Текст книги "Inheritor"

Автор книги: C. J. Cherryh

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Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 27 страниц)

“One will inform nand’ Saidin, paidhi-ji. One is distressed to hear so.”

“Thank you, Sasi-ji.—How ishe doing?”

“He’s speaking to his mother now, nand’ paidhi.”

“ Thankyou, Sasi-ji.” He went aside immediately to the security station, into the usually open doorway and straight into the monitoring station which lay just inside.

Tano was there with an ear-set, as were Banichi, Jago, and a junior security operator, all listening.

Tano didn’t say a thing, just surrendered his earpiece to him, and Bren tucked the device in his ear.

“—don’t know what else I can do,” he heard, Jase’s voice, speaking the language of the ship, and a long pause followed, where a reply should be.

“ I know,” a woman’s voice said finally, sad-sounding. “ I have no way to help you. I can’t. And you can’t. Except to get back as soon as you can.”

“They say it’s making progress. That’s all I can say.”

“ Can you call again?”

“I just don’t know. I’ll try. I will try.”

“ I love you.”

A long pause, while that human expression hung thin and potent in the air. Then: “I love you, too, mama. I’m fine. Don’t worryabout me.”

Another pause. “ I’d better shut down now.”

“Yeah.—It’s good to hear your voice.”

“ Good to hear yours, Jase. Take care. Please take care.”

“I will, mama.”

There was silence, then. Bren looked at the occupants of the room, tall, black, a collection of alien faces one of whom was a woman he’d almost gone to bed with, all looking to him for reaction.

Some of whom understood enough of what had been said and some of whom trusted him enough to have expression on their faces.

Banichi did. And Jago.

“There’s nothing out of the ordinary in the exchange,” he said. “A son talking to his mother in—” There was no word for affection. There was just no concept. There was no possibility in the faces that stared at him with such good will and acceptance—and worry. “In terms ordinary for that relationship. Jase is concerned for his mother. He fears she is concerned about his mental well-being. She asked whether he could call again. He replied that he wasn’t certain, but he’d try.—He willhave access, will he not, nadiin-ji?”

“There’s no reason to the contrary,” Banichi said.

“The death of his father is attributed to accident,” Jago said. “We do not follow the precise cause.”

It was an offering of good faith in itself, that the most security-conscious atevi he knew let him know how much they understood. The faces came back into ordinary perspective for him. His heart was beating hard in sheer terror and he thought it was because he’d beensomewhere else for a moment, he’d been in human territory, and seeing two people he loved very much—

–not through a distortion, but as the atevi they were, incapable of returning that emotion. Seeing them as incapable of saying, as Jase’s mother said, I loveyou.

Seeing them as incapable of understanding, as Jase had said to a woman orbiting above them, I love you, mama.

Atevi children clung to their parents. But it wasn’t love that made them do that.

Go to the leader. Always go to the leader when the bullets start to fly: rally to the leader.

Could a human feelthe emotional satisfaction atevi got when they responded to that urge and were responded to? No more than atevi could feelwhat Jase meant when a mother and son said, at such uncrossable distance, I loveyou.

But they knew that, held at such distance from the chief of their association, theirprofoundest instinct would find no satisfaction. And on that side of the gulf, one face of the lot was deeply troubled.

Jago said, quietly, “As if she were on the moon, isn’t it?”

It was a proverb for the unattainable.

“Even the moon,” Banichi said, ever the pragmatic one, “will have railroads and television if this ship flies.”

“That it will,” Bren said, with that hollow spot still cold inside him. “And Jase knows it logically.—I’d better talk to him.”

They seemed relieved then, whether to think he could deal with the trouble, or simply to close off the presence of alienness they couldn’t grasp without analogy.

He left them to their discussion of whatever they might discuss—the oddness of humans was his guess. He walked across the foyer and down the hall that led to the heart of the apartment, and to the library, where the phone was, where Jase had to be.

But so were the servants—all the servants, who weren’t standing in knots talking, as his first glance informed him, but arrayed somewhat in a line, and holding each a flower, whence obtained he had no idea; maybe one of the cut arrangements which appeared every few days. They bowed as he walked past in mild confusion, his attention on the same destination, past the dining rooms, past the bedrooms and the baths, alongside the grim steel barrier of the construction and on to the private office where the lady Damiri’s personal phone was.

