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Like the wonderful windows he so wanted.

His mother came in, a frowning, ominous presence—frowning, he instantly thought, because he was standing over his sister.

He moved back and gave a deeper than needed bow. “Honored Mother. I know Father has told you—”

“Yes,” she said coldly, not acknowledging his bow in the least.

“One is obliged to go up to the station, honored Mother,” he said. “One has no choice.”

Mother said nothing at all. And he simply said the next thing in his head:

“It
is
dangerous. The kyo blew up the station at Reunion. But we can talk to them. Nand' Bren can. And I can. Myself. I know one of them and he was very polite to me and he will remember me. So I have to be there to help nand' Bren.”

“Who was the person who thought a
child
should be brought near one of these people in the first place?”

“Honored Mother, we were
all
near these people. Their weapons could blow up the whole station. So we were all in danger of being blown up, wherever we were. We are all in danger, this time, even here on Earth. You. Father. My sister. The whole
world
could be in danger from these people if we make them our enemies. So we
have
to do this.”

“And who put my son in charge?”

“I happened to meet this one kyo, honored Mother, and we got along. And I know he will want to see me.”

“You know.”

“I do know, honored Mother. I am not afraid of him. And I know how to speak to him.”

“Oh, certainly! You should reason with these people!”

“Nand' Bren will talk to them. We will manage, Mother. Nand' Bren will talk to them, and we will make an agreement and then we shall come home
,
honored Mother. This will not be a long time!”

A small silence. “You will have your aishid with you.”

“Yes, honored Mother.”

His aishid would be absolutely no help to him if the kyo blew up the station, but it did not seem helpful to say that.

“Well, good that
someone
will have your welfare foremost. Clearly you must do as your father thinks best. I do not approve, little good it does.”

“I have to be there, honored Mother.”

“Because
humans
went out where nobody should go and went pressing and pressing until they ran into these people, and now here they are, threatening everybody, as if it were our fault!”

That was more or less true. “They have not threatened anybody. We promised them when we left, that if they came we would meet them. And now we have to do that. Nand' Bren will make an association with them. They really live very far away, so they probably will not come here—”

“It certainly
seems
as if they have no trouble coming here!”

“—but not at all often, honored Mother. Not at all often, at least.”

“Is this the paidhi's estimation?”

It was impossible to argue with his mother. He started to say, “I have—”—
met them and you have not
was the next part, but it was not smart to say, so he kept it quiet.

“Bren-paidhi and your great-grandmother have gotten us into this ill-advised meeting, which was originally
only
the humans' business, and now here we are, afraid the world is to be blown up, for no fault of ours!”

“Nand' Bren stopped them blowing up the human station with all those people on it. Now—”

“Now he has to persuade them not to blow up our space station with my son on it! One cannot think this is a great accomplishment!”

His mother could unnerve him, and make him forget everything he had to say, but right now, he was in the right, he knew he was, and the whole argument was going off into what was and was not the humans' fault, instead of what he had come here to say.

So he said it, right in the middle of her argument. “I know why you had to send me away in the first place, honored Mother. I am sorry. I am sorry I feel man'chi toward great-grandmother, but I was on the ship while I was growing up and I cannot help that. When we got home I wanted to come back and find you. I want to find man'chi here, too. I know I have it for my father. And I
think
I really have it for you, too, if you would just be happy.”

“I have reason not to be happy about this, do you not think?”

“Honored Mother.” He thought he should just bow at this point, and leave, but his feet refused to move and he stood there staring back at her, hurt, as he had expected to be hurt when he had come in here, and not knowing what to say or do, except, finally, to set his feet and give her his real expression.
“No.
No, I do
not
think you have reason, honored Mother. I do not think I deserve it.”

“I have never directed my anger at you!”

“You do not approve what I say. You do not approve what I think. You do not approve my associations. And you say you are not angry at me?”

Seimiro began to cry.

“Hush!”
Mother said. “You are frightening your sister.”

