Текст книги "Inheritor"

Автор книги: C. J. Cherryh

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“Have you some specific reason to fear?” Jago asked: Jago, who would fling her body between any of her charges and harm; but who was trained to do things far more lethally useful for those within her man’chi.

“Just—nadiin-ji, a single act of sabotage, undetected, might set the program so far behind Mospheira we’d never catch up. And I saw so many plants where people from the towns came in without security checks, where lords’ families had access. And shouldn’t. Not that I want to be rude to these honest people—things are going so well. I think it makes me irrationally fearful.”

“Not irrationally.” Banichi let go an easier breath. “We areaware of the hazards—trust me in this. This is an immensely complex project, with many exposures. But without being specific, let me reassure the paidhi, we are not off our guard.”

Banichi would notsay Guild. This was, again, the man who hadn’t known the sun was a star—nor cared. But what he did care about, he knew about in greater detail and with more forethought than most men could keep up with.

“And,” Jago said with a quirk of the mouth, “lord Geigi has the number-counters contained. Or occupied.”

“One hopes.”

The decanter was on the small table near Banichi. Banichi reached over and poured a finger more; and one for Jago, who leaned forward to present her glass. “Nadi?” Banichi said, offering to him next.

He considered. He’d had one with Jase. But if Banichi was offering information, and it came on such skids, he’d have another: he let Banichi add a bit.

“Did I do foolishly to take lord Geigi’s hospitality?” he asked them.

“Evidently not.”

“I didn’t ask was I lucky? I asked—”

Banichi grinned. “Far more wary, these days, our Bren.”

“Lord Geigi’s philosophical persuasion is one of the most rigorous,” Jago said. “Most, understand, follow less rigorous systems, saying that there is no assurance that anyone has yet come up with right answers. But here are Geigi and his Determinist numerologists actually matching up answers with the universe ashuman numbers also perceive it, and the Rational Absolutists are prowling around this new set of ideas trying to find a problem it doesn’t solve. This folded space business has acquired great credibility, Bren-ji. The numerologists are still gnawing the bone of the faster-than-light idea Deana-ji threw them—” That Deana-jiwas certainly barbed. “But no one dares challenge folded space until they’ve posed certain classic problems—which keeps the ’counters and the Absolutists both out of mischief, at least until they’ve worked out their numbers. A challenge to folded space will be hard, by what I hear.”

“I leave such deep questions to my partner,” Banichi said, and took a sip of shibei. “Geigi’s good will is secure. That secures the numbers of the northern reach of the peninsula, which are the numbers that concern me, pragmatically. Geigi’s penchant for honesty—that and his penchant for inviting guests inside his security—that worries me. Tano says you bade Geigi take precautions.”

“It seemed prudent to say. Possibly excessive.”

Banichi gave a short laugh. “He’ll naturally believe you have special inside information from your security, and he’ll listen to you far more than to any advice his security gives him. I’ve no doubt he will lose sleep over it. A good stroke, nand’ paidhi!”

“What willhappen in the peninsula? Who do you think will take over the Marid?”

“Oh, difficult question. Very difficult, Saigimi’s daughter, Cosadi, being a passionate follower of Direiso and all that lot—and a fool.”

“On the other hand,” Jago said, “Saigimi’s younger brother, Ajresi, who is not resident in the house, and who absolutely can’t tolerateSaigimi’s Samiusi-clan wife, is much more forward to defend himself than he is to involve the house in adventurous actions. As a leader of his house he’s both more and less dangerous. He let Saigimi take the risks. But for want of aggression, to allow himself to be pushed aside in the succession by a willful niece who might take the house even further down the path Saigimi took—I think not, myself.”

“Wise conclusion,” Banichi said. “ Thathouse will have internal difficulties. The wife, too, Tiburi, may take refuge with Direiso; Tiburi is, by the way, related to lord Geigi. That was the plan in driving Geigi into poverty, to slip her into that inheritance.”

“Was thatit?”

“Oh, yes. So thanks to her try at dispossessing Geigi, wife Tiburi of the Samiusi is not only no longer welcome with Hagrani clan—she’s no longer welcome with her distant cousin Geigi. Nor will her daughter Cosadi be welcome any longer with Saigimi’s brother Ajresi, especiallysince Geigi’s fortunes are more and more linked to Tabini’s, and the direction of Cosadi’s man’chi becomes more and more unpredictable. She may claim the Hagrani estate with at least equal right, and certain of Saigimi’s household more loyal to the wife might try to prevent the lordship drifting to the brother’s line, in fear he will toss them out the door. Some say Cosadi has assassins belonging to the Hagrani clan poised to take out Saigimi’s brother and make her the Hagrani lord. Certainly Ajresi also has Guild poised to remove her.”

