He picked up the receiver. “Nand’ Director? This is Bren-paidhi.”
“Nand’ paidhi?”
“There is, nandi, a sudden and very critical need to get a large number of personnel to the station, and one now profoundly apologizes for what one must request. Can you possibly make a massive change in the launch preparation? We need the largest passenger module and we need an express flight—the day after tomorrow would not be too soon—but we cannot in any way compromise safety with this passenger load. Can you make an accommodation faster with this shuttle rather than by waiting for the next, or applying to Mospheira for their space? I beg you, tell me this can be done.”
A space of silence. One could hardly blame the woman. It had to have come like a meteor strike, amid a routine and orderly process that was within a day of completion.
But lading was the final process.
“We have not loaded but two carrels of cargo, as of this hour, nandi. That can be reversed. As to whether it is better to rely on the next shuttle landing—one can never guarantee that there will not be a mechanical delay with a launch preparation. Regarding Shai-shan, we have already had our inspection, so in that, Shai-shan is ready. To install the passenger module you request and deal with fueling, however, is a lengthy process.”
“One understands, nand’ Director.”
“Let me consult with staff, nandi. I shall make inquiries about time required.”
“Indeed, nand’ Director. Let me stress that time is extremely critical; so also is safety. We might, at need, manage with the mid-sized module and a greatly reduced passenger list. Or if absolutely desperate, one person, riding with the crew. But that would be our very last choice.” He could go up, alone, with only hand baggage, relying on his household aloft and Lord Geigi—but he hoped—he hoped desperately for more resources. “Please see what can be done. I cannot stress enough: safety is definitely an issue; budget is not. The shuttle schedule can be adjusted up and down the line.”
“Yes, nandi. One understands. One will do one’s best.”
“Thank you. Thank you very much, nandi.” He hung up. And propped his head on his hands and did rapid mental math, conscious of a headache gathering at his temples—pressure; fear; and a dearth of information.
The dowager’s minimal complement of servants and security, plus herself, would be about twenty-one persons, counting she maintained an ample establishment on station—a caretaker staff that managed her apartment. Many of her servants he knew were plain-clothes Guild.
But figure thirty-one for the dowager’s company. If they could get the larger module, they had room enough. Even for the observers.
The young gentleman’s company would be seven, if he brought his servants; five if he brought only his bodyguard, and it would be a good idea to have the bodyguards—but the young gentleman could easily do without his servants.
Himself—even with staff aloft, he ideally wanted Narani and Jeladi with him—he wanted their experience and cool competency, among other things. They’d been in space before and they knew the staff up there.
His aishid, like the dowager’s, was absolutely essential to the situation. Seven.
He wanted Asicho, who’d also been there. Bindanda. God, yes, Bindanda. He could not forget Bindanda.
So he and his staff were nine.
That was a number of outstanding felicity. But all together—it was a large number of seats. And they had the Guild observers.
Thirty-one, five, and nine. Forty-five. And the four Guild observers. Forty-nine.
Plus Guild equipment; and court wardrobe for three persons.
He started figuring baggage, a hopeless enterprise—they simply had to give priority to security and wardrobe and trust their bodyguards. He gave that up, opened his computer and started identifying files and codes he had to have.
The Port Director called back. He didn’t wait for Narani to take the call.
“Five days, nandi,” the Director said. “We can launch early on the fifth day from this. Can you give us that much time, nandi? I am looking at the weather. It should be favorable.”
“With no compromise of safety.”
“No compromise of safety, nandi. Be assured. The shuttle itself is completely checked out and ready. We have loaded only two carrels. We assume using the regular baggage module—that the passengers will observe regulation for baggage, regulation weights. We allot four carrels. That is the module’s regular configuration.”
“We will be within that limit.”
“We shall ask to have all carrel baggage in our hands on the third night, nandi. Launch before dawn on the fifth.”
“Excellent. Please express my gratitude to staff, and my hope, my trust and confidence that everything will be in good order. Please assure everyone that there will be both recognition and recompense for their efforts.”
“I shall, nandi. May we request a written order for this, specific paper for the records?”
“I shall deliver a signed order in person, on my arrival, with all appropriate seals, but I shall provide an interim order from the aiji. Please trust me on this until these arrive.”
“Yes.” The answer came, from a woman balancing her career on that choice. “Yes, nandi.”
“Carrel baggage will arrive the third evening or before, ready to go, sealed and attended by the Guild.”
“That will be extremely helpful.”
“There will be hand baggage within regulations. Needless to say, this is all highest security. Crews may know only that it is a station security emergency and that very high-level personnel are going up to deal with it. The less information you give out beyond that, the better.”
“I shall give those orders, nandi.”
Thank God.
Thank that woman.
“The aiji’s seal will be on this entire operation to confirm my orders, nand’ Director. Thank you. Thank you very much. My own staff will contact the Transportation Guild at executive levels on that day. They will be informed that it is a security emergency, and that a high-ranking team is going. If possible, use a technical malfunction on the station as cover.”
“One understands, nand’ paidhi.”
He ended the call.
Drew a breath. Stared at a blank wall and saw the deep of space, blackness, and somewhere out there, a blip.
A presence in the dark.
They had expected the kyo, yes. Sometime. In the future.
Considering what they’d come home to, thank God they’d had a year.
But then—what was the kyo intention? Was the timing, a year, the passage of a reasonably temperate Earthlike planet around a reasonably temperate star, significant somehow?
Other things the kyo had done weren’t what humans or atevi were likely to have done. Kyo had two legs, two arms, they breathed the same air and could eat the same food—with some sensible cautions. But there the similarities stopped. Their expressions were hard to read, their body language was obscure. They’d said they would come. Nothing more. Abstracts like why and what for were far too obscure for communication such as they had established.
And if the kyo were going to show up, he supposed a year was a reasonable time to wait. He might have thought so, if he had had time to think about the kyo in any great detail.
But he could quite easily think other things and draw other conclusions. The kyo might have used that time to go home, with some new information they had to talk over with their authorities.