It was time to bow and leave. But it was not just leaving the room. It was leaving to go far, far away, into something really dangerous, and he did not deserve to be ignored. So he stood fast, angry, jaw set, while Seimiro cried, and stared at Mother staring at him.

“I am
right,”
he said. “I respect you, honored Mother. And I think I do have man'chi toward you. I think
you
have none toward me.”

“That is outrageous! I have done
nothing
but want you back!”

“Then why have you never
taken
me back? Why do you keep telling me to leave?”

Seimiro let out a yell, and Mother's maid darted in to pick her up and quiet her. Still he just stood there, getting mad, and madder. And his mother was mad. Seimiro was mad, loudly so. He
expected
his mother to take Seimiro and leave the room with her. That was what she did any time Seimiro cried—his mother dropped everything and coddled Seimiro.

This time his mother stood there facing him with an expression like stone. And it was the maid who took Seimiro out of the room.

His mother gave him no expression, none, and he could all but feel mani thwacking his ear hard and saying “Face!” because he had let down control of his own, but his mother would not give him her face. That was how much his mother had won.

“You are right,” his mother said then, very controlled. Then suddenly there was expression on her face. Pain. “You are right.”

He did not want to be
right.
He just wanted his mother to be polite to him, and not make his leaving again difficult and hurtful. He wanted to escape. But that required bowing and then turning his back and having his mother say something to upset him further on his way to the door.

“Man'chi was broken,” his mother said quietly. “There was a point I let you die to me, son of mine. I told myself you were dead, so I could think about your father. And when you did come back, with
her
—I found no way to light that fire again. Nothing that could mend what had happened. I knew by then I would have another child. I turned my thoughts to that. It was not your fault.”

He felt cold, cold through. And felt his great-grandmother's absent hand give him a little shove, a light little thwack on the ear. “Pay attention,” mani would say. “These are grown-up things, but understand that you
are not
the world. You will
never
be the world. Other people will do as
they
will do and you will have to determine what
you
will do about that. That is your business. The rest is theirs.”

“One does not believe it was your fault, either,” he said, and meant it. “I wish I could have helped.”

“I am
still
glad,” she said, “that you were
not
there that night at Taiben. We all could all have died.”

“That would not have helped anything,” he agreed, which was what mani would say about it.

“No,” Mother said, “that could not have helped anyone. Come.” She held out her hands. “Come to me.”

He did not trust the gesture. His instincts said bow, and leave, and shut the door between them, get away. She was not acting like the mother he knew.

But it might be the only chance he ever got. He came closer, and when she opened her hands, he reached. Her fingers closed on his, chill, and hard, and she looked at him—she still could look down at him; but not by much. He was growing. Every season he was growing. And he was a long way now from a baby.

“Nothing can mend what was,” she said. “I cannot get that time back. What I shall have is what I have right now. And I want you to come back safely, son of mine. You are so,
so
like your father. I very much want to see the man you will become.”

“Honored Mother.” It was hard to talk. He squeezed her fingers. “I shall do my very best up there.”

“You are far too big to hold again,” she said, and let go his hands.
“Protect
yourself, son of mine. Do
that
for your mother. Obey instructions. Be wise.”

“Yes,” he said. It was a dismissal. Mani had used to thwack his ear so it hurt for days, but that was because mani was taking care of him and wanted him to be safe amid the dangers of the ship. He was going away again. This time
she
sent him, herself, and things she had said hurt worse than a thwack on the ear. But her face had changed. She was trying her best to make peace. For the first time in memory, he believed it. “Thank you,” he said, and bowed, twice. “Thank you, honored Mother.”

She said nothing. She gave him a little nod, a courtesy. He left, and shut the door himself.

His aishid was waiting for him outside. They never asked questions about the situation between him and his mother. They just expected him to be upset and tried to ignore that situation. But this time they gave him a worried look, far from official. So he was not in control of his face.

“Things are better,” he said to them. He thought they really might be better. His mother wanted them to be and he wanted them to be, both at the same time.

That was a start, was it not? She had said he was like his father.

