Visitor: A Foreigner Novel (10 page)

Jase chided him for involving himself in the Reunioner situation. Jase was taking steps, researching records, dealing with Braddock as a human problem.

But the fact was, Braddock’s actions were wound intricately into the kyo-human contact. The question remained
why
Braddock had done what he had done—twice. That
why
was a human problem. That
why
didn’t matter for the kyo negotiations ahead . . .

Why didn’t matter.

But it did matter . . . in order to find out
what
. What happened had happened because of
whys
on both sides. On one hand, the kyo did things they couldn’t explain logically, because
they didn’t yet have the kyo logic upon which to base the actions. On the other, they had a human administrator and a senior captain who’d done things they
could
explain, based on human logic, but which of the multiple options actually applied was dependent on a relationship they couldn’t figure, because one of the principal players was dead.

Maybe Jase was wrong. Maybe Braddock had acted for two different reasons, similar but different, that just happened to manifest in the same way. The first time made no sense, unless Braddock had been as ignorant of the food capability of the ship as Williams. But logic would suggest he’d have expressed that fear to Ramirez and Ramirez would have set him straight.

Which depended on him believing Ramirez, which in turn depended on him
wanting
to believe Ramirez, which would put them right back to Jase’s assessment of Braddock’s motives.

The second time . . . maybe after rebuilding and surviving with the situation for over ten years, Braddock had thought he’d won, that
his
station was going to survive. That any proposal to dismantle it and destroy all that work was insane.

Maybe Braddock had just spent too much, tried too hard, believed too much in himself and had no faith at all in the ship’s captains . . . who, one had to admit, had run out on him.

Braddock had convinced himself the kyo ship sitting in the system for six years was an unmanned drone. Maybe Braddock had had his own notions of making a crazy, silent peace with the kyo—in which light he might have blamed the ship for actions that, in his eyes, had brought the kyo back and started the whole problem.

Phoenix
had come back, renewing its order to evacuate, after the Reunioners’ ten years of work and survival. From Braddock’s point of view—possibly—the ship’s presence might stir up the kyo again, who’d sat there peaceably and might be, eventually, approachable.

Or maybe Braddock had no trust of anything the ship wanted. No confidence, first, that he wasn’t still, directly or indirectly,
dealing with Ramirez . . . and secondly, not trusting the ship’s motives with or without Ramirez.

Bren rubbed his temples, trying to think. Playing both sides of the chessboard had its drawbacks . . . one of which was that one might give a scoundrel
far
too much credit for good motives.

But it also, when overlaid on reality, pointed up where the problems lay in a given scenario. And primary among questions was the character of Braddock himself—trying to lay hands on four kids who could affect the relationship between ship-folk and atevi, making moves toward breaching those doors and possibly taking over the station—what had such a man done, regarding the kyo? Ramirez had been in command in the first encounter with the kyo. Braddock had commanded the second and third—the attacks and the actual face-to-face contact, once they’d taken Prakuyo.

Ramirez had died with
his
secrets. They’d get no more from him.

Which left Braddock.

So you were the leader of a trapped population who’d found out the kyo were barreling down on their new location—what
wouldn’t
you do? What line
wouldn’t
you cross, to make sure your people survived?

Spacers
could
make decisions that, to planet-dwellers, ran counter to instinct and emotion. Jase, in his turn, had been shocked . . . at the way planet-dwellers made decisions that could risk three men to save one. Irresponsible, Jase had called it:
emotional decision
had a bad connotation in his world. One always had to remember that, at some critical moment, he and Jase might not decide the same.

And maybe from Braddock’s view, what
did
scaring hell out of four kids and their families weigh, against a ship that could do what it had done at Reunion and kill all of them?

Bottom line, Braddock didn’t trust the captains any more than they trusted him. That relationship had gone poisonous long before any of this had happened.

Jase said that the ship could have gotten all the survivors off Reunion and back to Alpha—maybe with very short rations, but Jase believed they could have made it—and that was probably true.

The ship, under Ramirez, had indeed arrived at Alpha, at a mothballed station, without supplies or fuel. And they might
still
have been all right with what was there if they’d been carrying passengers. But because they
hadn’t
had thousands of half-starved people to take care of, they’d been able to work that much faster, with no shortages. No internal politics slowing every decision. They’d made quick, autocratic deals with the aishidi’tat. Deals with Mospheira. The station had gone back into food production and building, and had no trouble gaining population, refueling the ship, keeping it and the station in good order.

The ship was everything to the ship-folk. The station—any station—had importance, but only in relation to the ship. That part he had gotten from Jase, very clearly.