Jase stood outside, his hands already holding a few blossoms, as one by one the servants came, each solemnly presenting him a single flower, bowing her head and walking away in silence.

Jase didn’t seem to know what to do. He stood there accepting the flowers, one after the other, and Bren stopped, just stopped and stood, as madam Saidin came up beside him, and also waited.

Jase stood there with his arms increasingly loaded, with the load greater and greater on his soul, by the look of him, until his arms were full, and the last servant had passed, given him a flower, and bowed and gone her way.

“If you please, nand’ Saidin,” Jase said with meticulous courtesy, and offered the mass of flowers toward her. “What is proper to do?”

“You may give them to me, if you wish,” Saidin said, and carefully took them, all forty-nine, as Bren guessed there were in that armful of assorted flowers. The whole hall smelled of them. “Shall I personally cast them on the garden pond, nand’ paidhi?” It was Jase she addressed. “That would be appropriate.”

“Please do,” Jase said, looking and sounding very much at the end of his self-restraint. But he bowed correctly. “Nandi. Thank you.”

“We are all sad,” Saidin said, and took the flowers away.

Bren expected to speak to him, and waited.

But as soon as Saidin had gone, Jase violently shoved past him and went toward the front of the apartment, headed, as Bren guessed, for his room.

The opening and slam of a heavy, well-hung door said that he guessed right.

Well, he thought, Jase had done everything in an exemplary fine manner, right down to the shove at him and the door. Which he, personally, would forgive, though his nerves feltthat door shut.

And he could ignore the gesture, and forgive it, and let it pass. It wasn’t the task he wanted when he was still exercised over the news conference: adrenaline started flowing and he couldn’t use it here, no matter what.

But theyhad uncle Tatiseigi visiting tomorrow night, and Jase had to get his reactions either done with or under control, whichever came first.

He was going to have to do something.

Jase hadn’t lockedthe door. That was good—Jase was not sealing himself in. Or that was bad—Jase was in such a state he didn’t think of such things. He pushed the latch and walked into Jase’s bedroom.

Jase was lying on the made bed, hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling. Jase hadtaken the shoes off, in consideration of passionate atevi feelings of propriety in that regard. Jase was improving, and Jase had stopped to think.

And starting a conversation with a positive statement seemed a good thing.

“That was very well done, Jase.”

Tightjawed, and in Mosphei’: “Did you listen in?”

“I came in late. I heard the close. I’m very sorry, Jase.”

“Thanks.”

“Can I help you?”

“Not unless you fly.”

“I know. I know that part of it. I’m sorry. That’s all I can say. How’s your mother?”

“She’s fine.” A fragile, angry voice. “I’d rather you got the rest of it from the tape. I’m not up to questions right now.”

“Jase.” He was inclined to sit down on the other side of the bed. Jase wasn’t looking at him. And he had seen Jase’s temper boiling to the surface. He didn’t risk sitting. But he risked walking directly into Jase’s field of view. “Jase, this is someone talking who at least knows what you’re going through. Don’t wall me out. Tell me what happened, so two of us know it. Tell me how you’re doing. Tell me if there’s any risk to the ship or station up there.”

“Is that what you’re after? It’s fine.”

“Jase. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I can’t make it better. But tell me what happened and tell me what’s going on as a result of it.”

“It’s not your damn business!”

“It ismy business! I’m in charge of this mission.”

“Who said? My captain? I don’t think so.”

“Sure, fine, you’re in charge of yourself and you can’t speak the language or get across town on the subway. No, Jase. You did all right out there. You did extremely well. And I know it’s your private business, but the paidhiin don’t haveprivate business when it affects the safety of everybody else.”

“What if I wantedto get across town on the subway?”

“What’s that to do with anything?”

“I’m a prisoner here. I’m a prisoner under guard. Is that the way it is?”

“You’re a fragile entity in this culture. You’re not qualified to be out on your own: an atevi six-year-old might get where he was going solo, but I wouldn’t lay odds on your making it tothe subway, let alone elsewhere.—So where do you want to go, or what do you want to do?—Can I help you?”

“I’d like to see the ocean.”

Occasionally conversations with Jase turned right angles. This one went three-sixty degrees.

“The ocean.”

“I’d like to see the ocean. The sea. Whatever the word is. I’d like to stand on the edge of the water and look at it. Is that safe? Is it a stupid request?”