But now he could feel his great-grandmother staring at the back of his neck, saying, grim-faced and frowning: “Concentrate, boy. Concentrate. You have only one task now. Think on that.”

S
upper. All the messages had long since gone. The courier Narani had sent out to meet with Toby was one of the chambermaids, who was both happy to have a few days at Najida and of course glad to carry an important message to nand' Toby.

So that had gone by plane, hours ago—and Toby should have absorbed the message by now.

The other message, also by plane, would have gotten to Shawn. There was no way he and Shawn could discuss the problem securely. The Messengers collected data and they used it, and no aiji had ever been able to control that guild. And now the Messengers' problem posed a serious, serious threat to the world.

Bindanda turned up after supper, when Bren was leaving the dining room, in a moment when no other staff were near—a stout man, their very excellent cook, and possessed of a number of less evident skills.

“One hears you are going up to the station, nandi. That you may need me to go with you. One would be honored if that were the case.”

“The kyo have come calling, Danda-ji. They will be here, shortly.
That
is the matter at hand.”

“Indeed,” Bindanda said with the lift of a brow and a very sober nod. “Then one is doubly resolved to go with you, nandi.”

“We are leaving in as much secrecy as we can manage.”

“I shall bring everything I need.”

He had to smile. “Your teacakes are an irreplaceable asset, Danda-ji. Official word remains that I am going to Najida to meet my brother, who has come into Najida's harbor to repair his boat. That is the story for everyone outside this apartment.”

“Yes,” Bindanda said. Rock solid in every good sense, Bindanda was. In point of fact, he was covert Guild—not an uncommon double role in those heading the kitchens of great houses. Bindanda had been in Tatiseigi's house, serving Tabini, and now served in his—surely a spy from Tatiseigi—or Tabini keeping an eye on Tatiseigi before Tatiseigi had lent Bindanda to him; but Bren had never been so indelicate as to ask anyone which, and if his aishid knew,
they
had never said.

The mission was shaping up to be for his household, himself, and four plain-clothes Guild in addition to his aishid, covert Guild who might not be up to date on weapons-practice, but who weren't going to have the naïveté of Najida-born servants, either. The arrangement would protect his household in a major way.

But he hoped that problems up there never escalated to that point.

 • • • 

“We have a conclusive selection from the Guild,” Jago said that night, in the dark, when she came late to bed, “of the persons they will send up to the station.”

One feared the news he was about to receive might not be conducive to sleep. Bren waited as Jago settled into bed and laid her head on the pillow.

“The Guild has designated a unit of four. Guild-senior is Ruheso. Her partner is Deno. They are senior, long service in many difficult areas. Their partners are Hanidi and Sisui, two brothers-of-different-mothers, from the west coast, a little younger but they have been together for many years. They have no man'chi outside the Guild. They served well in great hardship during the Troubles, and Banichi knows Deno personally. His word is that the Guild is not sending fools up there. We can rely on them.”

“Then one is glad to hear. Reasonable people. I can sleep, then.”

“Do you want to sleep?” Jago asked, winding a strand of his hair around her finger.

“Not yet,” he said.

They did sleep, after a time, in each other's arms.

The house didn't rest. From time to time, the noise of someone awake somewhere intruded into the bedroom—waked Jago first, certainly, since she was awake whenever a sound waked Bren.

Night staff. Usually there were only the laundry staff awake—but laundry had been going on all day, and now packing was in progress. Staff had nearly emptied the closets this evening.

If there was anything he was going to need on the station that Narani might not think to pack, that would be his problem to think of—because earth to orbit was not like running downtown. They took everything they could possibly need: uncompressed clothing, unlike some of the loads the shuttles carried, was low mass. They brought foodstuffs, and a few gifts for staff; but those were no problem.

So there he was, lying beside Jago, staring at the dark ceiling of the bedroom in the stillness after a small sound from the foyer, thinking and thinking and worrying over details—like needing to advise Geigi about the team from Headquarters, which he had hoped not to be doing in the small hours of the morning. But if he wanted to talk to Geigi before Geigi went to bed, he had to get up early.

