“I can arrange that,” Ramirez said. “Whenever you ask, you’ll have a guide.”
“And a point we must agree to in principle. As you wouldn’t house the Mospheirans within totally black walls, you’ll expect certain aesthetic accommodations where atevi reside.”
“Aesthetic accommodations.”
“They are important, Captain. You want workers to work, there will be aesthetic changes, changes in the way the rooms connect…”
“We have no time to spend on aesthetics.”
He was very, very glad to hear that word time, a corroboration of every single point of negotiation over the last three years.
“So there are aliens.”
“Can you still ask that?”
“Damned right I can. And the walls won’t be this particularly objectionable yellow and the doors will be differently arranged… while we build your starship. I must warn you that the time will be a little longer than the three years we’ve already taken on the shuttle.”
“You’ve worked a damned miracle,” Ramirez said. “I need another one.”
“Another point. Potted plants will be very popular on the station, but these have to be removed to some other facility; we can’t have yours going down to the planet, no matter how innocuous the intent. We will observe a quarantine zone.”
“Understood. That becomes your problem.”
“It will be.” He drew a heavy breath. When he engaged with Ramirez, common sense arrangements tended to happen at a breakneck pace, and he wanted a space to consider the details. “I’m very content, gentlemen; the only other request I have is for radio contact with the planet, my schedule, my initiation.” Amid all the rest of the preparations, the designs on a vast, space-spanning scale, anguished small realization dawned on him, that he couldn’t honestly use personal privilege and call Mospheira on the phone. The best he could do was ask his office to mediate, or send off a letter or two he greatly feared wouldn’t pass Mospheiran security unexamined.
“Any communications of that nature,” Ramirez said, “can be patched through to your residential communications center. I’ll give those orders.”
“Thank you, captain.”
“Any other requests, requirements, observations?”
“I’m very glad we have time, gentlemen. We officially believe you. We’ll use that time as efficiently as possible.”
“Very welcome news,” Ogun said, and Ramirez rose; Ogun did, and Bren did, too.
In parting, there were handshakes, far happier faces, even Ogun looking relieved as they made their polite adjournment.
“I’d like contact with Jase. Can he get in touch with me, or how do I contact individuals?”
“Cl is the communications center,” Ramirez said. “They’ll put you through to whatever you need.”
“Very kind, sir, thank you. Captain Ogun. Thank you.”
“Glad to reach agreement,” Ogun said. “Kaplan will guide you back.”
“Good, sir, thank you.” They were offered no further formalities. Bren cast a look at Banichi and Jago, walked toward the door, and Kaplan was outside, waiting, likely all through the meeting.
They’d gotten down to discussing, God save them, potted plants and ecological concerns. They’d agreed to build a second starship.
It was time to talk to the home office.
Chapter 12
"It went well,” Bren said to Banichi and Jago, while Kaplan gave them the guided tour back past the various potted plants. There was some chance Kaplan, twice specifically chosen to guide them, understood whatever words of Ragi existed in the dictionary the mainland had sent aloft, and he hesitated to speak with Banichi and Jago too freely, but then, what he knew would go out over radio with even more likelihood of someone listening… even Yolanda, even Jase, so he simply abandoned pretense. “We’re building them another ship, Nadiin-ji, pending the aiji’s approval; we’re going to run the station for them. And no one’s told the Mospheirans yet, but we’ve freed the library archive they’ve been trying for three years to get out of the ship’s records. It should come through the wall units in the rooms, but it will be on its way to Mogari-nai by tonight and disseminated to the aiji and to the island at the same time.”
“One is amazed,” Banichi said.
“Indeed,” Jago agreed.
“And Jase-paidhi may be part of this agreement,” Bren added, “seeing we need his help with the arrangements we’re making with the captains.”
“A very fine negotiation,” Banichi said. Banichi remained conservative on what he did say, clearly conscious of exactly the same possibility some of the crew knew a handful of words in Ragi.
Spy on one another? They surely would. He would, as far as he could.
And what washe to do about the Mospheirans, and about the President, and the State Department, and a delegation representing, essentially, distressed business interests behind the Department of Science and Technology, which had historically had ties to the National Security Administration, and likewise behind the Department of Commerce… which had ties to some of the richest, most powerful interests on Mospheira?
“Mr. Kaplan.”
Their guide, stopped at a door, looked at him, half through the eyepiece. “Mr. Cameron, sir. I’m not mister. I’m just Kaplan.”
“There used to be a business level on the station. Know anything about that?”
“No, sir. Never heard about it.”
There was an answer. “Interesting,” he said. “So that wasn’t restored.”
“No, sir.”
He thought about that as Kaplan took them back to their own territory, a considerable trek.
He thought and he thought about that.
Narani met him, the servants ready to take his coat in this linear, human-made place. Tano and Algini waited in the doorway of the security station, likewise observing.
“Kaplan,” Bren said, “tomorrow morning, you’ll take me to see the Mospheiran delegation.”
“I have to get clearance, sir.”
“Do that, will you?”
“I’ll ask, sir.”
The doorway shut, sealing off Kaplan.
Bren turned to face his staff. “It went very well,” he said. “We have agreement.”
He made the staff happy. There were respectful bows from Narani’s staff, very quiet happiness from his security.
The first order of business was to detour into his own quarters, write a small message to Tabini, set up his computer, and apply himself to the wall unit communications… a direct test of what Ramirez and Ogun had said.
Not unexpectedly Banichi and Algini turned up very shortly after he’d pushed a button… knowing something, at least, was activated.
Cl, the man had said, and Bren pressed the requisite keys on the panel while his security took mental notes.
Static sputtered. “ Yes, sir,” the answer came back. “This is Phoenixcomm.”
“This is Bren Cameron. Establish a link to Mogari-nai, Bren Cameron to Tabini-aiji, Capt. Ramirez’ clearance.”
“ Verification required,” the answer came back, and Bren waited. And waited, hoping there was no deception, no glitch. He had, for a view, shadowing the light from the overhead fixture, Banichi, Algini, and now Jago. Tano presumably was at the security station. “They’re seeking authorization,” he said, and in the next instant another button lit on the panel,
“You’re cleared with the captain’s compliments, Mr. Cameron. Stand by.”
It was going through. He didn’t expect to talk to Tabini, only to relay his message, and did not intend, in his message, to relay the heart of what was going on. Dropping major news into the court except through personal courier had its sure hazards, in the less stable members of the Association, and they had held suspicions of the Messengers’ Guild, which ran Mogari-nai, where the big dish drew down messages from the heavens. The aiji could be extremely efficient, since the aiji had gathered power enough to pay the bills himself and keep detailed design authorizations out of the hands of the hasdrawad and the tashrid. But damned right there was debate on the issue, that the aiji didn’t submit designs, but presented the bills after the fact… and he asked himself, pending time to think, just how what he dared transmit might hit the mainland if there were a leak.