Текст книги "Destroyer "

Автор книги: C. J. Cherryh

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“Go,” Ilisidi said sharply, curt dismissal, and he strode down the corridor at all speed, Banichi and Jago in close company, down to the safety of his own quarters. Takehold racketed through the corridors. Narani waited by his cabin door, but Bren ordered him to safety.

Inside, a shocking transformation. The walls were stripped of plants now, shockingly barren. Everything was barren, even the mattress, the bed he had shared with Jago for two years, lacking sheets and blankets.

He lay down nonetheless, and Jago lay down beside him, pulled the safety netting across, preparing for what could be a scary, hard pull.

“Final warning,” sounded over the general com. “Takehold where you are.”

Engines kicked in. The force dragged at them.

“How is Cajeiri taking the news, Jago-ji?” he asked Jago, staring at the ceiling. “Can one tell?”

A slight move beside him, a shrug, it might be. “Likely still thinking on it, Bren-ji,” she said.

“Can we help him?” As if the boy was a ticking bomb. “Dare we?” Then: “Should we?”

“The aiji-dowager is his only present anchor,” Jago said, “and if his father should be dead, who knows? Who can know? What he feels, what he may feel, no one can predict.”

Emotions, again. Emotions that connected atevi in associations, that dictated who ruled, who followed. Impassivity and formality were so much the rule of polite society; but there were currents under the still surface that he could only imagine—in the boy, and in Ilisidi herself, whose grandson was Tabini-aiji, whose allies had turned against the state she had helped build.

Engines kept up the push. For every force they put on the ship, they’d have to take it off again before they docked. It was going to be a long, rough ride, but he completely agreed with Sabin: if they got there an hour faster, the rumor mill on the station would have an hour less run-time to create problems for them.

And if they could only scare the Reunioners in their belly badly enough, without making them mad, they might have an edge in maintaining control of them. The former inhabitants of Reunion Station weren’t acclimated to rough maneuvers. They had to realize now this wasn’t a routine approach.

News would be spreading through the station, just one communications tech or janitor telling a cousin what was going on, and that cousin calling someone else.

Time, time, and time. It wasn’t on their side.

Chapter 3

A rush to dock, and intense security in their getting aboard—a quick, bone-chilling transit through the deep cold and null g of the mast, and on into the lift—Bren let go a desperate, shuddering breath that he realized he’d held over-long and gulped another, air burning cold and so dry it seared his lungs and set off a fit of coughing.

Himself, the dowager, Cajeiri, her security, with Banichi and Jago: they were the advance party. The rest of his own staff was still on the ship, struggling to pack up, and Jase was coming in the next batch, with Pressman, Kaplan, and a security detail, with more security due to escort them to Ogun’s offices. Atevi station security was to pick them up at the lift exit—Geigi’s men—never mind the usual hassle with customs, Sabin assured them. Just go, get the dowager and the heir safely into the atevi section, and those doors shut, with their security up and functioning. Gin Kroger was going to come in through the cargo lock, with her equipment, with another contingent of Ogun’s men to see things were in order.

Then they’d worry about telling the station at large—and the Reunioners on the ship—what was going on.

The car started moving, that motion rearranging their sense of up and down—they held to the handgrips for a few breathless moments with their luggage bashing up against the ceiling until they’d exited the core. Then the feeling of gravity crept over them, settled them gradually back to a sense of where the deck was despite the movement of the car. Their baggage observed the same slow settling, floating down past them and landing with a muffled, not quite authoritative thump. Ordinarily Cajeiri would be excited and bouncing about to test the new sensations—he so enjoyed instability. But his young face was as sober and his bearing as grimly serious as his great-grandmother’s while the car braked to a stop: Bren noted it with a sideward shift of his eyes, not even a glance to disturb the delicate equilibrium.

The mast-to-station lift let them out necessarily in a region not quite secure—a region completely deserted except for Geigi’s own bodyguard, with sealed section doors keeping the curious away—unprecedented security, as they transited the little distance to the regular lift system and got aboard for their winding passage to the atevi section.

Cenedi input their destination, their own restricted corridor. The car moved. No one said a word. The slight warmth of the air in this car finally began to creep into cloth, to penetrate finally to flesh and bone and Bren regulated his breathing, heart racing from emotional as well as physiological demands of the bone-cold passage.

