Emergency reimbursements were Tabini’s primary budgetary tactic of the last several years, when the hasdrawad hadtamely voted the funds to reimburse the household accounts to build two space shuttles—granted one had whispered in the ears of the lords of the Association that the Association was in a race for time and survival.
Thus far the economy had never lurched, not with the industrial shifts, not with the new materials… it had only grown at a frightening rate. And there had been far less debate about the reimbursements than might have been. The Association was seeing benefits from Tabini’s expenditures. In some cases there was a rushto approve the new expenses, because innovation was pouring back into the economy, and thus far the sumptuary laws held. Conspicuous consumption could only be of art, no other luxury goods.
And art, as the law provided, could not be mass-produced. Even with the introduction of fast food, meat, traditionally, philosophically, had to be seasonal. Populations could not intrude onto green space and transport could not involve highways. A hundred and more years of developing mechanisms to assure the smooth fit of technological advances arriving on the mainland had worked this far.
Equilibrium. Prosperity.
Tabini’s enlightenment, shining down from the heavens, where he at the moment stood, hand on switch.
He heard, in a reasonably brief time, the operators at Mogari-nai, bidding Phoenixgo ahead.
And Phoenixrelayed the message.
“This is Bren Cameron reporting to the aiji: Aiji-ma, favorable. We have substantiative agreements. I’ll courier down many specifics when I return, likely on schedule. End transmission. Mogari-nai?”
“Yes, nand’paidhi.”
“Message to the office of the paidhiin, Shejidan: Work is going well; maintain full staff. End transmission. Mogari-nai, Nadiin: you may be getting long files. Have you received any yet?”
“No, nandi.”
A disappointment. “Have I messages?”
“Under seal, nandi. Will you receive now?”
“Send and receive, both.”
A blast of sound followed, rapid, unpleasant, protracted; his computer squealed and squalled back. A second blast came from the speaker, and that was that. The computer storage light went on, went off.
Stored.
“Thank you, Mogari-nai,” Bren said, figuring that burst should trigger alarms in Phoenixcomm, that computers in any security installation would probably be very busy for a bit, that anyone with his ear pressed to a receiver was going to be damned unhappy, and that he would shortly hear a human voice.
“Mr. Cameron, this is Phoenixcomm. Was that intended?”
“Completely,” he said. He was truly vexed about the files. “Thank you. I’m expecting a lengthy download.”
“I’ve heard there’s supposed to be a long ‘un, sir. I’m supposed to set up for it when the terminator’s past the island, to minimize traffic conflict.”
Encouraging. Very encouraging.
“You mean after dark.”
“Local 2400 hours, sir. It’ll have been dark a while there.”
“ Thankyou, Cl. That’s good to hear. Excellent. Can you put me through to the Mospheiran delegation on this station?”
“ Clearance required,” the voice said, and the unit went quiet for a moment. Bren cast a look at his audience, lifted brows, unconcerned by what was fairly routine mail pick-up, these days, and keyed up the mail display. Excited, however. Delighted.
He had a report to write to Tabini, to send by the next call. Now they knew they could do it. And the archive was going. God, the archive was going down. One day up here and they’d collectively worked what three years hadn’t done. What they’d feared was lost was found.
There was only one message from Mospheira, from Toby. It said: Delayed flight, weather at Bretano. Got your message and mom’s; she’s on painkillers. Very upset. I called her doctor; he’s on holiday at Bretano, sending records. Flying back tonight.
So how bad is Mother, Toby?
Toby had written in haste, gotten it through the system… probably hadn’t triggered his mail until he’d gotten home, not expecting a problem: Toby had been on one long flight and somehow had gotten another, back again. It was Independence Day weekend, their mother’s doctor was out of town, but they were getting another doctor? Was their mother having difficulties, or was it more than a scrape she’d suffered on the curb?
What about Barb?he wanted to know—What about Barb?—but there nothing on that score. Toby likely didn’t know the answer, forgot to mention it, or thought he wouldn’t want to know.
He couldn’t distract himself with family problems. At a certain point he had to pretend his family was like any other that didn’t have a son on the mainland, and Toby and their mother had worked out something within their means. He had the aiji’s agenda. He couldn’t think about the island, couldn’t do what Toby could do, wasn’t responsible for it, dammit all to hell.
Calm, he said to himself.
He punched Cl again. “ Phoenixcomm, give me the other delegation, Ms. Ginny Kroger or Mr. Tom Lund.”
“Mr. Cameron, this is Phoenixcomm. Standby.”
It was going through.
“ Hello?” he heard, “ Ginny Kroger.”
“Ginny,” he said cheerfully. “Are you up to a visitor?”
“ Cameron?”Not cheerfully. “ Where are you?”
“At our apartment. I’d like to drop by tomorrow morning. Mind? I have something to discuss.”
“ Can you get here?”Incredulously.
“I can get there, I’m pretty sure. See you at ten.” He punched that off. Phoenixcomm?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ll need an escort for the morning, ten o’clock, Ramirez’ orders. Can you send Kaplan?”
Chapter 13
It was a very curious seal-door they reached under Kaplan’s guidance, a gray metal door that looked as if it belonged in a boiler room, very heavy, where the hall was beige and much like the rest of the station; it had an untidy seal around the edges of the frame.
“Temporary seal, sir,” Kaplan said when questioned. “Seals off the area, safety concern, sir.”
Safety concern, hell. Security concern, Bren thought as Kaplan opened it with a keypad.
“They have the Mospheirans safely contained,” he muttered to Banichi and Jago behind them, and smiled at Kaplan as the door opened.
He walked through into a cubbyhole of a hall section, with four open doors facing one another, before the hall ended in a more ordinary security door.
They’d kept the room assignments equivalent, at least, a little diplomatic evenhandedness, Bren said to himself. The numbers involved could set atevi teeth on edge; but the Mospheirans would be quite happy in them, two and two, he supposed, like the fabled ark.
Feldman came out to meet them with a mild gesture toward the farther right hand door. “Mr. Cameron. If you please.”
“Thank you,” Bren said.
“Shall I wait, sir?” Kaplan asked.
“If you would, Kaplan, please.—Would you mind giving this very obliging gentleman a cup of tea, Mr. Feldman?”