“The hell. Don’t patronize me.” Jase had had a painkiller, a Mospheiran brand. He was running out of energy and voice. “I won’t go.”
“We’ll talk,” Bren said in that tone that meant, definitively, later. He and Jase had had their rounds in the last three years; they had their codes, to keep from arguments. He saw Jase’s eyelids sink, flick up, sink again. The strength that had kept him on his feet to get here was ebbing low at the moment.
“Crew won’t listen to you. To him, yes. To me. To my mother. Tamun wants to do this quietly. Won’t work.”
Awareness went out, bit by bit.
“Get some sleep,” Bren said, elicited one more twitch of the eyelids, and that was all. That last had been the drugged, trusting, truth.
And Jase listened to him. Jase still worked with him. The captains had attempted to avoid a shoal they saw in their own affairs, and had handed him a weapon, one he had no compunction about using, as Jase had none about being used.
Jase was a weapon the value of which they might not yet appreciate. Wouldn’t dare… Jase had said, because of what Yolanda and I are… Mystique: an indefinable, irreplaceable commodity.
And somewhere, either aboard ship or lost to that alien encounter, Jase had said there were eight others of Taylor’s Children. Yolanda was one. He wondered if the other six held similar loyal feelings toward their father-by-authority, and whether or not Jase could contact them.
And it was a question why Jase had never, in three years, mentioned the whereabouts of those quasi-brothers and sisters, and slid aside from questions.
He and Jase had atevi owing man’chi to them; he had led his people into this volatile situation, and he had to use all his assets.
The women were an asset. A reassurance. The captains couldn’t rule them… and wanted them off the station, out of mind, out of view, in a situation in which the captains could absolutely govern and censor the messages that reached a crew that didn’t want to remember what led to familial violence.
So the captains thought.
If they had to print messages on candy wrappers for the next decade, they were going to keep the issue alive. They could push the matter back intothe captains’ laps, eventually, and maybe not have even much of a fight about it.
Give or take Ramirez, whose principal support he still bet was Ogun.
He hadn’t given up. But all his assets seemed future ones, long-term ones. And his heaviest bet was that there wouldn’t be an accident that took them all out.
“We are very vulnerable,” he said to his security, “to accidents, if not of air pressure, still, of dark or cold and scarcity of water, concentrated as we are in this section. One hopes that no such thing would happen but if they could somehow silence us all at once, the disposition of all the crew would be to pretend ignorance. The captains’ skill is irreplaceable, and they believe they may have lost one captain. The fear of losing the captains is the most important fear they have.”
“We believe,” Banichi said, “that we can operate any lock and open any corridor. The whole station seems of one style of operation.”
“I have no doubt of you,” he said, “Nadiin-ji. Can we hold what we have? Should I pull in nand’ Gin? Or have my ambitions even this far been excessive?”
“We can hold these rooms,” Banichi said without a doubt. “And we can move to others, despite their resistance, at any hour.”
It was remarkably reassuring to hear that.
There was, damn it all, stillno word from Tabini.
It was possible that Tabini had not gotten his messages since the ones Kandana carried, and that that was the reason for the silence.
Bren resent all his prior messages to Tabini in a single gulp.
He did have one from his mother, short and to the point:
Please write. I’m worried. This is no time for temper.
Shehadn’t gotten his letters. He resent immediately, resent all his mail to everyone, and restrained the urge to dent the panel.
“Cl. Voice contact with Mogari-nai.”
“ I’ll try, sir.” In a moment more he had it, and had, in Ragi, from the Messengers’ Guild, confirmation that there had been no messages coming in, that the aiji had given orders to transmit no ordinary business with the station, either.
“Until one heard from you, nandi.”
“You’ve now heard from me,” he said. “Give my apologies to the aiji. Ramirez has met with adversity. They have appointed a new captain, Dresh, related to Tamun. Relay that information immediately.”
“Yes, nand’ paidhi.”
He signed off, went out into a hall which had doubled in length, his domain.
Narani and Bindanda were quietly bringing harmony to the further rooms. The table with the message bowl was advanced to the center of the corridor, at the far end, and two more tables stood behind it, at intervals, each with a dish and a small arrangement of wood and stone.
The servants attended felicity, and assured good fortune.
The paidhi’s attempt at the same job, however, was unfinished.
Jase’s mother had looked in on him, to reassure herself, then had fallen asleep in an atevi-sized chair in the dining hall, utterly exhausted. He went quietly to talk to Yolanda, where she sat with her mother and sister in the new sitting room, the first one across the section line. The temperature in the new rooms had reached something more livable. The decor was still considerably lacking, but they all had blankets and steaming cups of tea.
“Jase is fine,” he said. “Just a little bruised. Nothing broken. We’ll be getting you down to the planet at first opportunity. Don’t think of it as permanent, but it’s the safest place for you to be.”
“It’s not the crew that’s done this,” Yolanda’s mother said. “It’s Pratap Tamun.”
“It may be,” he said. “But still, the planet is safest for a few months. I don’t doubt things will quiet down.”
They weren’t happy. The young sister was scared, and didn’t want to leave her cousins.
He left them to a serving of sandwiches, which ought not to upset their stomachs, and another round of tea, and ordered them a few of their precious currency, the fruit candies, wondering if Kaplan was in trouble, too.
A family of this size and complexity, however, could not engage in a bloodbath without destroying itself. The captains had acknowledged that in turning Jason and Yolanda over to him with orders to leave.
But the very reasons that had saved these few had also dictated the crew simply had no mechanism to use to fight back. The captains were not elected. They were a life appointment, by the other captains… who else could judge competency?
He ventured into the security station to fill in his staff on what he’d learned, and Banichi was there, looking like death.
“You, nadi,” he said to Banichi, “ought to be asleep.”
“A superfluous habit,” Banichi said. “Conducive to ignorance. What has Jasi-ji said?”
“That Ramirez is alive. Yolanda says that Ramirez may be alive. By all that’s happened, I’m all but certain he is, and I’m certain Jase feels a profound man’chi to this man.”
“Ah,” Jago said. “Something we understand. This is old, even for machimi.”
“Indeed,” Bren said, and sank heavily into a chair. He wastired. He had not thought how completely atevi thatancient ploy was, machimi to the hilt, and transparent as glass. “Atevi, however, tend to think around the urge. Jase will want to go straight to Ramirez, when the painkillers wear off.”
“He must not.”
“Absolutely, he must not. But I’m relatively sure he’ll listen, in that regard. He’ll want us to do it.”
“Possibly,” Banichi said. “But after you leave.”
“Not without you, nadi.”
“Then Ramirez must fend for himself.”
“We might be well advised to do something.”