Ramirez had died, command had shifted down the chain, and Ogun,
very
reluctantly, had let Sabin go back to Reunion. For what
precise
mission? He wasn’t sure he’d ever heard the plain truth on that, and he’d
been
there.

The Captains’ Council had been split and angry for years.

Ogun’s position was not to disturb whatever was left at Reunion. Possibly Ogun himself had been in the dark as to what that was. Nobody to this hour was admitting anything, and Jase, close as he was to the situation, couldn’t figure who had known what, either.

It boiled down to one person who
was
an outside witness. One person Ogun had wanted in
his
hands . . . for whatever reason.

He sent a message to Jase, personally, in Ragi.
One regrets, but one cannot exempt Braddock-nadi from questions. What I wish to know does not regard technical matters, but time, perceptions, and actions, which are relevant to the kyo mind. The
answers will involve more than words. I must see the answers he gives. I shall apprise you of all these matters. Forgive me. It is not lack of trust or confidence, and one asks you follow with your own inquiry, but I must satisfy a constellation of my own questions.

Jase would not be offended. He was sure of that.

What Ogun and Sabin might be was another matter. But he was not negotiating with ship command. Not on this.

No, he was not going to go into a conversation with the kyo without accessing every resource he had.

And Braddock was top of the list.

T
ea in mani’s sitting room, a very subdued tea, compared to those they’d shared on Earth, for one thing
because
it was mani’s sitting room (though mani was not present), but also because, Cajeiri thought,
Bjorn
was with them. Bjorn had not been part of the association on Earth, and besides being oldest, Bjorn had had to argue with his father just to come to tea. Maybe, Cajeiri thought, that was what made him sit so worried and quiet.

He had invited them, with mani’s permission. He had gone down the hall and brought them himself, hoping they would talk more freely without their parents on the edge of the conversation, but Bjorn had turned glum and the others were clearly uncomfortable and making small talk around him. The three who had been his guests asked after Boji, asked after staff and people they knew, all such things as he could answer, and Bjorn just sat in silence that grew less and less comfortable, staring into his teacup, taking only an occasional sip, ignoring the nice teacakes.

The others talked in Ragi—they were here to talk in Ragi, and it seemed wrong to talk ship-speak in mani’s sitting room; but for the most part they generally used little words, words surely Bjorn remembered, careful to keep it simple. At one point Gene directly asked Bjorn if he understood, and Bjorn said he heard. He knew.

He’d missed them, he said then in ship-speak, and looked a little wistful.

“Why don’t you just tell him?” Artur asked, likewise in ship-speak.

“Tell him what?” Irene asked.

Tell him
. There were secrets the boys knew and Irene did not, and Bjorn just sat there staring at his teacup, not even looking at them. Cajeiri had no idea how to deal with this different Bjorn. He had been hopeful when Bjorn had argued with his father to come with them. He had hoped this visit would help bring Bjorn back to them, but so far it was just . . . awkward.

“Bjorn?” Artur said, but Bjorn just set his cup aside, and said, in ship-speak, that he thought he should go back to his parents, that his father was upset and would upset Geigi’s staff.

That much, Cajeiri followed.

“Antaro,” Cajeiri said, with a nod. “Go with Bjorn.”

“Yes,” Antaro said, and Bjorn got up, said quietly, “I’m sorry. Artur,—my father’s not—” There were words Cajeiri missed, involving, it seemed, Bjorn’s reason, and his troubles with his parents.

Antaro stood ready to escort him. And without a bow, without any courtesy, Bjorn just went to the door, looked back at them with still no courtesy, looked at Antaro, and left into the hall. In a moment the outer door opened and shut, and they all sat in silence.

“He regrets,” Artur said then in a hushed voice. “His father has trouble. His father took papers. Gave to people so Bjorn can study.”

“So Bjorn can have a tutor,” Gene said. “Bjorn’s father took papers from his company, gave papers to a company here so Bjorn can have a tutor. Bjorn is scared. He thinks his father is in trouble. And his father always gets sick when Bjorn says no.”

Bjorn’s father had had heart trouble on the ship, Cajeiri remembered that. Bjorn’s father had been with the ship-folk
physicians for several days. But Bjorn had said he was all right after that.

Was he not all right, now? Was he still sick?

“Nand’ Siegi might visit him,” Cajeiri said.

“Atevi upset him,” Gene said, and added, “We think he gets upset so Bjorn stay.”

One began to understand. “But Bjorn’s father is truly ill.”

“Maybe,”
Gene said.

“Bjorn
wanted
to go down with us,” Artur said. “But he says now . . . Irene, translate for me.”