Then he heard the front door of the apartment open, and Jago stirred just slightly, enough for him to know she had heard it.

“It may be a courier,” he said.

Jago reached for something, and did not get up. He began to, and found his robe as Jago, in the dark, talked to someone in numbers.

“It is a courier,” she said. “From Najida.”

He belted the robe and heard Jago slide out of bed on the other side. He had no desire for sleep now. He felt the slight raw edge of nerves from an already restless night and he sincerely hoped nothing involving his brother or the mainland had gone wrong. He waited a moment for Jago to find her own robe; and before they could go out, he heard a gentle rap at the door.

Jago turned on the lights just as Jeladi opened the door. Lights were dimmed out in the hall, ordinary for nighttime. But the offering of a message bowl was certainly not ordinary, in the bedroom, and at this hour. It held one cylinder, which proved to have Najida's blue band.

“Ramaso-nadi sent Sindi and Tocari with the message, nandi,” Jeladi said. “Ramaso told them nothing, except not to delay about it, and not to respect the hour.”

“Indeed. Hospitality of the house for them, Ladi-ji.” He was anxious to read the letter, too anxious to go to the office for its useful tools. He uncapped the cylinder, sat down on the edge of the bed in his nightrobe, and with a practiced snap of his wrist and a little tug, extracted the letter.

It was in Mosphei', in Toby's casual hand, which, they had joked, only a brother could read. There was no extensive message—just a few lines.

Called home about Aunt Margaret. Explained everything about Uncle T's behavior. Papa says he absolutely agrees. He and I talked. He's working on the problem.

Bravo, Toby.
Bravo.
And thank God.

So word had gotten to the Presidenta. To Shawn Tyers. And Shawn now knew what was going on up on the station and understood that getting rid of Tillington was now beyond urgent. It was a sudden flood of good news.

But could he go back to sleep after that?

Not likely.

“The message went through,” he translated for Jago. “The Presidenta has gotten my message about the kyo. He is either going to send someone to manage Tillington, or outright replace him, and I hope for the latter.” He felt superstitious even about saying it. “All good news, so far.”

 • • • 

It was, a check of his watch proved, an hour before dawn. So, perched on a counter edge in the security station, he had tea and cakes with his aishid, where no protocols held and business was always allowable.

His aishid, having their own breakfasts, sat at their various consoles, chairs more or less facing him.

“I am confident,” he told them, “that we will be rid of Tillington as a problem as soon as a shuttle can get there. A few days with him, we can manage. One hopes.”

“The Presidenta will deal with him,” Algini said. “And will this effort weaken the Presidenta?”

Leave it to Algini to think
that
thought. “Possibly. The Presidenta has been keeping very quiet about the situation, but one does not believe
Tillington
will be silent once he gets back to Earth. He
will
find those to listen to his complaints. But we hope they will be few in number.”

“Heritage Party,” Banichi said. Human words rarely passed Banichi's lips. But these two words they all knew.

“Indeed. I fear the Heritage Party will seek Tillington's acquaintance very quickly once he does set foot on Mospheira. But I think the Presidenta can deal with them.”

There were still frowns. Man'chi was an emotional word. It ran in many directions, and there was a chemistry about it, the same as in humans' associations: at times that word translated. But some human actions remained a complete mystery to them. He doubted even his closest associates really understood Mospheirans' continuing anger toward the old colonial management. Despite everything the aishidi'tat had been through with the Assassins' Guild, there had never been a time at which atevi had even conceptualized class warfare. It was all clan advantage.

Atevi, too, would logically appoint one of Shawn Tyers' relatives or in-laws to direct the station—precisely because a relative would logically want Shawn to succeed in a job that would benefit the whole aishidi'tat. Mospheirans chose appointees with heritage and interests as separate from Shawn's as possible. Both were absolutely sure they were assuring a stable, balanced government.