What could he say to the dowager or his staff, knowing none of the answers?

What could he possibly say that could set anything to rights, if the aiji he had served and looked to serve for the rest of his life had met overthrow and disaster?

He didn’t give up on Tabini-aiji, that was one thing. He didn’t admit disaster until he had no other answer left. Tabini would have gone to ground if he was outnumbered. He’d be gathering forces for some attempt to retake his post, and knowing that Phoenix should be back in a handful of months, he might well have waited, hoping for reports, psychological advantage, vindication.

The ship was fairly well on time, as much as a ship on a two-year voyage could be. Things hadn’t been optimal at the other end, quite—but they’d been fast. So Tabini would only have waited as long as he expected to wait. And he hoped against all reason that they might get a message from Tabini once the news of their return hit the atevi countryside.

The lift stopped. The doors opened on warm air and the atevi restricted residency corridor, atevi staff lining their path on either side. There was Lord Geigi himself, with his staff, and there were the few staffers the dowager had left behind; and, most wonderful to his eyes, there were his own people, Tano and Algini foremost, joy breaking through the ordinary atevi reserve.

Tears stung his own eyes—he was that glad and that relieved to see them safe, and to be home, and he returned small bows and nods of his head, glad, so glad to be on a deck that orbited his own world, so comforted to hear the voices he’d missed for two years, so relieved to bring back his whole party safe and sound. He had gotten them this far.

“Nandi,” Tano said, his voice fairly quivering with relief. “Welcome. Welcome, nandi.”

“Indeed,” he said. “So good to see us united, nadiin-ji, whatever distressing news we hear from the planet—at least we can say we have good news. We have done all we went out to do. All of us are safe and well. And you have kept the household here safe.”

“It is safe, nandi,” Tano said, and Algini inclined his head in simultaneous agreement. “Safe and firm in man’chi.”

“Well done, very well done, nadiin.” A lord did not hug his servants, though he wanted to, each and every one, wanted, humanly speaking, to hug them and go home and wrap himself in the comfort of things that were safe and just as he had left them.

Other things, unfortunately, were far from safe. And time was ticking fast.

“Lord Geigi.” A deep bow to the portly lord of the Edi atevi, who met him and the dowager at once. “A welcome sight, an extraordinarily welcome sight, nandi.”

“None so welcome as the sight of Sidi-ji safe and all of you with her,” Lord Geigi said. “Come, come inside, as soon as you will.”

“Only a moment,” he said. His staff surely had a welcome prepared, longed to have him inside and safe, to tell him everything and to ask every question they could think of, but he could no more than go to his own door, could only take a moment in the longed-for surroundings to shed the essential baggage, to exchange chilled heavy coats for warm, soft lighter ones—tea in his own sitting-room was what he wanted. Hours to talk to his staff was what he wanted. A phone, to contact the planet. To phone Toby. To know what had happened down there, to people he loved.

He… was not the dominant issue in this transaction.

“My gratitude to all of you,” he said to Tano and Algini and the assembled staff, in his own foyer. “My utmost gratitude, nadiin-ji. What can one say, to equal all the hours and devotion you have given.” They were a small staff, soon to be reinforced by Narani and Bindanda, Jeladi and Asicho, with a vast amount of baggage, two years’ worth, from the ship—soon to be inundated with things to stow and launder and press, with stories to hear and stories to tell, but none so critical as what had happened out in far space and no present threat as great as what had happened on the planet under their feet, to Tabini and to the space program. “One can most gladly report success. We did far more than we went out there to do. And no matter that one hears dire things—dire news that Lord Geigi has to report to us. We will take action. So will the ship-aijiin and the station-aiji.”

“We understand, nandi,” Tano said—security staff, Tano and Algini, not domestic, but head of domestic staff was the post Tano and Algini had devotedly held down for two years, and would hold until Narani came to take those duties. “Your staff in Shejidan, the last we knew, had held your household safe, and your office staff withdrew to the west, to Lord Geigi’s province, where they have most of the critical records. No one had troubled them there, as best we know, nandi, though we have heard nothing for considerable time.”

A vast relief, to hope for the safety of people whose lives might have been at risk in Shejidan… damn the records, though he would have been sorry to lose the work. “One is grateful. One is exceedingly grateful, nadiin-ji. Are their households safe? And are yours?”

