Visitor: A Foreigner Novel (5 page)

“News this morning,” he said, “
Tillington
is replaced.” That was good news for any Reunioner. Tillington had been the roadblock to any improvement in their situation. “I’ve just spoken to the new Mospheiran stationmaster, who is Gin Kroger—you don’t know her, but she was on the voyage with us, she knows what you were promised, and she’s determined to begin meeting those promises within the limits of resources at her command.”

They did like that news. They were a little suspicious, and that was understandable.

“What about our situation?” Artur’s mother asked. “Did you talk to her about us?”

“I can assure you that for right now, you’ll be as safe here as anywhere on the station . . . more so than where you’ve been. Safe and as comfortable as we can make you. I can’t say right now
how long
you’ll need to stay here.” A cup of tea arrived beside Cajeiri, and another beside him. “You know that there is a kyo ship inbound, they want to talk, and that we will be talking to them as extensively as they want, much as we did at Reunion. We expected this visit. We’re not utterly surprised by it. We’ll deal with it and we expect it to end as reasonably and quietly as our last conversation at Reunion, with their understanding that we’ve told them the truth and that we’re peaceful here. Best case scenario, we’ll make a solid agreement and all sleep better at night. But that means there’ll be a time in which I’ll be quite busy with that visit, and you’ll have to rely on your young folk to translate to the staff for you. I’ve no doubt your young folk will manage to communicate at least as well as they did on Earth. Ask, and maybe they’ll teach you the words they know. Staff is prepared to handle mistakes—they’ll be charmed with the gesture.”

Tea had now arrived beside everyone, and he picked up his cup a little before Cajeiri, who was watching his moves, not the converse that strict manners and protocol of rank dictated. “Atevi custom discourages serious talk during tea, understand. It’s a way to ask that we calm our minds and speak quietly for the space of a cup or two, not quite on business, but let me assure you, conversationally speaking, that the new stationmaster is determined to fix things, and that your own host, Lord Geigi, who is right now busy with the arriving stationmaster, has locked down your premises in the Reunioner area to preserve them absolutely intact. Right now things are still a little
too unsettled in the sections to go in after property, but be assured it’s being safeguarded.”

“We have business,” Bjorn’s father said unhappily. “We have jobs. We’re grateful. But we have a lot to lose. Everything to lose. There’s a notebook. All my notes. Family records. Two hundred years of records.”

“Mr. Andressen. It is Andressen, am I correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What records would those be, sir?”

“Private.”

Bjorn’s father—Mr. Andressen—was not accustomed to atevi-scale intrigue, or was baiting a trap.

“I do take note,” Bren said with equanimity, “and whatever they are, they will be under guard, along with other property. Nobody is going to enter the premises until we can make a systematic recovery—no recklessness about it. If you have particular items, provide a list of what you want and where to find it, and I’ll order it found and safeguarded. It may not happen in the next number of days. But it will happen. I take it, in your current situation, this is not a matter of medical urgency.”

“My research.”

“And you are?”

“A physicist. With
company
records.”

“Excellent. I’ll remember that.”

“I have status on station. I have a position. Consult your own records.”

“I’m sure I’ll do that when we have time, but right now that ship is a priority.”

“I don’t need to be locked up over here. I don’t need my wife and son locked up. I want to leave, I want to get to my bank, I want to find an apartment . . .”

“As I understand it, a very few Reunioners did manage to find employment, in consideration of patents and processes—would you be one of those?”

“I’m employed by a Mospheiran company. I have standing.”

“Which company?” There
had
been a few such transactions. The companies’ behavior was questionable in legality. The patent ownership, regarding things recovered from Reunion records, was questionable. All of the issues were very far from his current problems.

“Asgard.”

Purification systems. “Interesting. Probably you’ve been robbed, Mr. Andressen, and the Mospheiran government may be interested in that.”

“I don’t care to discuss this on this side of the wall. I don’t care to be here.”

Questionable what Andressen had in his two hundred years of records, and whether it was in the Archive, which was common to anybody with University clearance to access, or whether it was something developed since the Archive, in which case there
still
might be ownership issues—in the chaos of a kyo attack and the evacuation of Reunion. Very many people had died. Ownership might be very much at issue.

“I’d advise you engage a lawyer, Mr. Andressen, when we do have this settled.”

“I just want out. I want my family out.”

“Mr. Andressen, take my advice. Say no more right now, and be content where you are. You’re here now because your son was once part of the association the young gentleman made aboard ship, and your son was endangered by that association. That threat is still under investigation. Until it is resolved, this is the safest place for all of you.”

“He was
endangered
by an unannounced shutdown of station systems!”

