line of work.
He scrubbed. Furiously. And began to shift mental gears, began to trust his surroundings and get the shivers out of his system.
He hoped their guest had taken their intervention in his situation as a rescue, not a dive from frying pan to fire. He had no idea what they were dealing with, beyond that—whether they were dealing with an ordinary soldier, a ship’s crewman, a belligerent warlord bent on conquest or perhaps some hapless scientist or maker of dictionaries who’d come in to learn what they were dealing with.
Who, among aliens, would logically comprise a team sent aboard an apparently war-wrecked station, their own handiwork? Someone like himself would be most logical… to human beings of a certain era of humanity. But that certainly wasn’t a given, here. For all they could know, it was a priest come to bless the event, a political activist who’d run aboard to stage a protest. Civilizations of advanced sort could be amazingly baroque.
And what would an individual of whatever original intent have been planning for six years of captivity in a glass cage?
In their guest’s position, Bren thought, he’d try to learn something, he’d try to escape with what he knew, and being unregenerate terrestrial primate—he’d try to stay alive to get revenge, if nothing else. What would Banichi or Jago do? Attempt to return to their aiji, to their association, working mayhem only on what frustrated that aim, bearing personal resentment not at all, except as someone got in their way. Humans had jails. Atevi had the Assassins’ Guild. Neither side could understand the others’ problem-solving.
And what was their guest thinking now? What frustrated instincts were they dealing with?
He got out of the shower and Jeladi helped him into his dressing-robe. His clothing was laid out on the bed, dignified, but not fussy. He approved Jeladi’s choice: he had yet to report to the dowager, among other pressing matters. His good blue coat was an excellent choice, a soothing color.
Jago came in while he was dressing, Jago with not a hair out of place—nor ever had had, that he had detected, not even while wrestling with their rescuee in the pod. She had changed uniforms for one that didn’t reek of fumes.
“No scratches or scrapes, one hopes, Jago-ji. How is our guest?”
“Well enough,” she said. “One should add, however, Bren-ji, this person has formidable teeth. He did attempt to use them, so Banichi advises us.”