“Again, nandi,” Algini said, “the last we heard indicated no reprisals. One hopes they have called their nearest kin to join them among the Edi.”

Hundreds who depended on him were all put at risk because he himself was a logical target in the coup, along with all his holdings and offices; and their families were potentially at risk. The majority of them, at least, had not realigned in the crisis—rather choosing to relocate, with all the hardship that meant, to safe territory. What did one say for such people, beyond extreme gratitude?

“Well, nadiin-ji, we must take account of our resources,” he said, and saw the intensity of every face, every hushed, expectant face, hoping for a plan.

“There is a shuttle,” Algini said.

“So I have heard,” he said. He counted it as their most important resource, the ability to get down to the planet. There was nothing to protect them on the way—and all of them knew it. “And I have no doubt I must go down there. Do you, nadiin-ji, believe the station? Is the aiji alive?”

“One has that earnest hope, nandi,” Tano said, “but we have seen no evidence and had no report beyond the initial days. Mogari-nai is down. Nothing gets up from the planet.”

“We shall see what we can do about that,” he said. He shrugged on the coat Algini handed him, let Tano adjust the collar and straighten his queue.

“Banichi,” he said. “Jago.”

No question they would attend him to the meeting, little question they would gather as much from Lord Geigi’s security as he did from Lord Geigi, things of a more specific, technical nature, with times and dates, things he would wager Tano and Algini and the rest of the staff, for that matter, already knew… but it saved briefing-time. He had the uncomfortable notion his time here was going to be very short.

A young woman—Adaro was her name: he had by no means forgotten—opened the door for him and bowed as he left. Banichi and Jago stayed in close attendance, down what was not an ordinary station corridor, but a section that might have been, give or take paneling instead of stone, the foyer of some great house on the mainland. In this corridor, various staffs shared duty, and kept order, and maintained—his heart was glad to note it—flowers of suitable number and color, so soothing to atevi senses, soothing to his own, after so many years of living in his green retreat. Safety, those flowers said, and Peace, and Refuge, speaking as clearly as the carpets on the floor and the hangings and the tables—three in number—fortunate three—which stood each beside a door of the trinity of established great households: his, the dowager’s, and lord Geigi’s.

Home, it said to him in every detail. Troubled it might be, by war and upheaval: it was not the black deep, it was not the cold nowhere. It had a geography, it had a map, and he knew them as he instinctively knew the basic geometry of every atevi dwelling, and as he intimately knew the people he dealt with across the station.

He had every confidence, for instance, that Sabin would be getting details out of Captain Ogun, who’d presided over the beleaguered station and kept it fed and on an even political keel through this catastrophe.

He knew that Jase would be analyzing everything he got from Sabin and Ogun, with the ear of a man who’d spent years among atevi, and who understood significances that might float right past Sabin and Ogun themselves.

He was sure beyond any need to inquire that Gin Kroger was going to be calling down to the planet, to find out what she could from Tom Lund, down on Mospheira, to get the Mospheiran viewpoint in the crisis.

His mind swam in a sea of separate realities as he walked to Lord Geigi’s door, as Banichi signalled their presence. Lord Geigi’s major domo showed them in… he coasted, a little numb still, through the formalities. The majordomo ushered him to the drawing room, presented him to Lord Geigi in his own environment, and his mind was still half with Jase, and what Jase would likely ask Ogun, first off.

“Tea?” Geigi offered.

“It would be very welcome.” Atevi custom absolutely avoided rushing into bad news. The human wanted to blurt out a dozen questions, gain a rapid-fire briefing, race over the facts to get to the worst, but no, the atevi mind said settle, sit, have a cup of tea and get oneself prepared for the details laid out in meticulous order. Tabini might be deposed, possibly dead: bad as it could be, there was still hope for resurrecting the aishidi’tat, and that hope lay primarily in the persons in this small drawing room.

He took the offered teacup from Geigi’s servant, sipped the warm, sweet tea gratefully, reminded that even here, tea had surely become a luxury, and a generous offering. He sighed and settled back in the carved, tapestry-upholstered chair, cup in hands. Banichi and Jago had quietly gone aside, an expected absence. And the dowager must be arriving—he heard a faint stir in the rooms behind the shut door. His host, too, left him, personally to see Ilisidi in, he was sure.