“Which was occasioned by a general atmosphere of tension between Mospheiran stationers and Reunioners—in which your former stationmaster made moves against the station systems. You ran, by what I hear, to Irene’s residence, where Mr. Braddock was, at the time, asking whether your son might have
been with her. Why was that? Why did you think she might know where he was?”

Andressen clamped his lips together. Then: “Because Irene Wilson
is
a friend of his. Because I was looking any place I could think of. And
hoping
the kids weren’t in the tunnels.”

That was reasonable. That was exactly where Bjorn had been. And Gene and Artur. It was where they had met on the ship.

Except Bjorn hadn’t been allowed to continue that association. Bjorn had gotten into a station acculturation and education program, which Bjorn’s father, employed possibly questionably by a Mospheiran chemical firm, had arranged.

And Bjorn sat there now, listening to every word, his increasingly worried look moving from his father to Bren and back again.

“Let me explain the situation,” Bren said. “Your son
does
have the benefits of association with the young gentleman,” Bren said, “which is the reason why former stationmaster Braddock was attempting to lay hands on all that group. Their being under the aiji’s protection can make them targets for people with an agenda—as it did, then. But the aiji’s protection is no small matter. The aiji has taken a hand in this situation and you are not, due to your son’s association, to be released into the general population, where you could find yourself in harm’s way. On the other hand, this is your choice. You can have a comfortable and productive life within the aiji’s protection. Or you can decide to terminate the relationship and leave that protection when we can establish some hope of safety for you. But you may not decide for your son.”

“He’s a minor.”

“We’re not speaking of Reunion law. Or Mospheiran law, for that matter. His association with the aiji’s son is his to determine.”

“He’s
human!
He’s going to
be
human.”

“Biologically, certainly. But he will make that choice. As all the others will. Bjorn.”

“Sir.”

“You understand me. You cannot undo the association. That exists in the minds of very many people, not all of good will. If you do leave the young gentleman’s company, that is yours to choose. If your parents will not stay with you, that is
theirs
to choose. Your decision is for you to make, but understand that if you do leave the young gentleman, you will no longer have that association, and neither you nor your family will remain under the aiji’s protection. Atevi will understand you’re of no use as a bargaining chip if you choose that course, but humans might not.”

“He’ll stay with
us,”
Andressen said.

“Your choice, Bjorn Andressen.”

Whether Andressen had gone to Irene’s apartment to talk to Irene or to talk to Braddock was a question. Braddock’s people had been trying to lay hands on the children who’d visited Cajeiri. And while Bjorn had been invited to come down to the world with the others, his father’s ordering him to opt out had made him far less useful to Braddock’s scheme, at least in terms of public identification of Bjorn as part of that group.

But rather than simply admit to Andressen that he didn’t have Bjorn, Braddock, who’d set up operations in Irene’s mother’s apartment and next door, had ordered Andressen turned away with no answer whatsoever.

All Andressen’s actions pointed toward a man trying to minimize his son’s connections to the atevi and get his family established on Alpha Station, which would not imply a willing association with Braddock.

Irene’s mother, unfortunately, was entirely another story.

And how that all was going to sort out, he had no knowledge. He hoped Irene wouldn’t ask. Not now. Not in front of the rest. And he was sorry to have had the discussion with Andressen in her hearing . . . but going or staying, with parents or without—was a choice they all had; everybody should understand the choices the youngsters
could
make, and he didn’t have the time
to sit down in private counseling with each of the families. They
would
be an association behind the kids—or they would not.

“The conclusion you can draw,” he said, to steer the talk to a happier direction, while Andressen glowered in silence, “is that Bjorn, and Gene, Artur, and Irene, are all the personal concern of the young aiji, that everyone here is going to be protected, watched over, and eventually settled in a comfortable situation, the exact nature of which I don’t yet know, but it will be comfortable. For now, please just settle in here. I know you’re short of clothes and personal articles. We can supply those, part of the hospitality, if you will kindly make a list. If you have special problems, like your records, Mr. Andressen—” A little nod in that direction, a last attempt at conciliation. “We’ll make every effort to preserve and protect them. Anything this staff can do for your comfort, they’ll be happy to do. I’m also going to ask Central to provide the Mospheiran vid feed to this residency, in addition to the station’s Ragi feed, so you’ll have information and entertainment—the Mospheiran accent’s a little different, but I’m sure you’ll have no trouble with it. Just rest. Pick up as much of the atevi language as you can. Nadiin-ji.” He changed to Ragi, for the children who understood it. “The young gentleman will be occupied with the kyo very soon and he will not be able to assist you, but rely on Lord Geigi. He wished to invite you to dinner when you arrived, and now he can. So enjoy your stay. Help your parents. And
stay here
. Above all else, do not go about in the tunnels again. We expect to deal with this incoming ship, and for it to go away, and then we shall expect to find you a good situation.”

