“A mutual wish. Baji-naji, Jase-nandi.” He shut down the contact, and carefully patted Prakuyo on the shoulder, since Prakuyo had touched him with such familiarity. “Come. Rest, Prakuyo-ji. We go rest.”
Prakuyo might not have understood the essential word, but he got up and came along, a broad, rolling stride beside him, all the way back to his borrowed quarters.
“Sleep,” Bren said then, making the pantomime. “Rest.”
“Yes,” Prakuyo said with a deep rumble. “Yes.” Prakuyo might be exhausted— he was exhausted; but precious little time they might have before critical things happened: that the alien craft got close, demanding to come in; or that Sabin decided to come aboard and take command. Both things were possible, concurrently, other people had made agreements without asking, and he was running out of energy and out of ideas simultaneously.
Most of all he’d had to go running off settling that problem and not seeing to personal concerns, and his first question to Asicho, going back to the security post, was Banichi’s whereabouts.
“In the clinic, with Jago, nandi. He has followed all of this.”
Banichi would; so would Jago. Could he doubt, as long as they were conscious? “I shall see them,” he said. “Thank you, Asa-ji.”
Off to the clinic, closer to their front door, a little room, seeming smaller still with their casualties and the dowager’s physician and a younger aide.
Banichi had gotten a bandage, at least. Bren inhaled to give himself room next a cabinet and Banichi’s chair, Jago standing on the other side.
“You know what the dowager has agreed,” Bren said straight off.
“Of course,” Jago said, and Banichi threw in, “We will be there, Bren-ji.”
“I bear a certain guilt, only asking it of you.”
“Did I hear asking?” Banichi said with a look at Jago.
“No,” Jago said, “one never heard asking.”
He laid a hand on Jago’s shoulder, Banichi’s being likely extremely sore. “Our guest seems civil, at least, nadiin-ji. My greatest worry is Sabin-aiji, if she involves herself in decisions already taken.”
“Sabin-aiji seems busy at the moment,” Banichi observed.
“May she stay that way long enough.” A large breath. He didn’t want to leave them. But they were in competent hands, there was nothing useful he could do here, and he had to refocus his attention on his own skills. Most of all he had to make decisions, to think about the core vocabulary they had to have, and what he was going to say, and how he was going to negotiate a peace with a vocabulary of some fifty or so words.
A gentle pat. One for Banichi, a piece of temerity, but Banichi was obliged, occasionally, to put up with human notions. “One needs a little time to think. Rest , nadiin-ji. Take painkillers without any consideration of the matter ahead: we wish to project ease and pleasantness.”
Short laugh from Banichi. “Pleasantness.”
“Think of going home, nadiin-ji,” Bren said. “Think of us all going home.” A second pat. “Thank you.”
He escaped before he could embarrass himself further, shook off the scene in the clinic and the memory of that glowing strand of desperate refugees, the recollection that Gin and Sabin were desperately engaged in a mission that was going to complicate his own, in timing—none of these things could be top priority in his head now.
They needed go away and destroy the station . They needed take the inhabitants and excuse us for the inconvenience .
They possibly needed please don’t come calling at our planet , but he didn’t see how he was going to get at that one if it wasn’t a mutual desire for disentanglement.
And he might need stickier words, which could be a provocation to try to pull out of their guest. He might need a pad of paper and a pencil, to do diagrams.
A pocket full of sugar candies. That had been the most useful trade goods—forget trying to pretend all this number of humans and atevi didn’t have a planet somewhere, forget trying to conceal where it was. If that alien craft hadn’t been sitting here waiting for them they might have lied about that issue—but given a direction and adequate optics, no question they could find the earth of the atevi. Prakuyo’s folk might ask about the origin of humans, if they correctly perceived they weren’t quite the same biologically, and that could be difficult. No, believe us, we actually misplaced our home planet .
Trust was such a precious commodity.
He took a little chance, from his own quarters, to consult Gin’s staff, wondering how things were going, not wishing to bother Jase with questions, and Gin’s staff reported that Gin was tired, that she and Sabin were swearing at each other, and that another of Gin’s team was suited and out there.
Excellent. Beyond excellent. He sat down on his bed and fell backwards, eyes shut, seeing Gin, suited, in that lonely camera view. Sabin, in that doorway.
That ship moving in on them, blip on a screen, more ominous than anything Braddock could still throw at them.
What more did he want to say?
Come, go, give, take, you, we, they. Woman, man, child.
Fight, not fight. Shoot. Not shoot.
Food, water.
To, from, out of, on, off, over, under, around, through . Pesky directional words that in some languages weren’t words at all.
Not . Ragi was dubious about negatives, wrapped them carefully in courtesies and precise formulae.
Always, never, soon, if . Truly the soft tissue of thought. Time. Time and degree of reality. May and could , those words of conjecture. No hope at all of getting that far into the language. They had to stick to concrete, demonstrable items and actions.
And which language? Prakuyo had picked up elementary Ragi hand over fist, in a matter of hours, and six years among humans hadn’t made him fluent—that he admitted, that he wanted to admit.
It argued that Ragi was a better bridge for Prakuyo’s people. And it stated the truth: that humans weren’t the highest power in these regions, that if one wanted to trade—another useful word—or talk—the best language for it was likely going to be Ragi, and the authority that governed it all wasn’t on the station, nor even on the ship: it was in Shejidan, and the dowager was its representative— he was its representative. He hadn’t abdicated his responsibilities. He’d acted on the ship’s behalf because the senior captain had stripped all its security away—leaving, perhaps deliberately, atevi as the ship’s defense.
Atevi, like nature, abhorred a vacuum. They moved in. He had. He didn’t want to argue the point with Sabin, who probably thought she was running things—certainly he didn’t want to argue it in front of the neighbors.
So, well. Leader, authority, government, people, nation . Those pesky abstract structures that everyone called simple, that provoked so many wars.