In point of fact—it was the elegant Red Train, the aiji’s own, with the baggage car that usually attended it. Tabini routinely lent it to the paidhi-aiji on official business—and in this case it was here to convey honored guests to the spaceport and bring the aiji’s son back home. It had run from Shejidan, crossed the Southern mountains and the chancy district of the Senjin Marid last night to be here this morning.
It would not be taking the same route home.
The bus rolled slowly to a halt alongside the platform and opened the doors.
Tano and Algini were first out onto the platform, and other armed, black-uniformed Guild appeared from both train cars. Those would be the aiji’s men, who would have ridden out from the capital, and who now would ride back in the baggage car.
Clearly, from the easy manner on both sides, they were people Tano and Algini knew, and Bren himself recognized two who served in the aiji’s own apartment.
Algini gave the all-clear. Banichi and Jago got to their feet; Bren and Jase did, and they exited first.
Then the young folk came out, joined them in crossing to the waiting train, a short walk with a living shield of Guild bodies, to a second, assisted climb into the waiting train car.
Inside that car was red velvet from a prior century, fake windows with fake shades that didn’t work but looked elegant—two areas of small tables, ordinary seats, then a bench seat at the rear, near the galley. The youngsters took the reverse of their seating on the bus. Bren and Jase and their bodyguards went to the rear where there was a bench seat and galley, while the youngsters and Cajeiri’s young bodyguard stayed at the two table and bench arrangements nearest the door.
“Tea?” Bren’s senior valet asked as they settled in. The water in the tea service was already hot, no surprise there. The containers with their breakfast arrived aboard from the bus, handed up by the aiji’s men, who were out on the platform seeing to the baggage.
There was the sound of another vehicle outside: their baggage truck had arrived, with the young gentleman’s baggage, and his. Jase’s bulkier baggage, and the youngsters’ one large case, had gone to the port last night.
They would take tea while the crates loaded, he and Jase. The youngsters declined.
Boji’s screech was audible even with the car door shut. No question he was part of the operation, first loaded, last off.
And toward the end of the first cup, came the thump of the baggage car door slamming shut.
In a moment more, the Red Train began to move, a barely perceptible motion.
Bren’s valets, Koharu and Supani, began the breakfast service with a professional flair. Ramaso and Cook had provided absolutely everything they could ask, hot and chill, and spicy and sweet and savory, from the insulated cases. A liquid storage held an abundance of iced fruit juice.
Even the youngsters stayed in a cheerful mood so long as the fruit juice held out.
But as Koharu and Supani cleared the service away, a glum quiet descended on the young company at that end of the car. Heads came close together up there, secrets exchanged.
“They’re exhausted,” Jase said quietly, over a last cup of tea. “They were up all night. They’re running entirely on nerves this morning. Irene’s scared of flying. Absolutely terrified.”
“Poor kid,” Bren said. And added: “They’ve been running hard for days. And it was a given they wouldn’t sleep last night until they fell over.”
“If they did sleep at all, it was about an hour toward dawn.”
He and Jase shared a second pot of tea. Banichi and the others, in rare relaxation, sat at the other end of the bench, in their own conversation. Jase’s bodyguards, Kaplan and Polano, in green fatigues, had the side bench seat, backs to the false windows, talking together as the valets cleaned up and put the dishes away.
Jase, like the youngsters, had opted for atevi dress all the way to the spaceport. Just when they’d change clothes, or whether they’d all change before the launch, Bren hadn’t asked.
Maybe the clothing choice was a courtesy to their hosts. Maybe it was a way of not saying good-bye yet.
But Jase, Bren thought, was already mentally going home, already thinking about problems aloft, business that had to be done—and Jase was clearly less happy this morning.
Truthfully, he was going through exactly the same process. He’d have liked to have more days at Najida.
He’d have liked to have time to handle some local matters.
He’d have liked to make a personal visit to Kajiminda, Geigi’s estate, just down the main road, to take a leisurely walk through Kajiminda’s ancient orchard. He’d have liked to take the bus out to the new construction the Edi were building at the end of that peninsula.
He’d even more have liked to have a week to himself on his yacht, to feel the sea under him. He dreamed of four or five days to pretend to fish, but he absolutely couldn’t afford any more time away from the capital.
And he found himself, in the quiet moments this morning, already thinking about the legislature: already thinking about the dowager’s agreement with the Marid, and about the next things that had to be done.
He wasn’t thinking, quite yet, about the problems on the station.
He was doggedly not thinking about that.
That resolve failed. He urgently had to do something about Tillington. A letter to Mospheira was a start. The President, Shawn Tyers, was indeed an old friend. And he had to make that letter say what needed saying. He might have to go to Mospheira, to say what needed saying. He just didn’t know.
He’d been up well before dawn composing one document—in two languages.
Now he quietly picked up his briefcase, opened it, and handed them to Jase.
“What I promised,” he said. “Take the copies for your own files. I have a translation for the aiji.”
“Exactly what I need,” Jase said, as he read, and gave a deep sigh. “Excellent. Thank you.”
“There’ll be a statement with the aiji’s own seal, next shuttle.”
Jase drew his own traveling case from the floor near his seat. “There was a little lingering question up there, whether Tabini-aiji would stay in office or whether, if he did, his power would ever be what it was. I have no doubts now that it’s probably greater than it ever was. And I’ll convey that impression to the Council.”
“I’ll report to the aiji, in turn, that Sabin remains his ally.”
“Ogun isn’t the aiji’s enemy, understand, if I’ve given any other impression. Ogun’s just keeping all the connections polished. And right now, and since Yolande’s resigned, he thinks he needs Tillington. So he gives him maneuvering room, and tries to encourage the right maneuver. Does he know the man is flawed? Probably. Ogun’s no fool.”
“I’ll be thinking about Tillington. I’ll do something.”
“To the great relief of all of us.”
“Given what you said last night,” Bren said, and let that trail off in very dark thoughts. “God. God. Why can’t people get along? We—meaning you and I—right now—we two could sort out the Reunioner business and get everybody half of what they want—if we could get one hour of honest compromise out of both sides.”
“I’d settle for five minutes. But we have done good things on this trip, the two of us.”
“We should arrange an annual Official Fact-finding,” Bren said. “Bring the kids.”
Jase laughed. “I’ll use that argument.”
“Next year. The official birthday.”
“Another Festivity?”
“Ten is a less felicitous year for the young gentleman, so there’ll be no public celebration entailed. A much quieter event. No public access. You’ve never seen the mountains. We could take that train trip to Malguri. With the window shades up. Snowy mountains. Glaciers.”