“It’s not a stupid request.” He was no better informed, and understood Jase no better. The question had to be asked, if only to know there was nothing more ominous going on in the heavens. “—Jase, what happened to your father? Staff says it wasan accident that killed him.”

There was a long pause. Several breaths. Jase never varied his position otherwise. “Old seals on the station. Dangerous place. That’s all. Hard vacuum. My father”—several more breaths, eyes fixed on the ceiling—“was blown out into space. That’s all. He was working, and the seal went.”

“It was fast.”

“Yeah. It was.”

“So how’s your mother taking it?”

“Oh—all right.—I mean, she’s upset, what do you expect? And I can’t do anything.”

“I can understand that well enough.”

Jase still lay with his hands under his head, looking at the ceiling.

“So—is your mother off work, nadi, or working, or what?”

“Working.”

“No trouble your reaching her this time? I hope there was no trouble.”

“I had no trouble.” Jase moved his arms, slowly got to his feet. The hair he professed drove him to distraction fell around his face. He shook it out of his way and raked it back. It fell around his ears, on its way to respectable atevi length, but not there yet. “Stupid accident, that’s all. You can’t stop something like that. Can’t plan.”

“Yes,” he said. “That’s true.”

“Can you arrange—for me to visit the sea, nadi?”

He didn’t want to point it out, but Jase had had trouble walking when he’d first landed. Jase had had trouble with orientation, particularly with peripheral vision. He wouldn’t see an atevi doctor. He said the world had no edges.

And described, later, a world of only corridors, and small rooms.

“I know a place,” Bren said, thinking that lord Geigi would be surprised to have two guests.

But he didn’t think Jase was ready for a boat. Not quite.

“When? Soon?”

“Soon.” But the world came crashing in. In all its complexity. “Yes.—But there’s something first. Something we have to do. Something you have to do for me. Please.”

“What?”

“There’s a visitor coming. A very important visitor—to see the apartment.”

“Why?” Jase asked. “What?”

“One night. He’ll look at the place. And go. He’s very strict. Very kabiu. The lord who owns this place, understand? It’s important we impress him as proper people.”

“And you want me not to make a mistake.”

“Simply put, yes.”

“Do I get my ocean?”

“If you do that, I’m pretty sure about the ocean.”

“I’ll do it. For that.”

Maybe, Bren thought, it was just something he’d said to himself up in the heavens that he wanted to see. Maybe it was something his father had said he’d like to see. Jase gave him no clue at all.

But Jase was being reasonable, at cost, he could see that. Jase’s color wasn’t good. Jase’s hands shook when he went to the bureau and tried to put his own hair in order.

“Shall I call for tea,” Bren said, “and we can sit and talk and I can explain about the visitor, and the situation?”

“Yes.” Jase transited back to Ragi, and secured his hair, as best it could be without elaborate effort, braiding it from high up and fastening it in a simple clip. “Please do, nadi.”

Impeccable manners. Impeccable, almost, accent. Jase had been practicing.

Bren went to the hall, found madam Saidin andTano not far away, and said, “Tea, please, nadiin-ji,” trusting it would arrive quickly.

The conversation went amazingly easily—at least, Jase listened soberly, objected to nothing, questioned for understanding, and called nothing unreasonable.

In some measure it was sad to see Jase attempting to follow all of it, knowing the load he was under, and knowing how his tendency was to look for absolute orders. In some measure, Bren thought without saying so, he did provide a framework for Jase’s expectations: how to dress, what to say.

But now it had to be dealing with an atevi lord and a lady who was that lord’s chief rival; and how to deal in public and formally with the aiji of Shejidan, whom Jase had met in far less formality, among the first people on earth he had met, with a wildfire burning across the horizon, water pouring into his descent capsule, and the whole world in upheaval.

But Jase brightened when he turned the talk then toward lord Geigi’s balcony—seemed a little taken aback by the description of battling a fish and then eating it; and of a fish big enough to chase lord Geigi’s boat crew across the deck.

But Jase said then he wanted to look at the map in the office, and they walked back to that room, at the rear of the apartment and next to the steel security barrier, to see where they were, and where the sea was, and Mospheira, and where the South Range of Taiben was: the South Range, one of the vast hunting reserves, was where his capsule had come down, and Jase was able to point out that spot on the wall map. He could find that.

