“What do youthink, Tano-ji?” It hadn’t been his intention at all to question the security arrangements. “Absolutely I trust your judgment.”
“I think we should go in as quickly as possible, nand’ paidhi. I’m assured we’ll be met by very adequate security, and the longer we delay the harder it may be to guarantee that, at least for the next few hours. Celebration is more likely than opposition to this event, as I would gather will be the case behind us in Sarini province; and that will discourage fools from unFiled retaliations. Professionals, however, may still be acting under legal contract against persons other than yourself, nand’ paidhi, and I would advise discretion.”
“I’m sure.” Things were stiffly formal when Tano and Algini had the staff present, or he’d invite Tano and Algini both to sit down, share a drink, and tell him the realgoings-on. The plane flew serenely between a human-occupied heaven and an atevi earth in turmoil. And his security, licensed assassins of the Guild, declared it safe to go into the capital city airport, but there were elements loose and still in motion that had them worried. That was what he heard in Tano’s statement: knowledge of a threat not precisely aimed at him but through which he might have to pass. Guild members contracted to Saigimi were professionals who would not waste themselves or their colleagues’ lives in a lost cause, but there would be moves for power within the clan and around it. Aftershocks were not over.
Trust these two, and leave Geigi, who owed him his intercession and thereby his survival? Absolutely. Tano’s and Algini’s man’chi was to Tabini, and if Tabini ever wanted him dead, these were the very ones who would see to it. If Tabini wanted him alive, these were the ones who would fling their bodies between him and a bullet without a second thought. Man’chi was very simple until one approached the hazy ground between households, which was where Geigi’s grew too indistinct to trust in a crisis like this. Man’chi went upward to the leader but not downfrom him. It was instinct. It was mathematics as atevi added matters. And these two advised him to move quickly and not to divert to any other destination.
So he simply began to fold up his work and to shut down his computer as Tano got up again to order something regarding their landing.
The plane banked sharply and dived, sending dignified atevi careening against the seats and up. Bren clamped his fingers to hold onto his precious computer as the smooth plastic case slid inexorably through his grip, aimed by centrifugal force at the window.
Fruit juice had hit the same window and wall and stood in orange beads.
The plane leveled out.
“ Nand’ paidhi,” the copilot said over the speakers, “ forgive us. That was a plane in our path.”
Tano and Algini and the rest of the staff were sorting themselves out. The juniormost, Audiri, came immediately with a towel, retrieved the glass, which had not broken, and mopped the fruit juice off various surfaces.
He had not let the computer escape his grasp. His fingers felt bruised. His heart hadn’t had time to speed up. Now, belatedly, it wondered whether it might have license to do that, but the conscious brain advised it to forget it, it was much too late.
“Nadiin,” Algini was saying to the crew via the intercom, “kindly determine origin and advise air traffic control that the aiji’s staff requests names and identifications of the aircraft in this matter.”
“Probably it’s nothing,” Bren muttered, allowing Tano custody of the precious computer. The air traffic control system was relatively new. Planes were not. Certain individuals considered themselves immune to ATC regulations.
If on a given day, and by their numerology, certain individuals of the Absolutist persuasion considered the system gave them infelicitous numbers, they would changethose numbers on their own and change their course, their altitude, or their arrival time so as to have their important business in the capital blessed by better fortune.
And the assassination to the south had changedthe numbers.
Tabini and the ATC authority had fought that battle for years, particularly trying to impress the facts of physics on lords used to being immune to lawsuit. There were laws. There were ATC regulations. There was the aiji’s express displeasure at such violations, and there was the outstanding example of the Weinathi Bridge disaster for a cautionary tale.
Security today had been very careful to move the aiji’s private plane onto a flight path usually followed by slower-moving commercial air… for the paidhi’s safety.
His security was understandably worried about the incident. But whatever the closeness of the other aircraft had been, the emergency was over. The plane did some small maneuvering as the nose pitched gently down and it resumed its landing approach.
Tano and Algini came to sit opposite him for the landing, and belted in.
“Likely it was someone elseworried by the Saigimi business,” Bren said. “And likewise taking precautions about their routing. Or their numbers. I doubt it was intentional.”
“The aiji will not take chances with you, nadi Bren,” Tano said.
“I’m sure not, Tano.”
The Bergid snowed in the window, hazy mountains, still white with winter, the continental divide.
Forest showed, blue-green and likewise hazed—but that haze was pollen and spores, as a lowland spring broke into bloom and the endless forests of atevi hunting preserves, like the creatures that lived within that haze, reproduced themselves with wild abandon.
The fields came clear, the little agricultural land that developers had left around burgeoning Shejidan. And there were the stubbornly held garden plots clinging to hillsides—always the gardens: the Ragi atevi were keen diggers and planters, even the aristocrats among them. Gardens, but no livestock for food: atevi considered it cruel and uncivilized to eat tame animals.
Came then the geometries of tiled roofs, marching in numerically significant orders up and down the hills—little roofs, bigger roofs, and the cluster of hotels and modern buildings that snuggled as close as possible to the governmental center, the ancient Bu-javid, the aiji’s residence. It was daylight. One saw no neon lights.
The plane banked and turned and leveled again, swooping in over the flat roofs of industry that had grown up around the airport.
Patinandi Aerospace was one: that large building he well knew was a maintenance facility. The aiji had spread the bounty of space industry wide throughout the provinces, and the push to get into space had wrought changes this year that wouldn’t be stopped. Ever.
There was a new computer manufacturing plant, and atevi designers were fully capable of making critical adjustments in what humans had long regarded as one of the final secrets, the one that would adjust atevi society into a more and more comprehensible mold.
Not necessarily so.
Faster and faster the pavement rushed under the wings.
Wheels touched dry pavement, squealed arrival.
The paidhi-aiji was as close to home as he was likely to come. This was it. Shejidan.
And hearing the wheels thump and roll and hearing the engines brake and feeling the reality of ground under him again, he let go a freer breath and knew, first, he was in the safest place in the world for him, and second, that he was among the people in the world most interested in his welfare. Delusion, perhaps, but he’d grown to rely on it.
4
The van transfer to the subway in the airport terminal was thankfully without extravagant welcome, media, or official inquiry. The paidhi-aiji was home. The paidhi-aiji andhis luggage, this time together and without misdirection, actually reached the appropriate subway car, and without incident the car set into motion on its trip toward the Bu-javid, on its lofty and historic hill on the edge of Shejidan.