Ilisidi did arrive, together with Cajeiri—a presence which might not have happened among humans, but it by no means surprised him that the heir was here. Cajeiri had his own reasons for being here, getting news firsthand—had his right, that was the point.

“Aijiin-ma,” he said, the plural, and rose and bowed to both arrivals in this formal setting, receiving a courtesy in return as Ilisidi settled in a fragile chair. A swing of her cane indicated a chair beside her for her great-grandson. The several of them made a triangle of chairs with Lord Geigi’s, as that stout lord took a more substantial seat.

Tea was the order, then, all around, solemnly served, solemnly accepted, a few sips drunk. Ilisidi’s countenance was unreadable; Cajeiri’s was solemn, quiet—if there had been words of comfort, they had been said in private. If there was lingering disturbance, it was evident only in the absence of light in the boy’s eyes. The young chin was set. Hard.

A full cup down. A second served.

“We shall hear it,” Ilisidi said then, and Lord Geigi lowered his cup, cradling it in his hands, and said, solemnly,

“The rebels said no word, offered no argument in advance of their move, and there was no provocation ever stated. Lady Cosadi of Talidi province had turned up in residence in the Bu-javid—” That was the center of government, the residence of every lord at court. “Accepting guests into the Tasigi residence.”

It was her right to bring in guests. It was always the most difficult challenge to Bu-javid security. The Talidi side relations were lucky to have survived the last dust-up in the aishidi’tat. They had lived and taken their place under Tabini’s tolerance.

“Cosadi,” Ilisidi said. “Is that the beginning of this tale?”

“Yes,” Geigi said shortly. “Cosadi.”

Daughter of the late Sarini of the Marid Tasigin, of Talidi province: bad blood from the beginning—involved in one conspiracy already. And Tabini had been an enlightened ruler, and had not cut their throats.

“Mercy has its reward,” Ilisidi said darkly. “Guests, is it? Who was scrutinizing these people?”

“That we by no means know,” Geigi said. “Nor have I heard any particular blame laid on house security in the matter, nor would expect to, given who is now in charge. But it was reputedly through Cosadi that Talidi of various ill dispositions gained access to the residencies. Certainly she now stands close to the lord of the Kadigidi, who has proclaimed himself aiji in your grandson’s place.”

“Murini?” Quietly asked, and a thunderstroke when Geigi said:

“The very one.”

“Go on,” Ilisidi said, and calmly had a sip of tea.

Murini, son of the former traitor, Direiso, who had conspired with Cosadi’s father to break the south and midlands out of the aishidi’tat. Murini, who had taken refuge with Cajeiri’s great-great-uncle in the last troubles, and under that roof had proclaimed himself unswervingly loyal to Tabini. Murini had risen, after Direiso’s death, and with Tabini’s blessing, to be head of the Kadigidi clan.

Now Murini thought he would turn coat and rule the Association, with Cosadi’s help.

There was a scoundrel from way back, Bren thought, one that had masqueraded as a victim of Direiso’s plots, and an ally of the ruling house.

But, more troubling still, was the fact that Murini had sheltered with the Atageini during Direiso’s uprising, and might maintain ties there. Cajeiri, having Atageini blood in his veins, now posed a serious problem to any claim Murini might make on Atageini loyalty. So great-great-uncle Tatiseigi, if his loyalty to Tabini had wavered toward that wretch Murini, now would find his own ambitions drawing him back to Tabini’s side… if only in Murini’s perceptions.

Tatiseigi’s life was therefore in danger. And so was Murini’s, from Tatiseigi, a canny and long-surviving man with resources of his own.

So had Murini that firmly decided the ship would never return, and that Tabini’s grandmother and Tabini’s son and heir would never survive the trip?

Certain significant people seemed to have relied heavily on that belief.

Or perhaps they had hoped to have everything so firmly in their hands before the ship got back that Ilisidi would necessarily arrive in a nest of enemies.

The rebels had not been able to get into orbit and take the station from Geigi, at least, and it might be because they thought they would not succeed—likely not, in unfamiliar territory, under unanticipated conditions, and involving the Mospheirans and the ship’s crew that had stayed with Ogun. But it might also be that Tabini hadn’t been taken utterly by surprise—because he refused to believe the alternative, that the rebels would have been at all content to have Geigi stay alive and powerful on the station…

God. His mind raced. He sipped his tea and tried to listen to the meticulous details.