Then he wanted books on the sea. Bren took him to the lady Damiri’s library.

“How is he?” Banichi asked him at one point when he was outside and Jase was in the library pulling down books and going through references. “What is he looking for?”

Bren drew a deep breath, having understood, somewhat, this redirection of emotions, but finding it difficult to render into Ragi, particularly for Banichi, who tended to shoot down air castles, even as atevi defined them.

“It’s a human reaction,” he said to Banichi quietly. “He’s suffered a great blow. His emotions are unreliable. Possibly he’s looking for something to distract his thoughts toward something without emotional context, perhaps something approved by the deceased person, perhaps only a personal ambition.”

“To view the ocean.”

“From space, the ocean-land boundaries and the polar caps would be the only easily visible features. I suppose he might have wondered about it.”

“And clouds,” Banichi said. Space photography had made its way into atevi hands even before the War of the Landing. All sorts of space photography had come out of the files prior to the release of the first rocket technology, preparing, the paidhiin had said, the expectation of space travel, never the concept of the rockets in war, directing the psychology of a species toward the sky, not toward armament. It had been a narrow thing for the human race, historically, so the records said; and atevi so readily converted technology to self-defense.

“Many clouds,” Bren agreed.

“So he wishes to go to visit lord Geigi?”

“Something like,” Bren said. “I think he might be ready to make such a venture.”

“He became ill from looking at the sky, Bren-ji. Will it not afflict him again once he goes into the open?”

“I think it’s important to him to prove to himself he won’t be ill.”

“Ah,” Banichi said.

“I’m not sure I understand, myself, Banichi. Please don’t believe I have a perfect idea what’s passing through his mind. But it might mark a place of new beginnings for him, new resolve to do his job.—And it might be time for him to try something difficult. If he’s to be a paidhi in fact, and interpret atevi to the ship-folk, I think it important for him to understand the way atevi look at the world. If security can accommodate it. I promisedhim, Banichi. I assumedsecurity could accommodate it.”

“Certainly a consideration. But there are places of safety, well within perimeters we can guarantee. I think one could find such safety. But Geigi—I am less sure.”

“Would you find that out, nadi-ji, what might be safe?”

“One will do so.—Meanwhile, the other matter—”

Deana. He’d been so rattled he’d forgotten what he’d asked Banichi to do.

“We are producing a transcript, paidhi-ji, of this woman. Tano wishes you to understand, he had no idea that this was going on.—Nor did Jago, nor I, Bren-ji. Wewere of a level to be informed, once we returned, that was one critical matter. Certain agencies between us and the aiji did notwish to distract us with your staff matters. This is not to dismiss the matter of their failure to inform you. And their failure to inform Tano.”

“I have great confidence in all my staff, Banichi. I donot doubt you.”

Banichi seemed to weigh telling him something. Then: “The aiji, nadi-ji, has detected a slight lack of forwardness among certain Guild members to pass along information to higher levels, both times regarding those who monitor transmissions, which are a Guild unto themselves; and both times regarding a transmission of information from that Guild to the house Guard. The aiji is making clear to both services that my absences, whenever they may be necessary, should not constitute a dead end for information. He is, the paidhi may imagine, making this point very forcefully with the Messengers’ Guild, which is the one at issue at Mogari-nai.”

“I accept that as verydefinitive, nadi,” he said, and did. He would not care to be the Guild officer or the Guard who twice thwarted the aiji, either because of a political view opposed to Tabini or simply due to ruffled protocols—some touchy insistence on rules, and routings of requests that were being run over by the needs of a human office placed by the aiji on the list of persons to whom the Guild traditionally gave information.

Definitely he’d just heard more than his predecessors had known about Guild and Guard conflicts.

And bet on it that, one, Banichi told him what he did with Tabini’s full knowledge, and, two, that it was a very necessary warning to him where gaps in necessary information flow had occurred in the past and might occur in some similar crisis in the future: don’t believe that you’ve heard everything from the ship, was what it boiled down to. Don’t trust that all communications aregetting through: there’s a serious, quirky roadblock.

That was as serious as it could get. A Guild not once but twice now had ill-served the aiji. If that was not a fatal offense in Tabini’s book, he feared it was hedging very close on one, that was one thing, and he didn’t want to see a contest of power inside the administration, or Tabini using the Assassins against the Messengers.

