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  “Damn, Jase.” He looked into the half-empty glass, as if it held an answer. Jase said he wasn’t as good at persuasion. But this was beyond persuasion. Massive changes had to be set in motion. “I hope the kids are safe going back up there.”

  “They’ll be safe. I have no question of that. All the official craziness has been behind official doors. And best we keep it that way.”

  “I hope so. I’ll get on this. I may need to fly over to the island, see if I can get a quiet meeting. Limit the number of outlets for this information, if you can. Last thing I want is Tillington’s theory of what happened debated in the legislature. One thing I will send up with you. Tabini-aiji wants those kids officially protected, by ship command. Wants them kept out of station politics. In any sense. He demands their free access to the planet, protection from political exploitation or political mention, and if that is threatened, he wants them on the atevi side of the wall up there. I have the wording. It’s that treaty clause—persons under protection of the aishidi’tat to be treated as citizens of the aishidi’tat.”

  Jase drew in a breath. “I don’t think it was ever envisioned as three kids from Reunion.”

  “The wording stands. As associates of the young gentleman, they have standing with the aiji. You don’t need to publicize the document. It’s just there if the Captains should need it. And it will be here if Tabini decides he needs to invoke it.”

  Jase nodded. “Got it.”

  “My personal seal as the aiji’s voice is no problem. I’ll have the document for you tomorrow, in case there’s any problem. I’ll get the aiji’s official seal on a more specific document to follow, shipped up to Geigi’s office by the next shuttle after yours. Keep them under lock and key, so to speak. But know they’re there.”

  Jase stared into his own barely touched glass for a moment. Then:

  “Come up there, Bren.”

  “I’m up to my ears. Negotiations are at a make-or-break point . . . things we’ve been working on all year, that have to work. Things that can make the peace last.”

  “Your help—would be invaluable.”

  “I’m out of touch. I haven’t had time—”

  “One shuttle cycle. You could make a difference.”

  “Is this from Sabin?”

  Jase shook his head. “From me. I’m asking you. None of the rest of the potential problems want a compromise. But trying to find a solution, convincing the Senior Captain to take it . . .”

  “Down here, I know the issues. Down here, I have a role. Up there—I risk becoming one more issue. I’m not a Mospheiran official anymore.”

  “You’ve been up there. You were part of it. I’m asking, Bren. Calling in a favor.”

  Favor.

  Gut-deep, he hated the ride up and down.

  He needed to call the President—Shawn Tyers was an old friend, an old ally. He could be frank and honest with Shawn, make him understand, tell him the situation . . .

  Shawn, who’d come up through the State Department, dealing with atevi—Shawn would understand it was serious. That something urgent had to be done, before atevi had to take notice of Tillington’s statements.

  But what Jase said . . . what Jase described . . . was not one problem. Was not one man. There were problems up there. There were five thousand problems, outnumbering the Mospheirans on their own half of the station.

  Five thousand problems and a situation that had gone unaddressed for the last year he’d been trying to pull the threads of the aishidi’tat together, and keep Tabini alive and the shuttles flying and the system functioning . . .

  He’d left problems aloft to the four Phoenix captains and the two stationmasters—and knew they’d had troubles.

  Geigi and he had been in close contact, and Geigi hadn’t complained—but Geigi’s priorities had been, the same as his, the survival of the aishidi’tat. Up on the station, Geigi held most of the robotics, and the construction stockpiles, controlled all but one of the shuttles that supplied the station, and kept order, presumably, on his side of the station.

  On the Mospheiran side, however, there had been a year of stress, a year of overcrowding and some shortages and a stationmaster who wasn’t bearing up under the load—a year when there’d been planning to ship the Reunioners out to another construction, as yet only blueprints, even for the transport to get them there.

  Nobody had committed money to the plan. Nobody had laid supplies on the table. A full year, now, and nothing had advanced except more blueprints, and Reunioners themselves were divided, some wanting to stay, some wanting to go. Braddock had inserted himself into the argument and pushed to go start the building, with himself in charge.