“This is how it happened,” Geigi said. “There had been disturbance in the provinces, certain assassinations attempted but thwarted, nothing at all unprecedented, much of it allegedly personal feuds breaking out in related sequence. Your grandson seemed to have weathered that storm, though there was active debate in the legislature and numerous petitions in court and before the Assassins’ Guild, for the redress of perceived wrongs in the south—down where Direiso’s failed rising had of course robbed the district of resources and projects they could have had. The recent turn of weather harmed the fishing industry. Your grandson the aiji had of course sent relief and organized construction work in that area, and this quieted the unrest, but agitators carried out sabotage and other acts, including murders and arson, to disrupt the construction and keep the population in unrest. Your grandson accordingly filed with the Assassins’ Guild to take extreme action against certain of the perpetrators, and this was an ongoing debate in the Guild, where members from Talidi province employed various parliamentary tricks, ploys to stall the issue. This was the background of the night of the attack. Your grandson and his consort were safe in Taiben, but Talidi assassins passed the doors of the aiji’s apartments in Shejidan, with loss of life among them, to be sure, but certain of the aiji’s bodyguard and his majordomo were killed in the act.”

Edo. Bren’s heart sank, mourning that genteel, gentle man.

“The whole Bu-javid was thrown into confusion, doors sealing, various security staffs taking measures to protect their own households, and two, the Corisi and the Canti, who were currently feuding, each going after each other in the assumption it was an attack from the other side. Your grandson and his consort were nowhere to be found, and the rumors they were dead were an early encouragement to the Kadigidi, but the aiji reappeared to the west, three days later, organizing various actions aimed at the south and attempting to rally support to Taiben. Unfortunately, the conspirators were well-organized in neighboring Kadigidi province, and crossed Atageini territory, whether with or without their consent, but certainly without resistance, to strike directly at Taiben. Your grandson and the lady consort were obliged to retreat—Taiben being by no means fortified—and they used the maze of hunting trails to escape and to drop out of sight again. I ordered my own province to take every action to reach them with aid, but they were unable to find them. Meanwhile Murini of the Kadigidi mounted a major expedition to the middle regions, and there was close to a pitched battle—impossible to advance. In default of an answer from the north or from the Atageini, my own agents moved instead to open a route for the aiji to reach the coast, and to establish a second center of government at Mogari-nai.”

Site of the big dish, the communications with the station.

“But there was nothing the station could do to support us,” Geigi said, “with the spaceports uncertain and the landing path of any shuttle open to attack. The Kadigidi seized the two shuttles on the ground. The personnel fled to the west and north, where, to my knowledge, they remain. The one shuttle in orbit we have kept here, for your return. Tabini-aiji and his consort reached Mogari-nai, but the dish was shortly afterward seized by the Kadigidi, who claimed to have assassinated the aiji and his household. This was never substantiated, and is, in my opinion, not at all credible.”

This, in the hearing of their young son, whose face throughout remained impassive as his elders.

Bren was, himself, numb, finding difficulty connecting reason and logic to Geigi’s cold, point by point account.

Why would the general populace tolerate this action against Tabini? What could the less-than-popular dissidents have done to paralyze the other districts, beyond the fact they had moved very quickly? Why had the Atageini not moved to join Lord Geigi’s forces?

And had Tabini been in Taiben on a hunting trip, a holiday, his usual reason for going there—or had he been all forewarned?

“Since then,” Geigi was saying, “there is no word. Since then, Murini has attempted to convene the legislature, but cannot get a quorum, various members having scattered to their estates and tightened their personal security, ignoring all messages and threats.”

“Ha!” Ilisidi said in pleasure.

“The Assassins’ Guild remains likewise deadlocked, with several key fatalities including, three months ago, the Guild-master.”

Stalemate. Bren read that situation well enough. The conspirators were trying to take over that Guild, that was what. Atevi were not Mospheirans, and there was more than one way to fight a war.

“Mani-ma,” Cajeiri said quietly, “Geigi-nandi? Why has this person attacked us?”

Trust the child to ask the essential, simple question.