But equally serious, that particular information flow, from the ship through Mogari-nai and on to Shejidan—was usually diagrams, data, and handbooks. There were, however, other kinds of information: Jase’s message. God knew what.

He knew there was somebody, at least one person, that was not the ordinary ateva, and probably at Mogari-nai, sitting there and reading what came down. It struck him like a lightning stroke that it wouldmake sense that that person be one of the Messengers’ Guild, not the Assassins’ Guild that regularly guarded the aiji. It was not in his knowledge to whom the Messengers’ Guild reported.

But having delivered that bit of information, Banichi went off about his business.

And Jase, when he went back to check on him, seemed to have focused himself on the library and was working, so he supposed Jase had reached some point of stability.

12

The paidhi had, however, after trying to deal with Jase, an actual routine working day to begin, it being toward afternoon. He had to deal with the records and reports to his own office that he’d brought back from the plant tour, those that hadn’t gone to Tabini’s staff.

He had letters to write, fulfilling promises he’d made in more cities and townships than he could conveniently recall.

He had a computer full of files with unresolved requests, some of which he could perhaps put into other hands, but first he had to sort those things out, at his classified level, to discover what he couldmove on to other desks.

And he had a stack of raw notes he had tried to keep in a notebook, but which had ended up on small pieces of paper borrowed from various sources, a shaggy affair he would have to turn over to the clericals in his office for what they could do for him, once he had been through it to be sure there was nothing tucked into that notebook that didn’t belong to that level of security. He thought he’d retrieved everything, but regarding that particular notebook, which had followed him closely through various sensitive laboratories, he wasn’t sure.

So. The Jase matter was, thank God, at rest. Not settled. But at rest. He’d done what he could; he humanly wishedhe could do more. He wished in the first place that he’d been able to get personally closer to Jase. Jase wanted to keep his own observations and reports to his superiors clear and objective, he was sure, and Jase always held him at arms’ length—so he didn’t have that kind of closeness that would have let him step in and offer… whatever people offered one another at such a time. He was sad about Jase being sad; he was disturbed about it; it made him think uncomfortable thoughts about mortality and his own scattered family; and he was, considering Jase’s temper, uneasy about Jase’s ability to deal with the isolation and the sense of loss together.

Hell of a homecoming, in short. A household in disarray. If he started worrying about it—and about security lapses, information gaps—well, that wouldn’t persist.

Banichi and Jago hadn’t been here. Good as Tano and Algini were, they weren’t asgood, and problems had crept in. People hadn’t told them things they should have known.

Banichi and Jago were on it. Things would getright.

Meanwhile there wasn’t anything more he could do than he’d done, there wasn’t any more he could learn about Jase’s situation than he’d learned, nothing more he could feel than he’d felt, and at this point, if Jase had settled on dealing with it alone, he could just retreat to a distance and be sure Jase was really all right, that was all.

Chasing down the other problems that might impinge on Jase’s situation was Banichi’s business. The files—

–were his.

So he settled into the sitting room, asked the servants to have one of the junior security staff bring his computer and his notes to him, and spread out his traveling office for the first uninterrupted work he’d gotten done since the plane flight.

The simple, mind-massaging routine of translation had its pleasures. There were days on which he likedpushing the keys on the computer as long as it produced known, predictable results.

A servant came in to ask what sort of supper he’d wish. He asked them to consult Jase about what hewanted and to go by that if Jase wanted anything formal, but by his preference he wanted a very light supper: he’d been on the banquet circuit, and he’d gone back to a sedentary life in which he preferred a lighter diet, thank you. Jase, he was relatively sure, was not in a mood for a heavy meal.

To his mild surprise Jase came to the door and said the staff was asking about supper and what would heprefer. He really hadn’t expected Jase to surface at all; but Jase came voluntarily to him, being sociable, and seemed to be holding onto things fairly well, considering.

“I’ll join you, if you like,” Bren said.

“That would be fine,” Jase said, “nadi. Shall I arrange it with the staff?”

“Do, please, nadi-ji.” He had a lap full of carefully arranged computer and notes. He considered a how are you? and settled on “Thank you.”

“I’ll do that,” Jase said, and went away to the depths of the apartment where one could ordinarily find the staff.