At this point a man wanted to grab a notepad and tell them to repeat it while he took notes. But it was too late. His head was buzzing. He at least had the critical names to ask them.

“ And,” Jago said, “certain of the Guild who have served Saigimi may now find man’chi lying elsewhere, rather than serve the daughter, who is suspected by some to be a fool and by others to be a mere figurehead for Tiburi, who is noteven Hagrani and who cannot go back to her own clan.”

“It should be an interesting summer in the peninsula,” Banichi said.

“Direiso may attract those Guild members,” Jago added. “And lose a few of her own, who will begin to think it towering folly to have so many targets move in under one roof.”

Bren’s ears pricked up. He wanted to ask, Can one chooseman’chi logically? He had thought it, like love, to be unaffected by common sense considerations of survival during such machimi play sort-outs. Not evidently so.

But if he interrupted the flow of information, he could lose what they were trying, in their bewildering way, to tell him.

“One thinks,” Jago had gone on, “that the Kadigidi themselves—” That was Direiso’s house. “—will spend some time in rearranging loyalties. The son and likeliest heir to Direiso herself is an Atageini on his maternal grandfather’s side—”

“Direiso’s father never sitting as house-head,” Banichi interjected, “due to a dish of infelicitous berries.”

Berries. The paidhi, feeling the effects of alcohol, all but lost the threads.

“Last fall,” Jago continued unflapped, “Direiso’s son, Murini, was a guest in the Atageini house at the same time we have reason to believe Deana Hanks was a guest in Direiso’s house. Mark that, Bren-ji.”

Tag and point. Definitely in Direiso’s house, then. It certainly deserved remembrance. He hadn’t known thatdetail, either, that this son of Direiso’s had been—what, hiding among Atageini withTatiseigi, for fear of his mother’s rash actions? Or had he been go-between, in Atageini complicity in the Deana Hanks affair?

That would mean aiming at overthrowing Tabini, while Tabini was sleeping with lady Damiri, heir of the Atageini.

If there were clear proof of that, he was sure Banichi or Jago would have told him.

It was only certain in what he did know that the Padi Valley nobles, of whom Tabini himself was one, had old, old and very tangled associations. It was the central association of the Ragi, which had produced all the aijiin ever to rule from Shejidan; a little nest of occasionally warring rivals, in plain fact.

None other than lord Geigi and Tabini’s hard-riding grandmother had walked into a house the identity of which was clearly now the Kadigidi house, and taken Deana Hanks away with them, apparently to Direiso’s vast discomfiture and no little breakage of fragile objects in Direiso’s parlor, by what he had later heard about a fracas and the overturning of a cabinet of antiques wherever the event had taken place.

Add to that now the knowledge that Direiso’s son had been in that very moment at the Atageini home, while the Atageini daughter was in bed with Tabini.

Definitely headache-producing. But among atevi, things could be very simple, too.

To find out who was the most likely person to start trouble, and the one toward whom all other atevi players would gravitate, look for the strongest.

Yesterday he might have said, regarding Tabini’s known opposition, that the strongest players were Tatiseigi of the Atageini, Saigimi of the Marid Tasigin, and Direiso of the Kadigidi.

Now with Saigimi dead, he would say it was up in the air between Direiso of the Kadigidi and Tatiseigi of the Atageini, and, hardly thinking about it, that Direiso was more likely to act against Tabini—he didn’t know why he thought so, but Tatiseigi had dropped back from threatening Tabini the moment Saigimi, remote from him geographically, had dropped out of the picture.

Why did he think so? Tatiseigi’s ancestral lands were in the Padi Valley, next door to the other survivor in that group, Direiso of the Kadigidi, his next door neighbor. Direiso had used Saigimias front man for her rasher, more extreme moves.

But it wasn’t loss of courage that would cause him to put Tatiseigi second to Direiso, in his bemused and shibei-overwhelmed subconscious, if Tatiseigi allied with that lady.

No, because Tatiseigi’s niece Damiri was sleeping with Tabini, and might provide Tabini’s heir. IfTatiseigi could recover his dignity as head of clan and ifTatiseigi’s battered pride could be patched up—and bolstered instead of diminished by Damiri’s alliance—that could make Tatiseigi very important in the Western Association, though not aiji, which due to her own ambitions Direiso would not let him become, anyway.