Artur talked. They all listened, and Irene frowned and said:

“Bjorn says—he is almost grown up. Four years and he is adult. And he cannot make his father different. But he wants to make good place for his mother. He told Artur he wants to keep his study, but also keep association. Always keep. He learns this station. He learns Mospheira. Someday—he may be on the station, may be on the planet, but he will associate with us, help us, help you, Jeri-ji. He is grateful and he is embarrassed. One does not know what he will do, but future time, all time, he is our associate. He wants to say this to you, not to nand’ Bren. He is scared for his father, thinks maybe he is sick. He protects his mother. He wants to keep association with us.”

“Man’chi,” he said. It suddenly, to him, seemed very simple. He realized he was fortunate in his own parents, in mani, in nand’ Bren, in all his associations—they were all strong, strong enough to protect
him
when he had needed it and strong enough to protect themselves. But for all his angry shouting, Bjorn’s father was not strong, and his mother was not. Her man’chi held her to Bjorn’s father, both of them weaker than Bjorn. Gene’s mother let Gene run free, and worry about her only a little. Artur’s parents worried, but they were strong. Bjorn’s parents were constantly pulling at him, and Bjorn could not leave them as they were and walk away. That was not the character Bjorn had, right now, though ultimately, when things were more settled and his mother was safe—it might be different.

“One understands,” he said. “He will join us when he can and help when he can. Tell him we said so, Arte-ji. We understand. And he will still be our associate. He gets a pin. Tell him that. Make him understand.”

There was a map in his little office at home, and they knew exactly what he was talking about. It had colored pins for every associate he had gained, each in their geographical place. He was not sure right now where he would have to put this one. It would be a separate color from the other three, perhaps. And he was not sure whether it would be somewhere on Mospheira, or on the station. He was going to have to get a new map for that, if it was the station.

But that pin was going to be there both to call on and to take care of—no matter how many years.

“G
od. It’s the traitor.” Braddock had definitely aged in the last two years—lost weight, lost hair. He’d had, once upon a time, an angry, forceful presence. Now . . . delivered by Lord Geigi’s security into a small room near the detention center, he looked uncertain. Angry, perhaps. But not like the man who’d stood off kyo and
Phoenix
alike. “I figured it’d be Sabin. But it’s
you.”

Bren held the seat at the end of the table. Banichi and Jago stood behind him, Tano and Algini held the doorway. In a room full of Guild, there was no sense of threat.

Besides, violence had never been Braddock’s personal choice.

“Mr. Braddock,” Bren said, gesturing at the chair at the other end. “Please. Sit down.”

“You’re responsible for
all
this,” Braddock said, attempting to take the offensive.
“Your
people arrested me, your people and that Taylor upstart. What does
Sabin
say about it?”

Bren put on a pleasant expression. “Tea, sir?” And in Ragi, “Tano-ji, two cups.”

There was a service on the sideboard, utilitarian, plastic. And prepared. Tano moved.

Braddock dropped into the chair at the other end of the table. “Skip the courtesies. What the hell do you want?”

Tano set a cup in front of Bren, provided another in front of Braddock, who swayed away, sending Tano an uneasy look. Bren picked his up and took a sip. Braddock pushed his away.

“I’m wondering,” Bren said, setting down his cup, “what you actually hoped to do, in moving closer to the section seal.”

“Who’s asking?
Sabin
?”

“Do you have some lingering quarrel with Captain Sabin?”

A flicker of thought, perhaps reconsideration. “What do
you
think?”

Bren gave a gentle shrug.
“I
authorized the move to sweep up your group. It wasn’t Captain Sabin. Captain Graham, who was the captain of record at the time, simply provided reinforcement, primarily to reassure the Reunioners with a human presence—and keep ship’s authority involved. But I’m here because you’ve managed to cross the plans of the man who rules most of the planet down there, and you’re verging on alienating the President of Mospheira, which is not to anyone’s great benefit. I represent both in taking that action. I’m here, now, to explain the situation to you, and to give you a chance to re-characterize your actions,
maybe
to start over. That chance won’t always be available. But Ms. Williams offered some information that might cast your actions in a better light. So I thought I’d ask you personally, at least, just to satisfy the record. My attention is fairly well occupied by the visitors approaching us. But I can spare enough time to figure out whether there
is
any reasonable explanation for what split the ship and Reunion. I met Ramirez, though briefly. I understand you and he didn’t get along.”

All along, that constant flicker of thoughts darting this way and that, a frown that grew darker.

“Who the hell
are
you?”

“We’ve also met, briefly.”