So it was a supper with him and Jase alone, the security staff otherwise occupied. Jase was somber, but in better spirits, even offering a little shaky, unfeigned laughter in recounting things that had gone on during his absence, chiefly the matter of a security alert when the lily workmen’s scaffold had jammed and they’d had to get the Bu-javid fire rescue service to get the workmen back to the roof.

“We couldn’t get the security expansion panel down,” madam Saidin added to the account, herself serving the main dish, “because Guild security wouldn’t permit that. So there they were: the workmen had two of the porcelains with them on the scaffold, so they wouldn’t risk those. And the artist came down to the garden below and began shouting at them that they shouldn’t put the lilies in a bucket, which was what the firemen proposed—”

“God.”

“The hill is tilted there,” Jase ventured. He meant the hill was steep: but he was close to the meaning. “And the ladder wouldn’t go there.”

“They ended up letting firemen down on ropes to take the porcelains,” madam Saidin said, “so they could get the porcelains to safety. But meanwhile the artist was locked out of the building and stranded herself on the hill in the garden—she is an elderly lady—and shehad to be rescued, which took more permissions to bring someone throughthe doors below from the outside.”

“Bu-javid security,” Jase said, “was not happy.”

Bren could laugh at that—it was not, he was certain, a story which had amused lord Tatiseigi, whose sense of humor was likely wearing thin; but if an Atageini such as madam Saidin could laugh, then they all could, and he could imagine Damiri involved—from her balcony next door, if security had let her past the door.

But Jase seemed worn and tired, and declared at the end of the meal that he had rather spend his evening studying and turn in early.

“Are you all right?” Bren asked in Mosphei’.

“Fine,” Jase said. “But I didn’t sleep much last night.”

“Or the nights before, I’d imagine.”

“Nor the nights before,” Jase agreed. “But I will tonight.”

“Good,” he said. “Good. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to wake me.”

“I’ll be fine,” Jase said. “Good night.”

They’d occasionally talked in the evenings, but mostly it was lessons. Sometimes they watched television, for the news, or maybe a machimi play, which was a good language lesson. He’d expected, with supper, to need to keep Jase busy, and had asked after the television schedule, which did have a play worth watching this evening.

But there was no shortage of work for either of them, and without work there was worry: Bren understood that much very well. If Jase felt better sitting in the library and chasing references and doing a little translation, he could understand that.

Himself, he went back to the sitting room, deciding that he would deal with the correspondence, finally, now that he’d dulled his mind with a larger supper than he’d intended, and now that his brain had grown too tired to deal with new things.

Top of the correspondence list was the request from the pilots, who were trying to form a Guild. The Assassins, the Messengers, the Physicians, and the Mathematicians were Guilds. There wereno other professions, since the Astronomers were discredited nearly two hundred years ago. And now the pilots, who had heard of such a guild among humans, were applying to the legislatures for that status on the ground that atevi could not deal with humans at disadvantage—but they were meeting opposition from the Guilds and from traditionalists in the legislature who thought they weren’t professional. The pilots, who had never enjoyed Guild status, were incensed at the tone of the reply.

On the other side, the legislature wanted justification for the sacrosanctity and autonomy that a Guild enjoyed, when they did nothing that regarded confidentiality, which was the essence of a Guild.

That was one problem. Tossing into it Banichi’s information, there were interface problems with other Guilds, and the question of how such a Guild would relate to, say, the Messengers—who argued at length that the pilots in question might fit within theirGuild structure since they traveled and carried messages.

Like hell, was the succinct version of the pilots’ opinion, as it came to his ears.

To add to the mix, a fact which he knew and others might not, there was serious talk this winter of the Astronomers attempting to regain their position as a Guild, but as Tabini put it, their Guild status had originally been based on their predictive ability, and getting into thatnow-antiquated forecasting function would touch off a storm of controversy among several atevi philosophies, which on one level was ludicrous, but which to believers was very serious and which, to politicians, signaled real trouble.

The pilots wanted him to write a recommendation to the aiji and to the legislature—and there was, additionally, a letter from the head of the Pilots’ Association stating that they accepted the use of computers on his recommendation that they would prove necessary (this had been a verydifficult matter) and hoping again, since he had supported the paidhi in that situation, that the paidhi would grant his support in their cause.

The fact was, he did take the Guild status seriously—for reasons he didn’t quite want to make clear to the pilots involved.