Phoenix had come home, and he’d concentrated all his efforts on putting out the fires that had broken out in their absence. He’d gotten humans to understand atevi and vice versa. Moderately.
The kyo were completely off the chart. And dealing with them out at Reunion, on two ships strange to each other, and far removed from both their homes—that had been one thing.
Doing it here, with everything humans and atevi owned at immediate risk should he make a wrong move—that sent cold fear through him.
But in terms of negotiating—he was what the world had, for good or ill. He, and Jase. And Yolande Mercheson, and that small cadre of translators in the university over on Mospheira, who’d never spoken directly to atevi. Language was a field very few went into, one that no kyo had ever remotely conceived of going into, by all he knew. It must be a non-existent skill, where there was, for whatever reason, no surviving Other, no rivals, no memory of foreign contact.
Except there was another out there, by what they had learned, one other species who’d taken exception to the kyo, far to the other side of kyo space.
Enemies. Armed and space-faring enemies. The kyo had hinted such was the case.
That meant the kyo themselves were not the only visitors who could come calling on them. The kyo were the most likely. But not the only possibility.
He could not, however, afford scattered thinking. Wide thinking, yes. He was obliged to that.
But if there was one individual on earth who could not afford to panic right now—he was that one. Ahead of Tabini, ahead of Shawn, and all the ship captains, he had to think what to do, and how best to do it, because calm, accurate communication with that inbound ship was critical.
First things. Essentials had to be gotten up there. The dowager. Himself.
And—Cajeiri.
They were the three the kyo had met personally. They were the ones the kyo knew and expected. Somehow the dowager’s age and Cajeiri’s youth both mattered in the kyo view, calming apprehensions, perhaps, perhaps evoking something symbolic—they were far from analyzing such things in their exchanges; but the kyo had attached some significance to their presence.
So he needed them now.
A jet might not be available at Malguri’s airport to get the dowager here. He might have to dispatch one.
Cajeiri, however—
Steps hurried back up the inner hall. He swung his chair toward the door.
A knock, an immediate entry: Jago and Banichi turned up, silent, competent for anything. Tano and Algini came in behind them, and the little office became smaller.
“Nadiin-ji,” he said calmly. “The kyo—logically one believes it is the kyo—are fifteen days from the station. They are here.”
Immediate understanding—no consternation, no alarm, just—an understanding that things had to be done, plans had to be changed, priorities had to be adjusted. God, he loved these people.
“One assumes we shall go up there,” Banichi said.
“Yes. We have to alert the dowager. One hopes the Guild’s communications might be more secure than the Messengers.”
“Yes,” Banichi said, covering an immense territory in one word.
“The Guild observers probably should still go, if they are to understand this event from the beginning. But they must go now, whether we can use the shuttle at the port or whether we have to beg transport from Mospheira. And I do not know whether I can get seats for them.”
“We shall make that clear to the Guild,” Algini said.
The Guild’s internal communications turning reliable did make things much, much easier; and accurately informed observers directly connected to that guild’s administration could become an asset. One hoped—hoped things would never require their assistance up there.
“I have very minimal information at this point,” he said, “beyond a message from Jase-aiji, giving the code for an unknown in the solar system and putting it at fifteen days away at its current speed—which may change. At this point one hopes it is the kyo, and not their troublesome neighbors. But we shall have to go up there, we shall have to take charge of the encounter—and very unfortunately—we may have to do so with Tillington still in charge of Mospheiran operations, if the Presidenta cannot move fast enough to replace him. Assuming we are dealing with the kyo, I hope to take up that discussion with them where we left off. I am about to request the shuttle change its plans, offload all its cargo, install the largest passenger module—assuming the dowager will not come with a small staff—and fuel for an express run. And somehow we shall have to do this quietly. I do not wish to make the kyo presence public knowledge until we have a response in place.”
“Yes,” Banichi said. “Should staff know?”
About his own staff’s man’chi and the intent of their honest hearts, he had no doubts at all. His staff would have to arrange transportation and pack their baggage, creating some disturbance in routine, and they would likely need to deal with outside agencies that might ask interested questions.
Bet that somebody might not make an innocent mistake, trying to cover things—
“Nand’ Toby’s boat,” he said on inspiration, and with only a twinge of conscience, “has just arrived in Najida with storm damage. I was intending to go there to assist him. Let that be the story, for all outside agencies that have to know anything about my movements. Staff may be told the truth, but tell them that all any outsider should know is that I am taking the train to Najida to meet my brother, that I shall be taking the young gentleman with me, and that the dowager might join us for a holiday.”
He hated to use Toby’s presence that way and he hated to lie to the public. But it was cover they needed, to give them time to get some answers, and not to have a public furor interfering with their needful movements to the spaceport—which lay in the same direction as Najida.
But that also meant somewhere amid the confusion he had to get an honest word to Toby about what was happening.
That needed more couriers.
“I am about to talk to the Port Director,” he said. “Advise the aiji’s aishid I need to speak to him immediately, but do not tell them why. The rule is—anyone inside these walls may know the whole truth. Outsiders are not to be given any of the truth unless I personally and specifically give clearance.”
“We shall advise them,” Banichi said.
“Tell the Guild what you must, and use your own judgment. I shall try to reserve seats for the observers. One unit?”
“Four, yes.”
“Once they get to the station, they should understand they will be entirely dependent on Lord Geigi for briefings. I shall be occupied, to what extent I cannot predict; and you will be, likewise. We shall brief them whenever possible, but if we cannot spare the time, we cannot. Protocol with humans or atevi cannot be my primary concern on this trip. Make sure they understand that.”
“Bren-ji,” Banichi said, without batting an eye. “We shall make very sure they understand that.”
They left. It lifted an immense burden, just knowing they were engaged with the problem—and that a certain part of it would not be in his hands.
But before the door had quite swung shut at Tano’s back, Narani swung it open again, quietly plugged in a phone and set it on his desk. “The Port Director, nandi,” Narani said quietly, “is waiting on the line. I have told her nothing.”
Different mental track. Logistics. Estimates.
And a need for immediate action.