Ah. And ah-ha.

Direisowould see Tatiseigi at that point as threatening her bid to be aiji as much as helping her, because Tatiseigi would see the same set of facts: he would never be aiji; he was elderly; he had notproduced an heir of his own line. That was why Damiri, Tatiseigi’s sister’s daughter, was the acknowledged heir; and Tatiseigi could not be thinking in terms of his own genetic or political continuance if he wereaiji—that was what the subconscious was raking up. Tatiseigi had to reach a truce with Damiri, since he was less and less likely to bring her into line by replacing her. And Damiri was likelier and likelier to produce the next aiji.

Right now, a thorn in Tatiseigi’s flesh, Tatiseigi’s ancestral apartment in the Bu-javid was tainted by unwanted humans, his niece was, to all public perception defying him in bedding down with Tabini—and last year some excessive fool in attempting to state opposition to humans orto embarrass the Atageini had sprayed bullets across the breakfast room and taken out a frieze of elegant porcelain lilies…

Lilies which even now were being restored, angrily, defiantly, by Atageini-hired workmen: the breakfast room secured off from the rest of the apartment by a steel wall installed with screw-bolts, a barrier that let those workmen come and go without compromising the aiji’s security.

The lilies had been broken by someone who’d authorized an attack on the paidhi.

By someone, he was relatively sure, who’d had no idea what he was shooting at, someone blindly bent on shooting up premises which held a human, and possibly bent on compelling an Atageini break with Tabini.

It was an unthinkable botch-up of a job if some Atageini had done it, because those bullets were not just sprayed into anapartment favored by the Atageini, they’d been sent into an apartment filled with priceless Atageini art treasures, and had hit the lilies which were the symbolof the Atageini.

The fact was public. The shame was public. And no Atageini would have been so stupid. Tabini wouldn’t have done it—he had Damiri already and nothing to gain. No, an Atageini ally had done it—someone either wanting to push Tatiseigi into action or (the whisper was) chastise him for inaction in the matter of human influence.

But the result had embarrassed him instead of angering him.

One hellof a dangerous situation was what was left. Either Saigimi had attacked the lilies—or Direiso had, the two likeliest suspects.

And if Saigimi had, and was dead, Tabini had removed a man Tatiseigi now could not get vengeance from. Now, in the aftermath of Saigimi’s assassination, Direiso would have to move against Tabini soon—or die next.

That left the highly embarrassed Tatiseigi with no vengeance available, standing eyeball to eyeball with Direiso, who herself wanted to be aiji of Shejidan at the expense of Damiri, who could weld the Atageini onto Tabini’s line and unite twoPadi Valley lines in a way that might alter the hitherto several-way contest in the Padi Valley forever.

Damn, a man could get a headache, but he was beginning to see through this set of moves of Tabini’s. Diminish allother prospects: it was Direiso that the Saigimi affair was setting up for a fatal fall, and if Tabini could only recover Tatiseigi’s dignity in such a grand gesture as Tabini had made to salvage lord Geigi’s finances, then Tabini had the man and a veryvaluable alliance with the Atageini in his pocket and the potential mother of his heir with her man’chi secure and solid as a rock.

“Are we secure here?” he asked his security, with a notion how very, very much was at stake in the apartment he was occupying. “I mean—staying here. Under the circumstances.”

“One simply watches. Say only that you’re as safe as the aiji himself.”

Ironic double meaning. If lady Damiri betrayed Tabini at this juncture—or if the Tatiseigi matter blew up into violence—they were in real trouble.

IfTabini’s grandmother Ilisidi didn’t take over. Which Ilisidi might do– longedto do, at least, by some reports. God—one wouldn’tsuppose she’dblasted the lilies?

She wasan Atageini ally. And a major power among the Eastern lords around Malguri. It was why Tabini’s grandfather had married her: to hold the East in the Association.

On the other hand—he was running out of hands—considering grandmother—Ilisidi—you couldn’t say she was disposed unfavorably to the paidhi or to humans. If she hadn’t wintered at Taiben, in the open land she preferred, he himself would have passed no little of his scarce free time this winter in Ilisidi’s company.