“Economics, young sir,” Geigi said. “The shifts of regional economy necessary in the last decades, to build the shuttles and the ports, the shifts of regional importance due to siting of ports and new factories, the shifts of supply and purchase necessary to supply these factories—and the fact that the south had been busy fighting the aiji instead of building factories. All this change frightened people. There was great public doubt, once the ship had departed the port, that it would ever return, or that there would be any positive outcome. These things were all in the wind before the ship left. Once it did leave, and as time passed, the public found it difficult to sustain their enthusiasm for the construction projects which had created such upheaval in our lives. It became rumored that the second star-ship would belong to humans, not to atevi, as promised. Rumor said the aiji your father had trusted human promises which might not be kept, since the paidhi had left and all these promises now relied on the Mospheiran legislature, with its politics and interest groups. Rumor said that the aishidi’tat was committing far too much resource even in providing materials and food for the station, and fuel for the shuttles, while the island of Mospheira again failed delivery of the promised financial support for their side. That was the crisis. The Mospheiran presidenta resubmitted the budget for another vote, and it finally passed, reduced by a third. But by then very serious damage was done to good faith and reliance on Mospheiran promises. The aishidi’tat met and declared they would reduce their space-related budget by a greater amount—as some saw it, simple retaliation for the Mospheiran legislature’s reduction of funding, a warning. But as others intended it, it was to reduce funding going specifically to certain provinces, mine, among them—my people had realized great advantage in the space program. In that poisonous atmosphere, Murini clearly found his supporters.”

“Do you comprehend what Lord Geigi is saying, great-grandson?” Ilisidi asked sharply.

“The people were afraid we would never come home and that humans would take the second ship for their own. And humans didn’t pay their fair share, so we would not.”

“Was that wise?”

“No, mani-ma. They were squabbling like children.”

Ilisidi arched an eyebrow and looked at Geigi, who drew a deep breath.

“One would concur,” Geigi said. “We attempted to mediate, to give contracts to Talidi, to help them with their construction, but that was not to Cosadi’s liking. She raised the issue of regional funding to gain political advantage for her point of view. No budget reduction would satisfy them. Nor would any word granting us sole possession of an unfinished ship, since that would not get us supply of certain necessary components from Mospheira, which had just reduced their budget. Your father was at a difficult pass, young aiji, and was attempting to negotiate across the delicate division of interests. Clearly there was no good intent among the Talidi or the Kadigidi.”

“And the Atageini?” asked Ilisidi.

“One has no idea, from this remove, what Lord Tatiseigi is doing. We have no word out of the mainland, only what we gather from their broadcasts. Most of it is diatribe against Tabini-aiji and praise of Murini’s governance.”

“Disgusting,” Ilisidi said.

Cajeiri turned a burning look on his great-grandmother, close to emotional upset.

“What shall we do, mani-ma?” Cajeiri asked.

“What shall we do?” Ilisidi echoed his question. “What have we done, first? What resources have we, Lord Geigi?”

“At first,” Geigi said, “we concentrated on making our half-built starship mobile, as it is now, though extremely limited in flight. It is armed. If you should have failed to return, if enemies arrived, Ogun-aiji argued, we needed the ship for our defense. But with supply cut off, we had no choice but to turn all our efforts to food. We rationed and stockpiled at first, and now have produced yeasts, in the tanks we do have, while building others. With the ship’s tanks to increase that capacity, we shall not starve. But other tanks and other robots are still under construction, and things proceed slowly. The island, after the budget crisis, is now attempting to build its own shuttle and lengthen the runway at Jackson, which can be done. But done very expensively, and certain parties had rather give that up in favor of a missile defense system against the mainland.”

Distressing in the extreme. “Is Shawn Tyers still presidenta, Lord Geigi?”

“He is. And your return will strengthen his office immensely, nand’ paidhi.”

“Not enough and not soon enough, I fear, to move the legislature to act.”

“We have promised the presidenta if Mospheira puts the shuttle as priority, we shall assure their safety from attack, but there is still great fear. The dissident factions on Mospheira have, I hear, taken to the airwaves with vehement arguments, attacking the authority of the presidenta Tyers, and have gained some following, perhaps much as they had five years ago, so we understand.”

The Human Heritage Party. The snake they’d not quite beheaded.

“And Mercheson?” Yolanda Mercheson, the translator who had taken his place as go-between for Tabini and the station, Yolanda, whose part in these events he very much wanted to hear. “Will she be available to us? Did she even survive?”