Fruits. Vegetables. Jase called them water-tastes and earth-tastes, and said they made his nose water. It hadn’t stopped him making himself sick on them. Tano knew, and he trusted Tano had warned Kaplan before stuffing his pockets full.
Fruit sweets.
Kaplan’s first taste. Therewas one of the likely first imports. Jase had said he would miss the fruit most of all.
And wouldn’t have to miss it long, if the meeting tomorrow went well, and if they gained agreement with the captains.
Send and receive produced no messages from Toby. A hello, and I have made up our arguments and everything’s finewould have capped off the evening beyond any fault.
But that there wasn’t… that was understandable. He’d been too damned much in Toby’s life the last several years; it was more than time to leave Toby to settle his own life, his own marriage… his own kids. He had to keep hands off.
Meanwhile he had a small flood of messages answering the morning’s mail, answers from the mainland, a note from the office asking on what priority they might be translating the transmission of what was, in effect, the archive, and thatwas a question that deserved an answer on better information than he had at the moment. He needed to compose a query to the University to see whether they might release what index they compiled.
Algini, meanwhile, was freed from his isolation, having had supper slipped in to his station. His security needed a briefing, and he provided it, a rapid, Ragi digest of what he had discussed with Kroger and Lund.
“Computer-operated machines,” he said, but that was too cumbersome. Robotisounded distressingly like a vulgar word for lunatic, which would never inspire atevi workers to trust them.
“Botiin.” he said, which sounded like guideor ruler. “Like manufacturing machines, but capable of traveling out to the job, in the very dangerous regions. One sits back in safety and directs them.”
“Air traffic control,” Banichi said, which summed up a great deal of what atevi thought odd about Mospheiran ways, a system about which there was stillfierce debate, regarding individual rights of way and historic precedences, andfelicity of numbers.
He had to laugh, ruefully so, foreseeing a battle on his hands—but one he could win.
One he wouldwin. “I have a letter to write to Tabini,” he said to his earnest staff. “I want you to help me make it soundbetter than air traffic control.”
They thought thatwas funny, and he went off to his evening shower with that good humor, undressed, preoccupied with the explanation of robots, entered the shower, preoccupied with the query about translation of an index for atevi access to the archive.
He scrubbed vigorously, happier than he’d been in years.
He expected a counter-offer tomorrow. He also expected notto get one. Possibly the captains were making an approach to Kroger’s party, and certainly the captains were informed the guests had been putting their heads together in private discussions. There would be anxiousness on that score.
The water went cold. Bitter, burning cold. Pitch darkness. Silence.
“Damn!” he shouted, for a moment lost, then galvanized by the sense of emergency. He exited the shower, in the utter dark, feeling his way.
And saw a faint light, a hand torch, in the hallway.
Atevi shadows moved out there. One light source came in, bearing a hand torch, spotting him in the light. He flung his arms up and the light diverted, bounced off the walls in more subdued fashion.
“The power seems to have failed,” Jago said.
“I’m all over lather,” he said, still shaken. “Things were going entirely too well, I fear. Nadi-ji, please inform the staff. Power here is life and death. I trust the fuel cylinders in the galley will hold a while for warmth, but I understand warmth can go very quickly. Be moderate with them. Gather the staff near the galley.”
“They should last a time,” Jago said. “So should our equipment.” Bindanda joined her, and moved in dismay to offer a robe.
He accepted it. “Warm water, if you please.” Outrageous demands were not outrageous if it meant giving the staff something to do, and he was covered in soap. “I’ll finish my bath.”
“Immediately, nandi.”
Immediately was not quite possible, and he had all too much time to listen to his staff bearing with the disaster, to attempt the communications panel, and to find it not working.
Warm water did arrive in reasonably short order, all the same, and Bindanda assisted him in rinsing off the soap, a hand torch posed like a candlestick on the counter.
“Very fine,” Bren said with chattering teeth, trying not to think of a general power failure.
A large shadow appeared against the dim glow of the hall. “Bren-ji?”
Banichi.
“Any news?” He expected none. “If power has gone down, there willbe the ship itself, trusting this isn’t the alien attack.”
“That would be very bad news,” Banichi said in that vast calm of his.
But in that moment a sound came from the vents. The fans started up, failed.
“Well,” Bren said. “They’re trying to fix it. The air is trying to come through.” He seized up the damp, still-soapy robe, with the notion of reaching Cl if there were moments of power, and Bindanda hastily snatched the robe away, substituting a dry coverlet. Bren gathered that about his shoulders and punched in Cl.
There was no answer.
“The lock is electronic,” Banichi said, “and we can access it, to the exterior of this section.”
“We aren’t completely sure there’s air on the other side of the door,” Bren said, wishing they might supply power to the panel; but that did no good if no one was listening. “Do we have radio, Banichi-ji?”
“We have,” Banichi said confidently. “We would rather not use it.”
“Understood,” Bren said. “Perfectly.” He was comforted to think that, in extremity, they might have a means to contact the ship or the shuttle itself, hoping for some word of what was going on outside their section.
The lights came on. Fans resumed moving air.
He and Banichi looked at one another with all manner of speculations; and he heaved a great sigh.
“Well,” he said to Banichi, “presumably it will go on working. Conserve, until we know what’s happening.”
“One will do so,” Banichi said. “In the meantime… we’ll attempt to learn.”
“Wait,” he said, and tried Cl again. “Cl. What’s going on? Do you hear me?”
“ The emergency is over,” Cl answered, not the main shift man, but a woman’s voice. “ There’s no need for alarm.”
“Does that happen often, Cl? What didhappen?”
“I believe a technical crew is attempting to rectify the problem, sir. It’s a minor difficulty. Out, sir.”
Cl punched out. Cl might have other problems on her hands. God knew what problems.
“It’s not an alien invasion,” he said to Banichi. “The central communications officer claims not to know the cause.”
Banichi might have understood that much.
“One wonders how general it was,” Banichi said. Jago had appeared, and there was some uncommon calling back and forth among the staff, confirming switches, in the hall.
“I’ve no idea,” Bren said. “Cl certainly knew about it.”
“One should rest, Bren-ji,” Jago said. “One of us is always on watch.”
He had no doubt. And he had no doubt of the rightness of the advice, no matter what was going on technically with the station.
There was not another alarm in the nighttime.
In the morning he was not utterly surprised to hear Cl say that Sabin had canceled their scheduled meeting; he was not utterly surprised to hear that there were no communications with Mogari-nai. The earthlink was down. Neither ship nor station was communicating with anyone.