He likedIlisidi. As he likedGeigi. Human judgment. Which wasn’t, dammit, automatically invalid. No… Ilisidi would not destroy the lilies, the way Ilisidi wouldn’t destroy what was historic, and beautiful. He could never believe such a gross act of her. It was a human judgment, but it wasaccurate.

“Nadiin,” he said, head aching from all this circular thinking, “one has to get to bed, nadiin-ji. I’ve a meeting with Tabini after breakfast. You’re not obliged to be up at that hour—I’m sure Tano or Algini can manage and you can sleep late.”

“This house sets a memorable breakfast,” Banichi said. “Jago may be unconscious and immoveable when the sun rises, but I at least intend to be there.”

“Those who didn’t spend the night on a roof in a rainshower may be drawn out for breakfast,” Jago said. “I may be there, nadi Bren. I may not.”

“It’s so good to see you two.” He rose, took the decanter and poured Banichi another helping, and one for Jago.

“You will corrupt us, nadi,” Banichi said.

“Take it, take it. People who do and who don’t spend the night on a roof are alike due some comforts when they reach a safe place, aren’t they?”

“One is willing to be corrupted,” Jago said, lifting her glass. “At least tonight, Bren-ji.”

So the two of them went out with refilled glasses and, he was sure, headed to the two bedrooms that had been waiting half a year for them, next door to Jase’s.

It had been a long day, Bren thought as he stripped off clothes and prepared for bed. A fine day, a disastrous day—a good day again, in finding Banichi and Jago.

Not a good day for the lord Saigimi. He couldfeel sorry for everyone in Saigimi’s man’chi. He watched the machimi plays on television, in professional curiosity, as paidhiin had watched for years, trying to decipher the codes of atevi behavior. The Saigimi mess was absolutely high classic—the unknown loyalties, man’chi shifting unpredictably even for those most intimately involved with the dead lord.

There was even a chance that Cosadi, the daughter, wasn’t sure where her man’chi rested from hour to hour, self-doubt which was real emotional upheaval, as he began to perceive it, a fundamental uncertainty for the young woman as to which elements in her blood, to use a human expression, were going to pull her which direction, and whether she’d survive the shake-out as the same uncertainty resolved itself for a dozen characters at once.

A new lord, probably Ajresi, meanwhile took control, driving out the Samiusi-clan wife, Tiburi, Geigi’srelative, along with Cosadi, to a household (Direiso’s) involved to the hilt in the dead lord’s conspiracy against the aiji.

Classic machimi, indeed. He’d been fascinated by the color, the banners, the movement of troops, the texture of ancient atevi fortresses.

He was acquainted with one such fortress, at Malguri, on an intimate basis, right down to the classic bathroom plumbing. He’d told himself that as a human he had no business there.

And still he loved the place, and the feelof the windy height and the age of the stones tugged at something ancestral in him. He’d come to grips with what was essentially atevi there. He’d learned lessons he, whose business was words, couldn’t put in words; he’d seen things that sent a lump into his throat and a quickness into his pulse.

Ilisidi had shown him.

Proving, perhaps, that human instincts and atevi man’chi did have something in common, before they diverged and became what they were in the higher branches of evolution.

Or just that—their species both came from planets. Something in both species loved the earth, the stones, the touch of what was alive.

Off went the shirt. It slid from his fingers before he had a chance to turn and deliver it to the servants.

Atageini servants. Who were, one sincerely hoped, loyal to lady Damiri next door, and not to uncle Tatiseigi.

Machimi.

Whose man’chi came first? Which man’chi had become clear to the servants, when they met their human guest—or dealt with Jase, who was having trouble with the earth and dirt and stone aspect of things, and who really, now in a family tragedy, had a profound justification for his winter-long distress.

He’d long since gotten beyond embarrassment in this lady’s household, about this servantly insistence a man couldn’t undress himself or deal with his own laundry. Tano had been stand-in for the staff during the last number of days, Tano and he taking the opportunity to exchange information in that little space of privacy: what they’d done for the day, what they expected on the morrow. And he’d felt more comfortable in that arrangement, and closer to Tano than he’d ever otherwise been.

But they were definitely back in Shejidan, and Tano was no longer accessible. Give or take the one nightcap too many, he found his nerves still buzzing with the information he’d gotten, buzzing so he wasn’t sure he’d sleep easily at all.

Still, bed was calling to him with a promise of satin sheets and soft pillows. The television was over in the corner, his panacea for sleeplessness on the road, and a concession, in this antique bedroom, to the paidhi’s necessity to keep up with the news; and occasionally just to have entertainment or noise to fill the silence.