  That had stalled things. Nobody outside the Reunioners wanted Braddock in charge. Most of the Reunioners didn’t want Braddock in charge, but there weren’t any others stepping forward.

  Go up there?

  Talk to people?

  Get Tillington and Braddock out of the picture?

  He was tired. He was exhausted. He had the tag ends of the year’s work lying on his foyer table back in the Bujavid, things that enabled the solution to the aishidi’tat’s problems. He’d taken a couple of weeks off to handle four kids and a birthday party.

  “All right,” he said to Jase. “All right. I’ll come. I’ll get started on the Tillington matter as soon as I get to Shejidan. And when I do get up there, I’m not coming in on Sabin’s side, understand. I’m far more help that way.”

  “Understood. I know how you work.”

  “But I’ll get there. Soon as I can get the decks cleared down here. A few weeks.”

  “You take care of yourself doing it. No more taking on the Guild bare-handed. None of that sort of thing.”

  “No more,” Bren agreed fervently. Stitches notwithstanding, the back of his head still gave a phantom ache when he thought about it, and his valets feared he would have a lasting scar. “I’m confining my near-term activities to the legislature. Paper cuts will be my only hazard. And committee meetings. Not my favorite thing, but they’ll be the limit of my travels for the next few weeks.”

  “Definite, however, that you’re coming?”

  “I’ll be there. Don’t break the news yet. But tell Sabin I’ll get Tillington out of there, one way or the other. And in that matter—do me a personal favor, will you?”

  “Sure.”

  “Pay a visit to Lord Geigi for me, would you, among first priorities? Tell him I didn’t have time to get over to his estate, this trip, but I do have his staff reports. I could computerize them. Or you could hand-deliver them. And polish the contact. Just in case other routes get political.”

  “No problem with that. I happen to like Geigi—I know, I know, not a word to use. But I like the man. He’s good company. I like his cook, too.”

  “You’ve gotten a taste for the food, have you?”

  “Kaplan and Polano even like the eggs. We don’t get enough flavors in our diet. Nicely balanced, all the right vitamins. But, God, send us up some pepper sauce.”

  Bren laughed. “I can manage that tonight. Personal stock. If we expand the shuttle fleet—we can consider exporting some. Tell Geigi, too, that the Edi manor now has walls. They’re racing to finish the roof before the autumn rains. Same here at Najida.” The servant, long statue-still, offered another round of spice cakes. “Thank you, nadi-ji,” Bren said, declining. “One has had sufficient of the teacakes.”

  “Indeed,” Jase said in Ragi, likewise declining. “One more glass, however.” And in ship-speak. “I’m not constrained to be responsible tonight. My head’s stuffed with agendas I don’t want to sleep with.”

  “The same,” Bren asked the servant, to match his guest. “Thank you, nadi-ji.”

  The servant poured, one and the other.

  Jase gazed at him, and lifted the refilled glass. “To fixing this.”

/>   3

  The bus was coming. Standing in the foyer, with staff and baggage all about them, Cajeiri could hear the tires rumbling down the gravel road, and all too soon he could hear the bus turning onto the cobbles of the portico.

  There was no way to stop it and no way to gain another hour at Najida. Nand’ Bren and Jase-aiji and their bodyguards were saying their good-byes to the major domo, Ramaso; and the house staff who had come to see the guests off had now started to move their baggage out into the dark, at the edge of the cobbled drive. That included, with both the big house doors now open, Boji’s rolling cage. That cage, ancient brass bars and filigree, made an enormous racket on the stone, which set Boji to jumping about and screaming. A truck would be coming behind the bus to take the big items, like the wardrobe crates, and Boji. And his valets were going to ride the truck and the baggage car both to keep Boji calm.

