Fishing boats had come in as close as they could to shore within Saduri Harbor. They were anchored there.
One could just see the lines that ran down to the water. Bren began to be aware of the dawn, as he and Banichi walked back toward the beach.
Jase and Jago waited for him where the paved road gave way to sand and a view of two wrecked boats, the beached island ferry, and a sea full of pleasure yachts and working boats, all in the shadow of the Saduri headland.
Jago had his computer. The case was mostly melted. It was a wonder the strap held.
“Bren-ji, I did my best,” Jago said.
“Jago, you did wonderfully well.” He took it, such as it was. What it could do, it had done. Data recovery might turn up something, but he doubted it. “How are youdoing?”
“Nothing serious, nadi. The dowager is well, lord Geigi is well. Cenedi has a cut from glass. Wehave taken no serious injuries. Lord Geigi’s pilot has cuts and both arms broken, but he did excellently well to steer us about into the shore when the bridge was hit.”
“One is veryglad, Jago.” Bren leaned against the rock and caught his breath. Or tried to. He pointed to the ferry. “Did you know about that?”
“One had noidea, nadi,” Jago said. “Our people there were under orders not to use radio, and they didn’t. The boy—and his father—called in certain of the island folk. And saw the fires and came in.”
“Definitely it was Hanks,” Bren said. “It’s a mess down there. We won’t know what happened—but she musthave hit the rocks at the point.” He was looking out to sea as he said it. And saw, among the atevi yachts in the haze of smoke and morning, a motor-sailer, a tall-masted boat that didn’t belong in this company, gliding along under sail.
It didn’t belong in this company.
It didn’t belong in these waters. It belonged up on the north shore of Mospheira.
“My God,” he said, and then in Ragi: “That’s my brother’s boat!”
“Bren!” a male voice yelled, and he knew the man who’d come running toward him from the grounded runabout—a man in a pale fishing jacket and a hat, a ridiculous hat stuck about with fishing floats. Yolanda Mercheson stepped over the side of the orange fabric boat, with him, and third was Shawn Tyers. Yolanda was trying to run, not quite steady on land-legs; and about then Toby was all his field of vision, Toby unshaven, looking as if he’d had no sleep for days, and grinning from ear to ear.
“God, it’s good to see you!”
“Good to see you,” Bren said, and Toby hugged him; he hugged Toby. Atevi had to wonder at them, and he didn’t care.
“What are you doinghere?” Bren managed to ask.
“What are youdoing?” Toby asked. “Are we at war or something? We were doing fine but a gunboat escorted us down here.”
“They’re ours. How’s mama?”
“She’s doing fine. We couldn’t bring her. But Jill’s with her. And the kids. We brought Shawn’s family, though.”
Shawn was there, in a puffy insulated jacket, bright blue, the most informal thing he’d ever seen Shawn wear. He let go of Toby and recovered wit enough to hold out his hand.
“Welcome ashore, sir. I take it you had something to do with this.”
“It was getting uncomfortable,” Shawn said, and nodded over his shoulder where Jase and the other ship-paidhi were giving atevi another exhibition, oblivious to all else. “I figured it was easier to talk to the aiji than to George, truth be told. We just assembled down at Bretano and Toby flew up to the coast and got the boat. Got my wife, my kids, a Ms. Johnson who said you sent her—”
“God, Sandra made it.”
“Showed up at my door with two plants in a grocery sack as I was leaving for Bretano. I said come along, we’d explain it. She said she didn’t want to go this far, but it sounded safer here.” Shawn cast a look around the beach. “She’s probably changed her mind.”
Bren looked behind him, where a row of atevi stood, Banichi, and Jago, and Cenedi, expressionless, uniformed, and armed.
He suddenly realized how they must look to Toby and Shawn. And blinked again and saw his dearest friends.
28
The wind came in from the sea, in a summer warm and pleasant. The leaves sighed in a lazy, sleepy sussuration on the face of the wall, where the djossi vine had spread itself wide.
Lord Geigi was bringing the boat. His new, two meters longerboat, gratefully donated by Murini, lord of the Kadigidi. It was a short walk down to the water.
“Quiet day,” Jago said, leaning elbows on the rail. She made hand-signals. The paidhi could just about bet that Banichi was below, watching over the boat dock.
Jago made a furious sign then, and a sign of dismissal, but not in anger, in laughter. Banichi’s unseen comment was, he was sure, salacious.
“The boat’s coming in,” Jago said.
“One thought so,” Bren said, and stood up and looked over the the rail himself.
Toby was joining them—that was the second boat, tied up just down the row. Geigi especially favored Toby: a fine sailor, Geigi called him, a true fisherman. Toby had an invitation in his own right; and he’d brought their mother for a three-day visit coinciding with the paidhiin’s two weeks at Geigi’s estate. Jill, who was pregnant, had flung herself valiantly into the breach, and was, with Shawn’s wife, not only entertaining their mother, but escorting a children’s birthday party (Shawn’s oldest) to the beach, which had Tano and Algini occupied.
“Nadi.” Jase joined him, with Yolanda, coming out of the house. “Are we promised fishing gear? One wants to be sure.”
“There is, nadiin,” Bren said. “I assure you it’s on the boat.”
“I’ll be sure before I board,” Jase said, and the two of them took the steps quite rapidly for spacefarers.
The ship—it was up there. The government of Mospheira was dealing quite politely nowadays, having apologized for the misunderstanding—one knew they would. The aiji had threatened an embargo of more than aluminum if they didn’t come up with a passport for anyone the paidhiin requested—an offer the validity of which Sandra Johnson had tested, returning once for a visit, and a night of live machimi theater in Shejidan, the experience of her office-bound life. Now the State Department wanted Yolanda to come back and lecture to the Foreign Studies program at the University. One was absolutely sure she would not accept the offer, although Shawn said with Eugene Weinberg in as Secretary of State it was a certainty they’d honor her passport.
The telling matter was that the government of Mospheira, no longer able to pretend it had a space program, was dealing for Patinandi to build an expansion plant on the mainland to build a second spacecraft, part of a fleet of five such craft, that being the only way humans were going to get up to the station; and the ship did want them.
Shawn, however, was not going back to Mospheira. Emissaries came to Shawn, who said he’d wait for the next elections to see whether the voters had really acquired some sense. The Progressive Unionists wanted Shawn to run for President of Mospheira in the fall, but he said he’d think about it. Meanwhile Sonja Podesty was a very good candidate for Foreign Secretary if they’d use their heads. He wrote letters to Weinberg suggesting Weinberg run for President for the Unionists and appoint Podesty to the cabinet post.
Mospheira had to revise its notions of the universe, quite as much as Geigi had—and with far more disturbance to their expectations.