“I know your name. That doesn’t tell me who you are.
What
you are. Why you and these—” His gaze swept the room at an overwhelming atevi presence. “These
people
have any say in how this station runs.”

Interesting view. Like Lord Topari, Braddock was having a little trouble with that word
people.
But then—Braddock’s
ancestors had departed this station when humans alone had run it, and back then, the ancient human Pilots’ Guild had been in charge.

“Because, Mr. Braddock, humans never owned the planet, and human residents abandoned this station to go down to the planet shortly after you left. When the ship came back—
humans
didn’t have the resources to get back to space. Atevi did. Atevi graciously
share
their planet with humans. They graciously
share
the station with humans, who until very lately used atevi shuttles to reach it. The atevi government very graciously transported humans back up here, and both nations of the planet jointly run this station. A treaty binds the Mospheiran government and the atevi government to share equally in that operation. Mospheira had a recent problem with Mr. Tillington, who wanted to believe he had more authority than his position warranted, but now the President of Mospheira has replaced Mr. Tillington, with instructions for the new stationmaster to fix what Mr. Tillington tried very hard to break. As for who I am—in the polite sense of your reasonable question—I speak for the atevi government, where they have to deal with outsiders. And I speak for outsiders where they have to deal with the atevi government. I’ve also been granted a fair amount of power to propose and dispose—so that things don’t
annoy
the atevi government. The ship—is the ship. It docks here. The ship is the
guest
of the two governments of the world. Forget the balance of powers that prevailed here when your ancestors and mine were last on this deck together. That’s ancient history, sir. This station is
not
governed by the Pilots’ Guild
or
by the ship. So believe me when I say it is possible for you to have a fresh start here. You are not now dealing with the ship. You’re dealing with an atevi official, who is asking you who
you
are.”

“This is
our
station.”

“No. It isn’t. It contains a part of a station humans built, then abandoned, centuries ago, a part in which you were clearly not pleased to be contained. And you are not now in the hands
of your own government, or even of the Mospheiran government. The ship
is
asking you be handed over. I can do that, if that would make you more comfortable. It would certainly make Captain Ogun happy. Or you can become accustomed to atevi presence for the rest of your life.”

That was
not
, perhaps, what Louis Baynes Braddock had expected. Not in the least, from his sullen glance about the room, the uneasy shift in his seat, what he wanted.

Though admittedly, a contingent of Assassins’ Guild on watch were not a lighthearted and encouraging presence.

“I won’t say that the people behind you are my
friends
, Mr. Braddock, because that word doesn’t translate in any sense that leads to good places. But four of them are my
family
in every good sense—I live with them, we take care of each other, we laugh, and we
trust
each other absolutely. Whether you can envision that for yourself—I don’t know. You don’t look as if you even believe it’s possible. And that’s a problem, sir. It really may be a problem you can’t overcome.”

The sullen look had cracked, given way to a general pallor. Braddock’s hand curved around the cup, turned it, turned it. Maybe he was thinking of some entirely foolish move with it. Perhaps it was just the only source of warmth.

“Are you afraid, sir? I assure you—you’re in a
different
place, where things will always be
different.
No one will harm you, granted you don’t try to harm anyone, yourself. But to be happy, sir, you do need to accept that things will be different.”

No answer. No answer at all. And no happiness, either.

“Here’s my point, sir, and please listen to this very carefully.
Mospheirans
are different from you, too. Mospheirans are
not
the people you left here. They’re not the rebels. They’re not the colonists. They’re people who’ve adapted to life here, and changed themselves in ways that will probably startle you more than atevi will startle you, because your tendency will be to
assume
they’re like you. They’re not. And you, and your entire group of survivors, are a very small number compared to the
population of Mospheira. You wouldn’t even constitute one small town, and Mospheira has cities, large cities, which vastly outnumber the population of this station. So believe me when I say adapting to people who look very different from you at least gives you fair warning that there will be differences . . . but adapting to get along with Mospheirans—as ultimately you must—means understanding that there will be differences between you and people that look just like you.”

“Don’t lecture me.”

“I do apologize, then, for disturbing you. I’ll leave you in peace. But I do hope you’ll give it some thought.
You
aren’t going to change things.
I
might. But that’s your choice.”

“You want something from me.”

“Not if I can’t trust you, sir, and I don’t think I can. I have other things on my mind, and I’d better go back to them, since this appears to be a mutual waste of time.”

“You’re going to try to meet with the aliens.”

“Yes.”

“I gave us a chance,” Braddock said. “And I was damned
right.
I found out what Ramirez was up to. I tried to stop him and he ran off and did it anyway.
We
paid for it.”