  Cajeiri had no personal luggage to carry. House staff did that, and would not let his bodyguard or his guests carry luggage, either. The bus, the very same red and black bus that had served them up north in Tirnamardi, at Great-uncle’s estate, entered the drive and pulled up under the lights—a beautiful huge bus, red and black, his father’s clan colors, though it belonged to nand’ Bren; and they had patched the bullet holes before they had shipped it to Najida.

  He was usually very glad to see it.

  But not this morning. He wished he and his guests could run away to the hills, or out to the forest, or most anywhere they could gain another day down here. But that was not the way things were going to be. The baggage truck pulled up under the portico light, right behind the huge bus, and the servants rolled Boji’s cage out to it as the lift-gate lowered with a racket of its own. One attempted conversation with one’s guests. One tried to keep conversation light and happy.

  Meanwhile servants loaded Boji and his cage onto the lift-gate and got him aboard. Their big clothing crates trundled out on their carts. Behind those, nearer the door, smaller bags piled up. Most of that size belonged to their guests, and staff would stow those in the luggage compartment under the bus.

  Their belongings went aboard far too fast.

  Then it was their turn.

  “Thank you very much, nadi,” Cajeiri said, correctly bowing a good-bye to Ramaso as they filed toward the bus. “Thank you for taking care of my guests.”

  Gene and Irene and Artur likewise made little bows, and thanked Ramaso, as they should.

  Then while nand’ Bren and Jase-aiji waited, they boarded the bus, Irene and Artur being helped a little up the tall steps.

  He and his guests and his own bodyguard had the whole back of the bus to themselves, and nand’ Bren’s two valets followed them back a moment later, immediately asking whether they wanted cold drinks or hot tea this morning.

  Nand’ Bren had said there was going to be breakfast on the train. Cajeiri was not sure he could eat breakfast, and he had no desire for hot tea at the moment. They had all stayed up late, since no one had come to ask them to go to bed, and it had been their last night together. So late into the night they had laid all their plans and made all their arrangements to get together again. And his stomach was upset now.

  He wished that Gene, hindmost in boarding the bus, and who had the most initiative of all his friends, had just bolted for the open land, dashed off across the fields and lost himself in the woods for a few days. In his wildest imagination he told himself if Gene just decided he was not going, then they might all miss the shuttle and have to stay and find him.

  Or if Artur and Irene absolutely had to go back to their parents and only Gene ran and missed the shuttle, the staff would just have to send Gene to Shejidan once he turned up. And maybe Gene’s mother would just say it was all right and Gene could just stay for a while. Gene said his mother never cared what he did, and anything he did was all right.

  Gene could survive in the woods until he was found—Gene knew how to dodge searches.

  But even before they had landed on the planet, Artur had said, Jase-aiji had warned them all that he and his bodyguards had the means to track them, and that if they broke one little rule or got into trouble—he would have to report it officially.

  So if Gene ran now—they might never get permission to come down again.

  It was a little mean, to tell them they could not make a move without the ship tracking them.

  But he understood. His own situation had begun to be exactly like that. He knew his aishid would have to find him. He knew their lives could be at risk if he misbehaved.

  So the notion of any one of them running now was just an empty dream. His guests all had to go back to the station when they promised, to prove they could, and would.

  And once they got home, they had to tell the right story to everyone who asked, assuring them that everything on Earth was perfectly safe, and never admitting there had been a danger of any sort.

  So they all settled, obedient and quiet on the bus; and Cajeiri’s bodyguard sat in the seats across the aisle.

  They waited, with no choice now, no wild escape possible. They had been lucky once: they had had one extension of their visit, which was probably because of technical stuff with the shuttle, though grown-ups could claim it was a favor to them.

  He hoped he was going to get his guests back, next year at least, because they had done well.

