“Nadiin.” Ilisidi nodded, and said, by way of introduction: “Bren-paidhi. Jase-paidhi. And their devoted escort, the heir of the lord of Dur.”
“Nand’ director,” Bren said as faces turned toward them. “Nadiin.”
A second round of bows and nods of heads. And the hasty but respectful movement of a young woman who gathered up a heavy stack of paper and proclaimed it, “nand’ dowager, here are all the messages routed through this station in the last ten days. With great respect, aiji-ma.”
“And the messages for the paidhiin?”
A middle-aged man moved to a desk and carefully, with an anxious eye on the behavior of security, gathered up a smaller handful of printout. “This is the phonetic log and transcript, aiji-ma, during the same period, but the translators have all left.”
“One assures you, nadi, the paidhiin do not need translators.” Ilisidi with a casual backhand waved the man in their direction, and the man brought the log and bowed.
The dowager wanted the record read, Bren said to himself. “Thank you, nadi,” he said to the anxious technician, took the thin volume, and set it down. It was the end of the record he wanted, and he was accustomed to the phonetic transcription. He sat down and flipped the pages over to the latest messages.
There were Deana’s transmissions, as late as this morning, included in the limited transcript although they were in Ragi. A cursory glance proved them more grammatical and careful than her conversation in the language—but then, on Mospheira, Deana had her dictionaries at her elbow.
Deana, however, could wait for a moment. For a moment he was on a search for things notnecessarily on government matters, things personal to him, which, if he could find while doing his job—
He was aware of Jase leaning on the counter, reading over his shoulder.
He was aware of his hand trembling as he turned the pages back and on a deep intake of breath he discovered the fear he’d not letsurface since he’d failed to get through on the phones was still very much alive.
More of Deana’s junk. It made up the bulk of the stack and it made him mad. He wanted his own messages. He wanted answers from Toby, what had happened, how his family fared.
He found it.
It said, Bren, mother’s out of surgery. They said it was worse than they thought. But she’s going to be all right. I tried to call. The lines went down. I hope…
The line blurred and he blinked it clear.
… hope you get this. I hope you’re all right. I was sorry we were cut off. I shouldn’t have said the things I did, and I knew it, and all that other crap came out. I wanted to say I love you, brother. And I said that nonsense.
His hand shook uncontrollably. He couldn’t see. He couldn’t think for a moment, except that it wasn’t allowable for him to show disturbance in front of a roomful of atevi, in the service of the dowager. Too much was at issue. He had too much to do. He shoved his way out of the seat, told himself a restroom might give him a moment to get himself together without anyone being the wiser if he just moved slowly and showed no distress. Livesrode on his composure. He couldn’t become the subject of gossip or disgrace to the dowager.
“Jago-ji,” he said. His eyes were brimming and he tried not to blink. “It’s a little warm. Where’s a restroom, please?”
“Nandi.” Jago moved past Jase and, thank God, between him and the rest of the room. “This way.”
“Bren?” Jase asked him.
“Stay there!” he said to Jase, and found he could talk, and if he could get privacy enough to clear his eyes without making a fool of himself, he’d be fine and back before anyone questioned his reactions.
Jago, meanwhile, brought him to the side hall, and to a restroom door, and inside, all the while one could have heard a pin drop outside.
“Bren-ji?”
“It’s all right.” There was a wall basin, and he ran cold water and splashed it into his face. Jago handed him a towel. Atevi restrooms had no mirrors. He trusted he hadn’t soaked his hair. He’d gotten his eyes clear but his gut was still in a knot. “Jago-ji, I’m sorry. I’m fine. How do I look?”
“Ill,” Jago said. “What did you read, Bren-ji?”
He tried to frame an answer. Good newsseemed a little extravagant. He truly wasn’t doing well.
The door cracked. Jago held it with her hand, protective of him. Jase said, “Bren?”
“In a moment, Jase.” Adrenaline surged up, annoyance, anger, he didn’t know what. But Jase persisted.
“I have to talk to him, nand’ Jago. Please.”
“Let him in, nadi-ji,” Bren said, thinking by the tone of Jase’s voice he might have found something urgent in the record. Jago let the door open and Jase slipped in, while he knew the room outside would be concluding something was direly wrong.
“I need to talk to you,” Jase said. “I read the message. I need to talk to you. Alone.”
He didn’t understand. He damned sure didn’t want to discuss his personal life. He had a great deal else weighing on him.
But part of that great deal else was Jase’s cooperation.
“Jago,” he said.
“I will not leave you, Bren-ji.”
Nor should. Jago took herself to the side, however, and back a pace to the wall.
That left Jase as alone as he could manage in a tiny space; and Jase ducked his head and took a breath in the manner of a man with an unpleasant task in front of him. “Bren,” Jase said in a low voice, and went on in his own language, “Yolanda’s trying to get away. She’s coming here. She’s going to try.”
That took several heartbeats to listen to. And a few more to try to figure. Yolanda Mercheson, Jase’s partner from the ship, was going to leaveMospheira?
“Why?” was the only thing he could say, not When? Not How? which were backed up and waiting, but at that point, Cenedi opened the door.
“Nandiin. Is there a problem?”
“We’re all right,” Bren said. His nerves were still wound tight, and he realized that the dowager was being kept waiting. “A moment, Cenedi-ji. Please excuse me to the dowager for just a moment.” One didn’t dosuch a thing; but he did. “Jase. Why? What’s going on?”
“I don’t know the details. I just know she’s coming here. It’s her judgment she can’t work with the island.”
Giving up on Mospheira? The ship was writing off the human population.
“I don’t understand,” he said. “And we’re going to have to explain this to the dowager. When is she doing this?” Jase’s sudden passion for the seashore began to nag at the back of a mind grown suspicious, over the years, of every anomaly. “Where did you make contact? When?”
“On the phone,” Jase said in a faint voice; and Jase was white-faced and sweating. “We had it arranged before we came down, that if one of us found the place we were in impossible, if demands were being put on us that we couldn’t accept, we’d cross the water somehow. And she—called me on the phone and that was how I knew. I knew I had to come at least to the coast. And then if she made it I was bound to find out about it if I was with you, so I could get her—get her to the capital. But I didn’t know it was so big out here. I didn’t know it—”
“Jase, that story’s got so many holes in it—”
“I’m not lying.”
“You were just going to flit over to the coast and pick her up—on what? A boat? A plane? Or is she going to hike over?” He was too shaken right now to be reasonable. Temper was very close to the surface. “How did you know? And don’t tell me you made a phone call I don’t know about. Anything that came into the apartment I doknow about, unless it walked in on two legs.”