“Thank you, honored Father.” It called for a bow. He made it, hoping hard that this really was only about the tutor and his lessons.
“You are still content with your tutor.”
“Very muchso, honored Father.”
“A wonder. One has also a good report from him.”
“One is gratified, honored Father.”
His father turned to his desk and took up a small, fat envelope. It was a curious envelope. It had that glassy kind of look that did not belong on earth. It was so transparent one could see writing on it. His father laid it in the midst of his other papers. He wished he could read what it said at this distance, but it was impossible.
“The shuttle has landed,” his father said, “and brought with it a letter.”
His heart had already picked up its beats. Now it beat faster still, but he was not sure whether he was in trouble or not.
“A letter, honored Father.”
“You sent a message, this time by Lord Geigi.”
Faster and faster, and with suddenly far less hope of possessing that letter. He was definitely in trouble, maybe Lord Geigi was, thanks to him, and quibbling would not help matters. “Yes, honored Father.”
“You are determined, are you not, to keep up relations with your associates on the ship.”
“These are valuable associates, honored Father.”
“You think so. They are not the sons and daughters of aijiin. They have no connections.”
He had never heard that objection to his associations. He had never even considered that objection. And he pounced on the only logic he could think of.
“The ship-aijiin have no children, honored Father.”
“You know that, do you?”
“None my age, at least, honored Father. But—”
“Continue your thought. One wishes to hear your reasoning.”
He had never reasoned any logic for his choice of companions, except that they were accessible. There had been more kids, but a handful—a handful were the best ones.
“They have good qualities,” he said. His head had gone spinning off into ship-speak, and it was hard to find words in Ragi to describe these associates. “And they are valuable.” A thought struck him. “Nand’ Bren is not the son of an aiji, is he, honored Father?”
“He is not,” his father said. “Humans form their associations differently. Yet one might suggest that you are a more valuable associate for them than they to you.”
That envelope was aboutGene and Artur and Irene and Bjorn. It could be fromthem. But if he asked for it, his father would probably say no, and that would be the end of the discussion for years. So he fought to think straight, and not to panic, and not to lose his words. (Lose your words, his great-grandmother would say, after thwacking him on the ear, and you lose your argument. Lose your argument, and you lose what you dearly want. Think, boy! Whatare your words?)
“Humans form their associations differently.” He answered his father with his father’s own words. “They do not have to be the sons and daughters of aijiin. I makethem important.”
His father blinked, at least a sign that he was impressed. “And they have good qualities, you say. What are these qualities?”
“They are clever. They are forward. They know things.”
“And their man’chi?”
He saw that trap and stepped right across it. “Their man’chi is like nand’ Bren’s.”
“One doubts it is that extraordinary,” Father said. “But it has impressed you.”
“They are strong,” he said. “They are quick. They have protected me.”
“Protected you.”
“They have taken the blame for me, honored Father, when I was stupid.”
“An impressive gift. So.” Father was quiet for a moment. “And you were ordered, strictly, to forego this association.”
“I was ordered. But I have learned it would be improper for me, honored Father, to disrespect their man’chi.”
“That is how you read them, in particular. All of them.”
Another trap. It was a test.
“Gene, and Artur, and Irene, honored Father. And Bjorn. Bjorn is a year older. One does not believe the rest have such man’chi, but these four. These four.”
“A fortunate number for an aishid. Was that your thought?”
“I have an aishid, honored Father, and they shall be. But Gene, and Artur, and Irene—they are the three I would most rely on. Bjorn I would rely on to help me and to fight for me. But Gene, and Artur, and Irene, honored Father, these three would be with me through anything. Bjorn has man’chi to them most. But to me, too. I am older, now, and much wiser.”
Father nodded. “And you think it unjust that we have severed you from these persons.”
He could get angry if he let himself. Anger, mani would say, is your enemy’s servant.
“I know why you have ordered it, honored Father. I need to be with atevi. I shall live here and not in space. I shall need to know things I could not learn in space. I need to know atevi and not to be confused about what I am. I need to learn man’chi. I need to learn from atevi.” It was a recital, of things all the adults around him had said, over and over. “Now I know what everybody was telling me about grown-up feelings. Now I know what you and mani wanted to teach me about that. Now I am ready.”
His father leaned back in his chair, as he would do when he was taking a view of something, and ending a conversation. “You are almost fortunate nine. And extraordinarily precocious.”
“One hopes to be respectful.” He had learned to say that under the threat of a thwack on the ear. “Honored Father.”
“Are you? Respectful?”
His heart ticked up. “One wishes always to be respectful, honored Father.”
“Yet you send secret messages by a lord who may in the future wish your favor.”
“Nand’ Bren says Lord Geigi is honest and I should rely on him. But nand’ Bren has man’chi to you, and so does Lord Geigi. So I know he would have told you. But I suppose he might have forgotten to tell you. Things were very confused at Najida.”
“Oh, do not be elusive, son of mine. It hardly becomes an aiji. Speak your mind.”
“Then you should not be angry at Lord Geigi for sending my message. I am the one. I was not proper to him, to ask him to carry a message you would not approve. I did not expect him to send it. He may not have known you disapproved.”
His father’s face was quite grim. “He is no fool. Do you think he is?”
“Not at all. But he may be busy.”
“It was quite clever. He did come to me. I told him to send the message. And all the rest.”
“All my other letters?”
“I saved them.”
He drew a deep, slow breath. Bowed, which was always a good idea when the conversation was getting tense.
“Honored Father.”
“So here is your answer,” Father said, nudging the glassy envelope closer. “A letter carried down on the shuttle. One inquired of Jase-aiji as to the propriety of the exchange.”
“Jase-aiji.” Jase-aiji was one of nand’ Bren’s associates. Jase-aiji had been good to him, on the ship.
“I asked him, through the ship-paidhi, how your association with these persons stands. He responded that they often ask about you and often wish their good will sent to you. You are right. The association has not broken, though strongly encouraged to break.”
A second deep breath. A second bow. He did not trust his voice. His heart was beating for all he was worth.
“These three,” his father said, “and the fourth, are an inconvenient symmetry in ages. There will be comment on that, among the ’counters. And much as we belittle the ’counters for folly, there is reason in this. There is something missing. One does not think it is this Bjorn person, who wrote only briefly and formally and has entered technical preparation on the ship. He will not come.”