  Let them come every year until they were all just about grown—Irene being the oldest. He and his guests would behave so well, and they would not do anything against the rules next year, or the one after that—

  But when it was the right year, if Irene could just wait until they all were of age, they could all just refuse to go back. And if he supported them in their request to stay, they could win. Three humans would never be welcome living in the Bujavid: there was too much jealousy over those apartments. But they could very easily live here at Najida. Najida had hosted nand’ Bren’s brother when he was here; and he was sure nand’ Bren would agree if he asked.

  They might do that—when they were grown.

  It seemed a very long time of behaving.

  But his guests were a favor that he could always lose, to politics, or to his father’s displeasure.

  When you get back to the world, Great-grandmother had told him, just last year, when you are back among atevi, among people who act properly, you will find atevi feelings in yourself, and you will have a much surer compass than you do right now.

  That meant a needle would swing to the world’s north, no matter how one tried to turn it somewhere else. That was what mani had meant when she said that.

  And sometimes his feelings really were like that: he did feel an attraction. He felt it toward mani, of course, and toward his parents. But he did not think mani had ever expected he would have such a strong swing of that compass toward three humans, who, as mani had explained it, had compasses of their own, which might eventually swing to a very different place.

  Mani had said his internal compass would get stronger and surer as he grew.

  Well, it had done that.

  It had done it, even during this visit of his three guests. He had gotten far more determined about his own future, and he had thought matters through. He had no question at all that his internal compass swung to his father, and to mani, and to nand’ Bren and even to Great-uncle Tatiseigi, who had really surprised him; but there was no question either that Gene and Irene and Artur had a very necessary place in that arrangement, and he was not going to lose them.

  Humans can change loyalty, nand’ Bren had told him once.

  “Will you change, nandi?” he had asked nand’ Bren right back, and nand’ Bren had looked a little distressed.

  “I could not,” nand’ Bren had said. “No. I would not.”

  He thought about that, as the bus began to roll.

  If nand’ Bren could be so absolutely certain of himself, could not these
three?

  And if it was a feeling nand’ Bren had, could not these three have it?

  Gene wanted to come back. Artur worried about his parents, and tried to find what made everybody happy—which was why Artur was so quiet, and thought so much; but at some time in the future Artur had to make himself happy, and Artur was going to find that out. He was sure Artur could be happy here, with things to investigate, like rocks, and thunderstorms—

  Irene, now—

  Irene was the one who was not going into a happy situation, back on the station.

  Irene and her mother—like Gene, Irene had no father—did not agree. He certainly understood not agreeing with parental rules, but Irene followed them only because she had to. That was what Irene said.

  Gene had gotten arrested by security and gotten a bad mark on station. He did not so much defy the rules as ignore the ones that inconvenienced him. Cajeiri understood that.

  Artur would ask permission and then try to reason his way through the rules. Artur was fairly timid-acting, but that was because Artur was thinking how to get past the problem and still not break any rules.

  But if Artur ran out of time, Artur would do what he felt he had to.

  Irene, however—he feared Irene would just explode someday. That was what he always felt, dealing with her. Irene would reach a point she would just explode. She had changed her hair before she came down, gone from dark as atevi to fair as Bren, and her frown when they asked said they were not to ask about it. She had cut up most of her station clothes with scissors the second morning in Tirnamardi, and thrown the pieces away, very upset with them, saying only that she needed room in her baggage. She had been collecting writing paper, even scraps, and he had given her whole fresh packets of it, so there was a lot of stationery in her personal luggage right now, along with two picture books he had given her, and her prettiest clothes from his birthday festivity. She was going to wear her riding clothes to go to the spaceport. Irene was very, very smart, smarter than any of them, he suspected. She was certainly the best at languages, and she was, of all of them, a little scary, possibly because Irene herself was always a little scared. What she was scared of, Cajeiri was not sure—maybe she was scared of her own questions. She was a little unlike the others. Her skin was brown. Her eyes were dark. Her frown was like a sky clouding over. And she was so scared of flying she got sick and probably would again.