“Mospheirans,” he said, “do not see benefit in supporting the Heritage Party nowadays. In recent memory, the economy suffered from its activities. The fact that Mospheiran enterprise is now deeply entwined with atevi companies means Mospheirans now see their prosperity and atevi prosperity as linked, and they now assume atevi will be as quick as they are to support what they support. They're as dangerously mistaken as they ever were, but at least they're mistaken in a more peaceful direction.”

“So far,” Algini said.

“So far,” he said. “Indeed, so far. And while the interface between humans and atevi becomes more and more mistaken, it becomes less and less feared—and that is dangerous for exactly the same reasons it once was. One has no idea what Tillington thinks the situation with atevi is. I doubt he thinks about it much at all. He simply runs his half of the station as if the atevi half were not there at all. Computers do the translation for supply, now. The translation programs we developed during the shuttle-building went on expanding while we were off at Reunion. There is still is no paidhi up there. Effectively, there is not. Mercheson-paidhi has resigned, as we know. Tillington disdains Jase as an ally of Sabin-aiji. So Tillington relies entirely on the computers, and Tillington and Geigi do not speak.

“When we were absent, they managed the station. They secured their food supply, independent of the world. Geigi built his landers and refused to release the remaining shuttle. Mospheira began to build its own shuttle program. And perhaps Tillington began to settle his hopes on that. Geigi built landers to recover the aishidi'tat, and Tillington occupied his own workforce in building room to receive a small number of refugees, if any did return, and by building comforts and resources, as I have understood it, should the station have a long isolation. When we came back, bringing five thousand refugees, outnumbering the Mospheiran population on the station—whatever Tillington envisioned turned inside out. Sabin's order put them off the ship and onto the station, and this greatly upset Tillington. It was an invasion of his authority, a collapse of all his efforts. All his building had to be turned to housing. His comfortable sufficiency instantly became shortage. And the refugees sharing the Mospheiran side of the station, crowding them, but not atevi—are not Mospheirans. They are descended from people who used to be lords of the station and give orders to the ship. I do find understanding for Tillington's situation and his emotional state, if not for his actions. One does not well judge whether he has held this anger from the beginning of his service, but it seems now to have slipped all sensible restraint. He is trying to turn one ship-aiji against another. He has made accusations which atevi cannot tolerate. He is isolating the Reunioners, so that the Reunioners have only Braddock to turn to. In the present situation—he is a danger that has to be removed.”

“Are we to remove him?” Jago asked outright, and to his own disquiet, he found himself thinking it would be so simple.

But the consequences would not.

“Politically, for the Presidenta, for the Treaty, no, Jago-ji. I cannot do it. But there is a human finesse that we can apply. I had begun to apply it—and now there is no time for intricate maneuvering. The Presidenta will act. He has powers he can use in emergency; I have informed him, and it will very soon be clear to everybody—this is an emergency.”

“The kyo have not announced themselves,” Banichi said. “But can we be sure Ogun-aiji has not confided the information to this man?”

Bren drew in a breath. “We cannot be sure. But indications are still that no one up there knows except the ship-aijiin, and certain ship's crew, but not necessarily all of them. I suspect that
Phoenix
' technicians have been closely monitoring our backtrail over this last year, in exactly this concern, and while they may have become aware of that ship, one does not believe the station has anything like the ship's capabilities in that regard.”

Tano asked: “Can the kyo have followed us? Could they have been there all this last year, nandi, silent—as it was at Reunion?”

“That is
entirely
possible. If it has been there, we have no idea what prompted it to move. But for whatever reason, I gather it is moving toward us on the same side of the sun, which the kyo know will lead to discovery. So one does assume the kyo will at some point announce themselves.” Bren took a sip of tea, as thought proceeded down that track to the inevitable conclusion. “Once it does, one may assume the station as well as the ship will hear it. And when that happens, there may be panic on the human side.”

“How much shall we tell the Guild observers?” Algini asked.

“At this point, tell them all we know, and caution them not to spread the news beyond Council, and to urge Council to keep it secret, as the aiji's business. If the Guild still has leaks—best we find out now where those channels run.”