“Nandi,” Irene said, and Gene said it, and Artur, all with solemn nods. Bjorn looked not to have understood half of it, but he said, “Yes, sir.”

“Good,” Bren said in ship-speak; and to the parents: “I just reminded them Lord Geigi has wanted to invite all of you to dinner. He happens to be the most powerful man in the
aishidi’tat next to the aiji himself, so if you ask him something, understand who it is you’re asking. If it’s reasonable, if it’s possible, he can make it happen. He’s very pleased to have you here.”

And to the children, still in ship-speak: “There’s every likelihood that you’ll get to show your parents trees and weather someday soon. Not on the mainland. But on Mospheira.”

That created a little shock.

“Your children,” he said, setting aside the cup of tea, “have an opportunity. A very great opportunity. Consider carefully the advice you give them. But remember it is
their
choice.”

He left it at that, rose, bowed to Cajeiri, bowed to the gathering, and left, having promised as much as he could, committed as little as he could, and not said a thing about how or when or how long the interval would be. No one could predict that.

Cajeiri, wise in court ways, would not venture to amplify the promise he’d just made. Cajeiri might have his own intentions, some of them stretching well into the unpredictable future. Right now, and Cajeiri well knew it, his father made the rules, and the paidhi-aiji had already made all the promises it was possible to make, and made the warning to Andressen as plain as need be.

The boy was growing. The paidhi-aiji made, this time, an important bet on it.

“J
ase-aiji,” Banichi said as they walked the corridor of the residency, bound for their own door, “proposes to visit us. He is at the crossover now.”

Jase was at the point where he had met Gin, less than an hour ago. Gin had gone up to ship-folk territory to talk to Ogun and now Jase had come down bent on talking to him. The two movements might not be unrelated. For a certain amount of time now, Ogun would be safely occupied listening to Gin, and Jase, closely allied to second-senior Captain Sabin, had left ship-folk territory and come down to the interface to find out whether it was a good time.

“Tell him come,” Bren said, and that happened.

Jase
, being third-senior captain
and
the ship-paidhi, had a certain protected status—being the
only
way Senior Captain Ogun could translate what the atevi half of the station was doing. But on his last shift, Jase had taken high and wide action getting the children and their parents out of the quarantined Reunioner section—not consulting the senior captain, who had been off watch and presumably asleep. So Jase had presumably spent the last several hours debriefing on the action with a senior captain not entirely pleased to have the third-senior conducting a raid on an area of the station the senior captain’s orders had sealed.

The fact that they had simultaneously extracted the former Reunioner stationmaster, Louis Baynes Braddock, before he could take possession of the children and their parents and
make his own demands in negotiations with the kyo—that had solved a major problem for Senior Captain Jules Ogun.

A very large problem, a problem that might have been avoided, had Ogun dealt with the lit fuse, otherwise known as Mikas Tillington, a long time ago.

Ogun had been reasonably content in Tillington’s long stint as the human-side stationmaster: Tillington had taken care of business in which Ogun had little or no interest, while Ogun had technical emergencies on his hands. Ogun had trusted stationers to deal with stationers, and let Tillington take charge of the Reunioner refugees. Ogun hadn’t intervened when Tillington had slammed the section doors shut and isolated the Reunioners in their residences—it had happened with a fifteen-minute warning, but fifteen minutes could not take Ogun totally by surprise: no, Ogun had taken Tillington’s assessment of the Reunioners as risk, had let it happen, and to this hour Ogun wouldn’t necessarily admit that the second-senior and third-senior captains had been right about Tillington.

Ogun might, in that light, not thank the third-senior captain for his unilateral move, bypassing any advisement and giving him no word of what was going on inside an area under seal.

But Ogun was smart enough to know that Tillington had gone a step too far with Mospheira and Shejidan, and that relations with the earthly powers, human
and
atevi, that supplied the station, which in turn supplied his ship, mattered far more to him than did the convenience of Tillington’s cooperation.

As of an hour ago, Ogun had Virginia Kroger arriving as human-side stationmaster, he had the atevi government aggressively claiming ownership of the kyo situation, he had the fourth-senior captain, whom he had appointed, sitting out on
Phoenix,
not in a position to do anything useful, and he had Captain Josefa Sabin, his least favorite co-captain, in a position to say I told you so.