But he had his staffback with him. He had Banichi and Jago. He had them again.

It was Sasi into whose hands he shed the clothes: she was an older servant with, Sasi had informed him proudly, along with the requisite photos, four grandchildren.

An apostate, far-from-his-culture human chose to believe that made Sasi absolutely professional at seeing people into bed and tucked in, and that she was a decent and sobering influence on the two young maids who stood by and offered and received the exchange of garments, the lounging robe for the sleeping robe, in which one didn’t ordinarily sleep, but there it was, nonetheless, the requisite robe. One just did wear appropriate garments, that was the explanation, even if said robe was immediately, fifteen paces away, to be taken off to go to bed.

It was polite. It was expected. It was what was done. The paidhi had rank in the court, therefore the paidhi’s closet overflowed with appropriate garments which were the pride and the care of his staff on display.

And the paidhi couldn’t, God, no, dress or undress himself, without showing lack of confidence in his Atageini staff.

The paidhi hadgotten the message of the staff over the last year of his life, and had ceased to frustrate the servants in their zeal to please him.

“How arethe repairs?” he asked as Sasi applied a cursory brush to his hair, towering over him the while. The faint aroma of paint and new plaster had been constant. But it seemed fainter this evening. “Nadi Sasi? One heard the painting might be over.”

“All the work is most nearly complete, nand’ paidhi. The tiles are all in place, so we hear. The painters have been at work almost constantly, and now they seem finished.”

And the young servant by the door: “The artisans think—perhaps in a day, nand’ paidhi. So nand’ Saidin says.”

“I believe, nand’ paidhi,” Sasi said, “that they have told the lady so.”

Damiri, in other words. The crews that had been scraping and pounding away down the hall were Atageini workmen, or at least workmen intensely scrutinized by the Atageini lord.

In the thoughts of a few moments ago, one worried.

“Nadi.” One maid produced a scroll from his robe’s pocket, and offered it to Sasi, who gave it to him.

Toby’s telegram. Damn. He hadn’t gotten to answering it.

But he couldn’t do anything about answering it, or about his mother’s condition. She had medical care. He couldn’t help. When they talked on the phone, she grew upset and got onto topics that upset her, like his job, her getting hate calls. It was better he didn’t call.

He laid the scroll on the night table. Then he took off the satin robe and surrendered it to Sasi before he lay down on the sheets of the historic Atageini bed—in which an Atageini had been murdered, oh, some centuries ago, under a coverlet which was a duplicate of that coverlet.

As the lilies down the hall would be exact duplicates of the lilies destroyed by whatever agency.

The Atageini were stubborn about their decor. Their power. Their autonomy. The hospitality shown their guests.

Damiri had had resources to check out the workmen. He’d told himself so for months. That special steel expansion barrier, an ingenious affair with screw-braces that extended and bolted with lock bolts in all directions, had occasioned a fuss over the woodwork; but the security barrier had gone in; and that meant workmen and artisans had to come and go by a scaffolding let down from the roof, under the supervision of Tabini’s guards. So the nearby residents had sealed theirwindows with similar precautions.

“Shall I leave the windows open, nand’ paidhi? Or open the vents?”

“I think just the vents, thank you, Sasi-ji.” He trusted no one was going to make a foray into the apartments from the construction. But the scraping and hammering and the smell of paint and plaster had gone on all winter; and now that it was spring, when neighboring apartments as well as his own had the desire to take advantage of their lofty estate well above the city and the general safety that let these apartments open their windows to the breezes, it had certainly put a matter of haste into the repair job—a need to get the smelly part done, before, as Tabini said, someone declared feud on the Atageini over the repairs.

They were nearing an end of that situation, as it seemed—an end of bumps and thumps that made the guards get up in haste and go investigate, and an end of a major eyesore in the apartment. ‘A few more days’ had gotten to be the household joke, long predating ‘rain clouds,’ but it did sound encouraging.

So they were going to be rid of the barrier, the workmen, the casting and solvent smells wafting in through the balcony windows, and he would have back a room of exquisite beauty, which happened to be hisfavorite place in the apartments, whether for study or breakfast or just sitting and relaxing.

God. Oh, God. The date.

He was supposed to do a television interview on the 14th. Tomorrow. Was it tomorrow? The 14th?

It wasthe 14th. He hadn’t even thought about it since he’d left. He hadn’t remotely considered it when he’d thought about extending his visit with Geigi.

