Pizza meant informality. People snatched a little piece and a glass of something compatible, and milled about in, for a courtly atevi party, a riotous good time.
“Welcome, nandi!” Sabiso bade him, handing him a glass. “Welcome! We are so relieved!”
“We were worried there might be a problem,” another voice declared. “But now we can deal with these strangers!”
“Our lord will bring the human folk to sense!”
Their lord sincerely hoped so—and didn’t miss the fact the human situation found mention right along with the oncoming kyo ship.
He had no answer to give them. Not yet. He wished he could be in two places, here and across the hall, hearing what Geigi and Ilisidi were saying. But his aishid was in contact. Likely Ilisidi was getting more information than she gave, and if what she was getting from Lord Geigi was the atevi situation, that seemed in fair order. If what she was getting was Tillington’s history—please God without Tillington’s statement—he knew enough.
Best course, he decided, was right where he was, meet staff, draw breath, have a little supper, and honestly get some sleep in a proper bed, not the situation aboard the shuttle. He couldn’t ignore these people now. He’d had to leave them when he’d come down to the world. He still couldn’t help them get home, with shuttle space restricted as it was.
“So many welcome faces!” he said so everyone could hear, and weary as he was, felt a sudden dampness about the eyes, hoping it would not get worse. “And such a welcome! Nadiin-ji, thank you, thank you all! You have been so patient, so much more than I could have reasonably asked, under every circumstance.”
“Bren-nandi!” came the response, all of them crowded close. And from Kandana: “Welcome, nandi! Indeed, we know you will bring order out of this!”
There was, of course, tea. The household was a little short of wine and brandy, supplied from the world below, but there were certainly spirits to be had—vodka distilled from what, one dared not ask. He hesitated at taking any alcohol, still fearing a summons.
But none came.
And there were, aromatic as the pizza, fresh teacakes. The orangelle flavoring was a special treat up here, and they had brought a lot of it.
There was news, the new windows at Najida, the children’s visit—he met and talked with every individual of his little staff. He answered questions about relatives, and the Bujavid staff, name by name, where they were, how they were.
But tea and sugar could only carry him so far, with, finally, a small glass of vodka. Exhaustion was setting in, and he went to what served as his sitting room and simply collapsed into a chair for a moment of peace and silence.
Strange how one conversation with Ogun could have sapped that much energy. But it had. And he was very glad the dowager had spared him a formal report tonight, because nothing he had tried to do was concluded, and nothing was certain.
Finish the vodka. Have one more cup of herbal tea. Go to bed. That was his plan.
“Go off duty,” he told his aishid, who had come in with him, standing, after all this. “I hope things will be quiet for at least a few hours, but they will assuredly not stay that way. The shuttle from Mospheira is coming in two days behind us, and I am hopeful now we shall at least have Ogun’s silence while we manage a transition with Tillington. I shall talk with the man tomorrow and see if I can persuade him to stand down. Well done. Rest. Please.”
“Bren-ji,” Banichi said with a nod; and here in the heart of a loyal staff, they left for their own quarters—likely not to sleep yet, but to trade condensed information with Cenedi and with Geigi’s staff, and then, he sincerely hoped, they would take their own overdue rest.
He picked up the requested cup of tea, and was about, with two extra sips, to go get some sleep himself.
The door opened. Jago came back in, having hardly had time to go all the way down the hall, and with a look like business.
“Bren-ji. Jase-aiji is on the phone.”
Phone meant another sort of instrument, on the station. This one arrived in Jago’s hand, a device like one of the Guild units, and a glance told him what button to push, not needing to leave his chair or plug anything in. “This is Bren,” he said, while Jago waited.
“Hear you just talked with the senior captain.”
He’d come home, exhausted. Gotten distracted. No, he hadn’t called Jase. Or talked to Sabin. Or even thought about it.
Never take your allies for granted. Big mistake. Especially with Sabin.
“Good conversation, actually,” he said. “I think we agreed on most points. I hope you haven’t heard anything to the contrary.”
“No. Actually not. Everything is quiet here. I was thinking about dropping by your place on my way off-shift.”
God, he couldn’t. The minute he’d met the glass of spirits, his brain had started turning to homogenized mush, the more so now that he’d sat down alone in quiet. He’d not reported to Sabin. She probably wanted information, and asked Jase to get it.
But running from Ogun right back to Sabin . . .
No, he shouldn’t have done that. He was dropping stitches even thinking he should have gone to her. He’d done the right thing going straight to Ogun. Sabin would know that. Absolutely she would. And he’d done right, to come straight home.
Jase, on the other hand, could be signaling him about another problem. They could cover the visit with the party winding down in the dining room.
“Sure,” he found himself saying. “We’re sort of settling down for the night here. But you’re very welcome. Hope things have gone all right.”
“Peaceful regarding the visitors. No change in the signal. They’re signaling us, probably automated, at a fixed interval. We repeat it at that interval. We’re not changing anything until—”
Jase broke off. Something was happening where he was.
“Just a minute,” Jase said. “Stay with me.”
Adrenaline kicked up. Bren waited. It was all he could do.
Maybe it wasn’t an emergency. Maybe it was somebody just trying to ask Jase a simple question. Casual interruption.
If only it was that.
The silence went on. And on.
Maybe Jase had completely forgotten about him. Maybe Sabin was saying something.
Maybe some technical thing had developed a problem.
Maybe he should just end the call. Let Jase call him back when he had time.
He kept hearing voices. Strange sounds. Jase was carrying the com unit with him as he dealt with several people. He heard bits and pieces of instruction and query. Then:
“Bren.”
“I’m here.”
“Transmission just changed. Velocity hasn’t. Course hasn’t. The transmission has gone to audio, but I think it’s a recording. I’ll patch you in.”
Pop. Static. He heard then a rumbling sort of voice he hadn’t heard in two years—and the world below them never had.
“Bren. Ilisidi. Cajeiri. Bren. Ilisidi. Cajeiri. Bren. Ilisidi. Cajeiri.” And silence.
Three repeats. Like the pattern signal.
Click. “What do we answer?” Jase asked.
There was some sort of disturbance near Jase. He heard a voice. An angry one. Then Jase again:
“Stationmaster Tillington is demanding I get off the com. Captain Sabin is telling him to stand by for your answer and do nothing himself. The stationmaster wants their signal echoed as is.”