Maybe this last outing would be a lure sufficient to bring Jase back to the world. Jase hadn’t been so much for fishing. The notion that they were going to kill and immediately eat a creature was just more than Jase liked to inspect too closely, much as Jase appreciated fish when it appeared from a kitchen, spiced, plated, and sauced.
So they’d just sailed this day, skirted the picturesque if hazardous offshore rocks off the end of the peninsula, and at least gone far enough from shore to see the haze on the horizon that was the island of Mospheira.
His aishid, his personal bodyguard, had done all the fishing on the other side of the boat, and brought back a sizeable catch for Najida’s cook to deal with.
But the fatality to fish needn’t trouble Jase, who had happiness on his face and the wind in his hair.
They were dressed atevi-style: trousers, boots, and, since the sun had started down, warm outdoor coats. The bay could be chill. One wanted to keep hands in pockets when Jaishan was moving like this, and Jase’s bare hands would be quite cold, gripping the wheel, but the air was clean and good.
The wind played little tricks as they came past the jut of the Edi headland that sheltered the little fishing harbor there, and Tano anticipated it, turning up by Jase’s shoulder as the wind first fell off and then came back stronger. Jase coped without help. Jaishan steadied, a thing of beauty in the dying light, chasing her own shadow on the water.
And when the shore loomed up in the twilight, and the lights of Bren’s own estate at Najida showed on the hill above the landing, they had a feeling of real homecoming, a sense that they had indeed sailed away from the world today, and were coming back to a lingering fantasy of country life and rustic warmth.
They were arriving too late for dinner at the house, however: that had happened early, before sunset. Bren had asked the youngsters and Jase’s two-man bodyguard to pack for their return, and his staff had intended a special early supper for their guests, with all the youngsters’ favorite dishes.
Bren hoped that affair had come off well, and that the youngsters were having the time together he had intended. He and Jase had had their own light supper at the first of the twilight—sandwiches, nothing extravagant—and they were holding out for wine and dessert once they got in.
· · ·
They could have been out on the boat all day if he had really pitched a fit. Cajeiri knew that.
They could have been. But nand’ Bren had hinted, quietly and hopefully, that it would please him very much if he could have some time to talk to Jase. Nand’ Bren had offered Cajeiri and his guests a dinner party instead, just themselves as the sole focus of the Najida staff, and Cajeiri had not argued, because nand’ Bren was seeing his guest go home tomorrow, too, and of course he wanted some time. Nand’ Bren had done everything in his power to make their visit the best it could be, and nand’ Bren had taken them all out on the boat every day but this one.
So all in all, and largely thanks to nand’ Bren and Jase-aiji, the birthday had been excellent, and Cajeiri was sure his auspicious ninth year had had the very best beginning it could have. His guests were here from the space station and his baby sister was born safely and his father had named him officially his heir, in front of the whole aishidi’tat.
Not to mention the Guild had gotten rid of the people who were causing the trouble, and was now doing what it was supposed to do, which was to keep peace in the aishidi’tat. The Marid, the district to the south that had made war not so long ago, was peaceful, and that meant they were safe enough to be out at nand’ Bren’s estate, sailing whenever they wanted and without any great worry about enemies.
Everything would have been perfect this evening, if only there could be endless days in front of them.
But no, Gene and Artur and Irene were going back to the station, leaving on the shuttle tomorrow with Jase-aiji and his bodyguard.
That meant he would not see his guests for another year, and maybe longer than a year if stupid grown-ups got to feuding, again, as grown-ups were always apt to do.
Or if his mother got her way and his guests could never visit the Earth again.
But no feud and none of his mother’s objections was going to stop them meeting forever. He had made up his mind to that, and he was sure his father, the aiji of the whole aishidi’tat, was on his side this time.
Besides, his mother had his new sister to take care of. That meant she was spending less time worrying about him. And when she was not thinking about him, she was surely in a much better mood.
“This time you will have to write,” he said to his guests, as they were sitting in their suite, well-fed, with all their belongings and souvenirs strewn on the master bed. His valets and his bodyguard were doing the actual packing. They were better at it. Boji, small, furry, black, and large as a baby, was traveling with them, and he was bounding about his cage, keenly aware of the packing, and upset about it. He wanted to be out. And that would not be a good idea, in case the door should open.
“We will write,” Gene said in Ragi, and added: “I did write.”
“You did write,” Cajeiri agreed.
“We all tried,” Artur said.
“This time my father will give me the letters you send. I am sure he will. And I shall write as often as I have something to say.”
“My mother may not give me the letters,” Irene said, also in Ragi. “She can be happy. And then she is unhappy. One does not know what will happen when I am back. She will surely be angry that we stayed more time.”
Upset mothers were not in anybody’s control. Cajeiri understood that very well. “We shall meet next year. Don’t worry.”
It was conniving, that was what Great-grandmother would call it, and Irene would do what she promised she would do, no matter what Irene’s mother said. They could be sure of that. Irene was much braver than anybody might think.
So they connived together. And planned their next meeting.
It felt, on this last night, a little like the old association again, except that Bjorn was not with them—Bjorn had decided to stay with his tutor, or whatever people had up there: school was the ship-speak for it. Gene said Bjorn had had to stay in the program or he could have lost his place with his tutors, and his parents would have been really upset. A place in tutorage was not easy for a Reunioner to get—and Bjorn was smart, and older, and it was a program that, right at the start, just after they had arrived on the station, had let in just the best and smartest of the Reunioner young folk. And now that program was on the verge of being phased out. Cajeiri understood how desperate life was for Reunioners, how short supplies were, and how important it was that Bjorn stay where he was and not be dismissed and lose his chance.
His father being aiji, Cajeiri thought, might have negotiated something that would have let Bjorn come down and not lose his place—but his father had already been extraordinarily accommodating in allowing his guests at all, and he had wanted to create no extra problems with station politics.
They had resolved they were going to be sure that Bjorn could come next time.
And they had set up in detail how they were going to get around obstacles during the next year, arranging for messages to get where they needed to go, and when they should expect the first one, and how he was always going to mention a number in the ending that would tell them what the number of the letter was. That way they would always know whether all the messages were getting through.