He really hoped Gin was pouring balm—or at least good sense—on the situation up there.

And he hoped Jase was not bringing trouble down with him.

Bren arrived in his own apartment foyer, shed his coat for a more comfortable one, and settled in for a brief bit of relaxation and checking of messages in his little sitting room, leaving the matter of informing the dowager to his bodyguard’s contact with her bodyguard, in the interest of finding out what Jase had to say.

His apartment. His refuge. Not the place for grand state functions, this, but the extent to which Geigi had moved walls about, rearranging the human-designed linearity into the traditional relationship of rooms, rooms in an order that atevi found comfortable, with inner halls to let staff move about—that made it homelike, convenient, everything where it always was.

He was glad. He fit here. He knew his station staff did. Except for the modern panel near the door, except the air ducts and the fact the more massive furniture was bolted to the wall, one could believe there was stone and wood involved.

Tea arrived. More welcome, a plate of wafers. Distantly, half a cup and three wafers on, came the opening of the front door, and very quickly Jase turned up, a silent presence in the sitting room doorway.

Blue uniform—no bodyguards at the moment. Kaplan and Polano usually were somewhere about, but Jase walked in solo and simply slid bonelessly into the convenient chair.

“The offer of asylum still stands,” Bren said, by way of opening, which got him a weak smile.

“Not quite yet. If I weren’t apt to get another call from Ogun real soon, I’d take a brandy.”

“What does the man want? We got Braddock out.”

“I think deep down there’s considerable gratitude for that. Sabin said to me— ‘Welcome to the inner circle. Ogun hasn’t expressed himself this bluntly since Ramirez died.’”

“Gin’s still up there, I take it.”

“Gin’s arrival was a rescue.” Jase tilted his head back, edged
upward in the chair with a deep sigh. “Sabin’s got ears up there. There’s not a detail Ogun didn’t ask. Three times. I think he’s convinced, but I think he’s looking for a way to space Braddock. I don’t think he wants him to stay in atevi custody. I think the aishidi’tat is going to get a request. He hates Braddock. Personally.”

Interesting—in the light of
what
had made the late Senior Captain Ramirez desert Reunion and leave the station at the mercy of the kyo.

Ogun had been second-senior when that had happened.

And Ogun hated the Reunion stationmaster with a deep, abiding passion, while Sabin, who had had no share in that decision, had been mightily upset, and blamed Ramirez and Braddock with equal heat.

Five thousand survivors? Ramirez, faced with a dice throw for the future of the human species in this end of space, had opted to run for their centuries-ago origin point and leave Braddock. And the whole surviving Reunion population.

What had Ogun known and when did he know it? Had he agreed with Ramirez’ decision? If not, Ogun had had to live with the knowledge for ten years here at Alpha, knowing he’d had no choice but to go along.

Ramirez had been senior captain. And then Ramirez had been dead and Ogun had had to deal with the situation Ramirez had left.

Now, ten years later, a third-senior captain bypassed the protocols Ogun had followed, arrested the problem at the core of it all—and handed him to atevi authority.

Not a situation inclined to induce warmth and love within the Captains’ Council.

“Is he exercised at us?” Bren asked. “The atevi
did
initiate the action.”

“Initiated it with ample cause. Even he admits that. —I think he’s actually happy,” Jase said, and took the cup of strong tea a
servant set beside him. He added four lumps of sugar, and stirred. “Most calories I’ve had since yesterday.”

“Have a wafer. There can be a sandwich, if you want it.”

“Let this hit bottom, and I’ll consider it. —He’s happy to have Braddock in custody, but I don’t think he wants to let this go off entirely into atevi decision-making. I
think
he intends to try Braddock himself.”

“You think he wants to open up all that history?”

“I’d swear not. I’d think not. But he’s—are we secure here?”

“Tano’s been over the place. Entirely.”

“I think he wants the ship’s record cast in a certain way, and a trial might be how he does it. Better yet, a plea and a statement from Braddock. I think he suspects atevi might be too easy on him.”

“Atevi have charges against him—his aiming at the children, among others—that wouldn’t go well for him under the aiji’s law. But I can understand what you’re saying. I can understand how Ogun might want the record clear.”

“I think
all
of us want the record clear. He asked me directly how much authority you have, how much credit with either government down there, whether you can get the Mospheirans to take the Reunioners in, and he’s no little dubious that the Reunioners are going to go along with it.”

“They
can’t
want to continue living as they have been for the last year.”