“Now I’m interested.” He set his arms on the table. “
What
was Ramirez up to?”

“The ship was set up from its origins to find life. It’s got equipment the station didn’t have. I got word that Ramirez had found a living world—not just living, but advanced. How advanced—he apparently wasn’t sure.”

“Timeline,” he asked Braddock. “When and how did you hear, relative to the first attack on the station?”

“Prior to the ship’s last trip out. The story got to me. I called him. I wanted to ask him about it. He was aboard the ship . . . he never left it but briefly. He declined to come to my office. He pulled all personnel back aboard immediately.”

“All ship’s personnel.”

“Everybody.”

“Who told you the story?”

A frown. A hesitation. “A doctor. Who heard it from a patient. Who died.”

“Natural causes?”

“Heart attack. One of Ramirez’ senior science staff—collapsed in an eatery—on our side. The ship wanted him back. He was critical and the doctor attending didn’t want to shift him. The man talked about aliens, about going there—crazy-sounding stuff, how they suspected they had a find, they were going after it and the crew couldn’t know what they were into. He didn’t want to go there. He didn’t want the ship to go.” Braddock took a large gulp of tea, likely tepid, and set the cup down. “Ship’s security showed up while the doctor was working on the man. Tried to pull him out. Station security sent for me. I came down there. I talked to the doctor, tried to talk to the man, but he wasn’t able to talk.”

It was interesting information. It fit what he already believed about the ship’s activities. Braddock’s account was not guaranteed to be completely accurate on any point. But it could be.

He waited.

“Ramirez,” Braddock said, “wanted his man back before he died. I said there were medical reasons not to transfer him and I wanted Ramirez to come to my office, that I had some things to discuss. Ramirez didn’t answer. Next I knew he’d issued a general board call with no warning, nothing. He just ordered everybody back aboard, and then backed the ship out of dock and left with
no
word where he was going. But he’d taken on fuel. He was out and away and there was nothing we could do about it. Ramirez’ man—I tried to talk to him. But he wasn’t capable of talking. Dead within hours. And the ship was gone.”

If the truth, this information implied that Ramirez was
returning
to the system where he ended up triggering the entire chain of events. He’d been there, checked out the planet from the far reaches of the system, come back to refuel, then returned for a close-up investigation—maybe made urgent by the fear
that one of his technical people had spilled what he was up to. Urgency—might have pushed him too fast, too far.

That move of
Phoenix
back to its discovery might well have set off alarms within any self-protective species . . . assuming the kyo had been tracking the human presence prior to that incident. How far into the system had he penetrated before the kyo ship signaled him?

“We just carried on waiting for
Phoenix
to come back.” Braddock continued. “And no, I didn’t spread the news about—I swore the medical team to secrecy. A year and two hundred eighty-two days after that—the aliens showed up. That’s what we know. That’s all we know. But it doesn’t take a genius to add two and two. Ramirez went where he wasn’t wanted and they retaliated. They came in, they blew up a mining craft, which tipped us off to their presence. We received the final transmission from the miner, scanned the area, and saw the ship, coming fast. I wasn’t in Central when it happened. Central reported it was
Phoenix
on an out-of-control entry hitting the miner, but when they reported the velocity, I knew it wasn’t
Phoenix.
Phoenix
would never enter the system on that trajectory, precisely because of the mining operations, and its speed was . . . frankly, it was terrifying. We tried to talk to it. We instructed another miner craft to flash lights. Got back on the lag it had already been blown to hell as well. We tried to signal with the station lights—and they opened fire on us.”

That was a suspect datum. The kyo’s initial attempts to communicate via flashing lights was something the station had witnessed in their own encounter at Reunion. Braddock might be trying to embellish his own account, might be trying to take credit for that ultimately successful method, not realizing that the kyo had tried to contact Ramirez via that means long before it made that run at Reunion.

“Let me get this straight.
Two
mining craft were destroyed.”

“At least two. Deliberately.”

“Ms. Williams said the kyo ship hit them. Accidentally.”

“Ms. Williams was never in a position to know. They were not on intersecting vectors.”

“How again did you signal?”

“You’re asking this because that ship’s coming.”

“I’m asking because it seems useful to ask someone who was in charge of Reunion’s actions prior to the attack exactly what those actions were. Yes, it’s still coming.”

“We tried everything,” Braddock snapped bitterly. “Frequencies up and down the range. Flashing lights. They ignored us, just kept coming in.
Fast.
I ordered the collision alarm, not because I thought it was going to hit us, but because I knew what it could be, and what had most likely happened to those miners.”