He had no wish whatsoever to tie the business of the space program to the assassination of lord Saigimi in the public mind; he didn’t want to answer questions regarding lord Saigimi, which might possibly come up—the news services, generally well behaved, still occasionally blundered into something in a live interview—live, because some atevi believed that television that regarded politics had to be live for the numbers not to be deliberately misleading.

But he couldn’t, at this date and at this hour, even by coming down with an attack of poisoning, cancelthe news conference, not without having people draw the very conclusion he didn’t want.

He had to get his wits together and face it tomorrow—do it with dispatch and in full control of his faculties. He’d set the interview up fifteen days ago when it had sounded perfectly fine and within his control. He’d had it on his calendar as just after the factory tour. He’d made sure it missed the trip dates. They’d added two days and three labs onto his tour at the last moment and he’d totally forgotten about the damn interview as significant, just one of those myriad things his staff steered him to and out of and on to the next thing on the list, and that Tano would have advised him of the very moment he proposed to them accepting lord Geigi’s offered day on the boat. They’d have been able to do it: they’d have just shunted the event to Sarini Province and set up in Geigi’s front hall, cameras, lights, and baggage, and hewouldn’t have been put out by it except as it affected the fishing schedule.

But, given a choice now, he wouldn’t have done it tomorrow.

Damn! He wouldn’t. But he supposed that nobody, including people who had or had not been atop certain buildings in the rain, had considered the paidhi’s interview schedule when carrying out the assassination of a lord of the Association.

8

Banichi and Jago came to the dining room in the morning, cheerful and clearly anticipating the breakfast that was loading down the two service carts that were waiting along the wall outside.

Jase remained shut in his room. Jase was getting some sleep, madam Saidin said. Staff had quietly looked in on him to be sure that he was resting; and that he was safe; and they would be sure that he ate when he did wake.

“I think that sleep is more important for him,” Bren agreed as he sat down at the table. “Thank you, Saidin-ji.”

Tano and Algini came in for breakfast. And Tano, with a little bow, placed two objects beside his plate as he went to his chair, one a piece of vellum paper folded double, not scrolled as one did with formal messages; and the other a scroll in a gold (but very scarred) case.

In the inquiry regarding Jase-paidhi’s message, the simple folded note said, Tano’s writing, no message was received at Mogari-nai directed to him during your absence. I have verified this by electronic record as provided by Mogari-nai.

Indeed, while he’d been sitting talking with Banichi and Jago last night, others of his staff had been querying the Mogari-nai earth station via levels of the Bu-javid staff that could obtain valid and reliable answers.

So Jase’s ship hadn’t informed him of something that personal and urgent. The question was whythey hadn’t informed Jase; and whythey’d told Yolanda without telling her Jase didn’t know and consequently let her blurt out a piece of news like that. It was stupid, to have set up two agents in the field to be in that situation, and stupidity did not accord with other actions the ship had taken.

Nor did Manasi nor any member of the staff receive any request from nand’ Jase to call the ship, although this would not have been granted. He wished to speak to you personally and this request was denied. Nand’ Jase expressed extreme emotion at this denial and requested no call be made to you on his behalf. Nand’ Manasi expresses his distress at the situation, but he passed the tape of the Mospheira contact to the aiji’s staff with no knowledge it was out of the ordinary and the aiji’s staff has issued no report as yet on the content of that tape. Investigation is proceeding on the matter of timely report.

Meaning the aiji’s staff, probably busy Mospheira-watching on other topics, had the tape of the phone call but hadn’t interpreted it against the background of what else was going on, meaning matters in the peninsula, with which it might have been preoccupied. Manasi, watching Jase, hadn’t known what was going on. Jase had given Manasi a request against his orders and then told Manasi to let the matter drop.

Jase also had that tendency to assume a rule could be neither questioned nor broken, a trait that came of the ship-culture Jase had come from, Bren very much suspected, one of those little points of difference between the ship and Mospheira. He and Jase almostshared a language, and met towering problems centered in wrong assumptions. On one level this had all the irrational feel of one of those.

But the misunderstanding wasn’t trivial, this time.

And it still didn’t answer the question why Jase hadn’t been informed by the ship via Mogari-nai. And it didn’t answer the possibility the aiji’s staff had realized something was wrong and hadn’t informed him. He wasn’t sure Manasi had erred; he wasn’t sure, either, that the staff had held anything back from him, but his instincts for trouble were awake.