“Ogun is convinced Braddock has support in wanting to build a station out at Maudit. That the Reunioners won’t accept being sent down, they won’t trust the offer and they won’t want to be put under the Mospheiran government. I have an idea that topic may have come up between him and Gin by now. He
wants
it. It puts a real major problem at the bottom of a gravity well. He just doesn’t think it’s going to work. He thinks there’ll be sabotage by the Reunioners, and that the Mospheirans won’t accept them down there any more than here.”

“Then he should have shut Tillington up.”

“He knows that now, but the damage is done. Now we need to fix it.”

Bren nodded slowly. “There
will
be problems, no question, especially if Mospheira expects gratitude and cooperation and the Braddock people don’t see they owe it. But relocation to the planet is the only viable option. Maudit isn’t going to happen without a huge commitment of resources from the planet, and neither government is the least bit interested in supporting it. Mospheirans won’t share power up here and Braddock’s people will insist they run the station, as long as one of them remains up here. Landing’s the
only
choice that makes it absolutely essential they go through screening to get back up, like all the Mospheirans up here.”

“Even if we claim guilt by association and pack the noisiest Braddock supporters down first, landing is a choice I don’t think the Reunioners can even envision. They can’t imagine dirt under their feet or a sky over them. You know Artur came back with a pocketful of pebbles. He was
fascinated
by rock you can touch. These people have no concept.”

“There
is
no perfect answer when a group of people simply can’t have the situation they used to have. But that’s Gin’s problem. It
must
be. As of now, I won’t have a brain cell to spare for the Reunioners as a whole until we’ve met the kyo and dealt with them, something that might take years. Gin’s got a plan for the relocation—a good plan—but it’s not in my control. Only those four kids and their families are.”

Jase nodded. “I’ll relay that. I know Sabin will understand. If anything gets in your way—advise me, regardless of the hour. I’ll try to handle it.”

Jase didn’t mention Riggins in any planning. Nobody did. The fourth captain, Riggins, did what Ogun told him, and right now it was to keep their one starship,
Phoenix,
slightly apart from the station, capable of moving to save itself, but not capable of protecting them if things went massively wrong.

If things went absolutely, massively wrong—Riggins and the
ship’s caretaker crew might be all there was left of Mospheira
and
the world they knew, and then, only if they ran. If the damage the kyo had done to Reunion was any indication, such weapons as they had were primitive compared to the kyo’s.

“Appreciated,” Bren said.

“Did you get any sleep last night?”

“Not as much as I’d like. I’m going to become a little less available for a while—trust Gin to manage the problems, trust you to deal with the captains—and take the opportunity to write a few letters, now I can trust they won’t be detoured into Tillington’s hands.”

“The man tried to exit his apartment this morning,” Jase said. “Our people stopped that. No knowing where he thought he was going. Maybe to meet Gin.”

“He really wouldn’t have liked the reception,” Bren said. “Thanks for the catch.” And on a sudden realization: “Gin’s going to be shipping out some of his personal staff as well. I don’t know who’s on her list, but it may create some security issues. Again—I don’t know, and I’m not in a position to ask. But if you could track that—”

“I’ll ask Gin. If people have to be moved into a restricted area, ship security can assist with that. Get them clear off the station until the shuttle’s ready.”

“I’d appreciate it.” Asking Mospheiran security to deal with their own former high-level officials—had problems. There were problems, too, in using
ship
security to handle a Mospheiran problem, but in a station with dangerously accessible controls, physical safety trumped political considerations.

“I’ll take that sandwich,” Jase said after a moment. “If it’s still offered.”

It seemed like a good idea. Meals had become a matter of opportunity, the last two days. Or three. One took what one could, when one could.

At very best, one hoped for a snack, and then a session in the office, catching up on correspondence, and reporting to people
who needed a report. Possibly a walk across the hall, to the dowager’s residency.

That was days overdue, too.

• • •

“Aiji-ma.” It was an offered session in the dowager’s sitting room, and one had had altogether too much sugared tea. And a half a sandwich. That was all he’d managed, before the invitation from Ilisidi had arrived.

“We sent the young gentleman to Lord Geigi’s to gather information on the needs of these guests. We have heard. We have given orders. We trust staff can provide.”

“Indeed, aiji-ma. Clothing, food, all such. I have assured them their personal belongings will remain under lock—I arranged that with Lord Geigi. Gin-nandi has spoken to Ogun-aiji—we hope in a good exchange, taking place now or just concluded. I proposed to the Presidenta a need to bring the Reunioners down to Mospheiran territory, and he was most receptive, but logistics remained a problem. Fortunately, Gin has arrived with a possible means of freeing shuttle seats for passage to Earth with far less expense and delay than seemed likely.”

“We are interested,” Ilisidi said, and he explained Gin’s notion of one-way landers: