Defiance, page 26
Lights in the sky?
Pyrotechnics from heaven?
The Guild did not frighten. The Guild would demand to know the secrets of such power. And God knew what additional knowledge it would bring down.
There had to be another way. The dowager’s plan revolved around rumor, about revealing the presence and threat of the Shadow Guild to all the public, all at once. Communicate with the entire Ashidama populace at once. Set them against the Shadow Guild. Suddenly, unexpectedly . . .
Out of a plethora of tech that atevi did not use in their disputes—
There was one sitting in the meadow.
There was an answer rooted in human history, deep, deep in the era of little planes . . .
• • •
“Paper,” he asked his aishid. “How much paper do we have?” And a questioning look passed around the assembled group: his aishid, Lord Reijiri, Lord Tatiseigi, and Betan-nadi—the latter somewhat uneasy at sharing the table with three lords of the aishidi’tat and a Guild unit.
Betan sent staff to find out. The lad brought back a box of vellum and a writing-set. It was—perhaps a hundred, two hundred little sheets such as one used in messaging.
“There is more at Najida,” Bren said. He had no idea how much: staff doled it out in tasteful little containers. “There will be more with the train and the Guild camp.”
“We have paper in the kitchen, nandi,” Betan said, “that we use for wrapping. It is in rolls.”
“It can be cut,” Bren said, heartened entirely. “Tell me, Betan, is there a printer?” It was a human word, massaged into Ragi, one of those unlicensed imports. “A machine that writes.”
“The messenger machine,” Betan said. “It writes. And it has paper.”
The whole company—Tatiseigi walking more slowly, with a cane—migrated down the hall to a room they had not seen. Massive tables, likely as old as Kajiminda itself, supported a bank of electronics that would send shivers into the regulators of such things on Mospheira . . . things of far more potential, one feared, than Geigi’s communicators—equivalent, it might be, to the lander that had thundered down from the heavens at the edge of the Dojisigin, a massive thing that had set itself up to create a network the Shadow Guild could not penetrate.
They had had this—all the while.
His heartbeat had doubled. The possibilities in this place—the potential, the contravention of laws and treaties—including the possibility that, in some minuscule nook of what he saw here, some piece of electronics too small to notice—the entire human archive might be here. Geigi should not have done this. Geigi had to have shipped it down in pieces, instructed Edi staff how to connect it—
When?
Not recently. Not that recently. But there was more than Cobo spaceport in terms of getting things from orbit. The way the lander had come down. And as a last resort, the petal sails.
Could such equipment survive the landing? Likely. People had.
And there had been a time . . . a critical time . . . when, during the absence of the dowager, the heir—and himself—Tabini had been overthrown, Murini of Kadagidi clan had assumed the aijinate and tried to rule.
And Geigi, from orbit, watching the whole aishidi’tat and all the agreements with humans about to go up in flames—had contemplated seizing the aijinate himself, ruling from the heavens, by whatever force was necessary to put Murini down. Geigi had had no inclination to do that. Geigi had no desire to deal with war, or government, or any such thing: he had the knowledge of the universe at his fingertips, he had human engineering laid out for him in its highest development, he was an artistic man, a scholar, and curious about everything, while wanting to skip on to the next thing and the next and the next. Dealing with the day-to-day governance of the aishidi’tat was far from the life he wanted. But he had been preparing to take the aijinate and wield it, with whatever force it required, as long as it required.
And was this the nerve center of the effort it would have taken—manned by Edi folk, protected by God-knew-what? Those with him, those who had never stood on the space station—looked about them in unconcealed awe. Even Tatiseigi allowed himself that.
“Is it safe to use these things, nadi?” he asked Betan.
“Lord Geigi manages this room,” Betan said. “We use this machine.” Betan indicated the keyboard in the section at the end. “We push this button.” He indicated it. “We speak to him. We wait—sometimes a long wait—and he answers. Sometimes this machine—” He indicated the printer—Mospheiran in origin. The station rarely used paper. “—answers. Sometimes with drawings. Sometimes with words.”
Few of the Edi on Najida read or wrote. Ramaso did, with ease and competency. Najida’s cook did. The rest—he had offered the village schooling, but what he offered had necessarily been Ragi, and they had not wanted that, no.
“In your language?” As far as he knew, in what was ever found on Mospheira, there was no written Edi language and no indication one ever existed.
“Human symbols,” Betan said, opened a drawer and drew out a printed message.
Human letters for Edi words. Simple, phonetic symbols, not the history-laden complexity of Ragi.
Forbidden technology, printers. The human alphabet opened the language, the computer language opened everything to do with human tech, every window, every gateway. Mospheira’s once-absolute seal on the knowledge of the archive, preventing anything reaching the continent by accident . . . was breached.
A wealth of prohibited tech was in this room, and wherever else the Edi had found it useful. Reijiri was at his shoulder, looking at the note, at script that was, to the continent, known somewhat now, but never proliferated, rejected, as not kabiu. Not harmonious, not desirable.
“Geigi’s name,” Bren said, indicating the string of letters, for Reijiri’s benefit—who would not need that many clues for what he saw. And Reijiri took that in before letting his gaze shift, taking in the wonders around him, his eyes alight with interest.
Reijiri was no stranger to computers or their printing. The Messengers’ Guild had fought it, then fought to manage the whole computer field, which the Engineers and the ’counters argued was properly theirs. Then the Merchants had gotten into the fray. It was still in litigation.
Here—all that was entirely moot.
“Lord Geigi’s paper,” Betan said, and opened a cabinet.
Which made all other sources irrelevant.
“What we need to do,” Bren said, “is get rumor started. Warn the Ashidama residents of what has invaded their midst.” He took a deep breath and launched into the explanation which, even to himself, seemed more than a little crazy. “Granted that this machine can print anything shown to it, we can print all this paper with that warning, in Ragi, and then . . . what has to be done, Jiri-ji, is to distribute it. We need to fly over the townships and over Jorida itself—none of them safe from rifle fire—and let them go, where the wind will carry them—with our message, for anyone to pick up in the streets.”
Reijiri looked at him—understanding, clearly, thoughts flickering through his eyes, all the way to enthusiasm. “I can do it.”
“Can you do it safely?”
“I need an accurate map.”
Maps of the north were abundant. Of the south, and the Marid—far less so. And not assured to fill that requirement.
Except—
“Geigi,” Bren said. “Lord Geigi will have that. This printer can render it. What more?”
“A map. Weather, if he can say. The weight of the paper—perhaps not all that is here will be necessary. The weight of the fuel. Ideally—someone to deal with the paper. That person’s weight. Whether to do it in one flight or several. It all has to be figured.”
“How much weight of fuel?”
“That depends on the map.”
“I am,” Bren said, “the lightest person besides the children.”
“Nand’ Bren,” Banichi said from behind his shoulder. “No.”
Formal no.
“I weigh far less,” Bren said.
“I also,” Lord Tatiseigi said. “Is our mission to rain an account of the Shadow Guild onto these places? And to alert all this region? It seems worth it.”
The old man was walking with a cane, not his usual habit, was wind-burned, and it had been a serious question whether he had to be carried from the plane on arrival.
But would he do it? One had absolutely no doubt Tatiseigi would do it.
“No, nandi,” Bren said. “I am replaceable. The keystone of the Padi Valley is not, especially with nand’ Reijiri already and necessarily at risk. If it has to be done—and we have yet to make the calculation—I will go.”
His aishid was not happy. Not in the least. He could not say he was particularly thrilled with that reality . . . but there was not a one of them who weighed less.
“We do not know the numbers yet,” Reijiri said. Which usually meant felicity or infelicity, in the language of the ’counters, but for Reijiri it meant distances and weight and fuel.
It fairly well still meant that, Bren thought, but did not say. There was still, unsuperstitious as present company was, that sensitivity that employed the ’counters in complicated situations. One was glad not to have to deal with that here.
But one did not live years on the mainland without beginning to add and divide things into fortunate and unfortunate.
He truly was not in command of the numbers on this one. The calculation was Reijiri’s.
He had to explain it to Geigi.
And to Tabini.
After he had gotten Ilisidi’s agreement.
• • •
“Aiji-ma,” Bren said. “I have a plan. A means.”
Ilisidi listened, chin on fist. Cenedi, Nawari, and Casimi ranged themselves behind her.
She listened. And in the silence after the explanation, she frowned.
“And you propose to fly with him.”
“Because of my weight, aiji-ma. The plane can only carry so much. And I am the lightest.”
“Well,” she said. “You are to take care. You and the lord of Dur. Let us not have a disaster. You will not fall out of the plane.”
“I will not. I will observe all caution.”
The frown deepened. “Prudence. Prudence, nand’ paidhi. Have you explained this to my grandson? Or consulted Lord Geigi?”
“I have that yet to do, aiji-ma.”
“Pish. Do not worry my grandson. It will work or it will not. Geigi is a necessity.”
“Aiji-ma. I have to call your grandson.”
“You do not.”
“And yet your great-grandson, uninformed, has already found his way into this.”
Yet a deeper frown. Ilisidi waved her hand, cutting off that line of argument.
“Telling,” she said dryly. “Let us not have that. Argue with my grandson. I yield you the pleasure.”
“Aiji-ma.” He rose. Bowed. Made his retreat to the hall, where Tano and Algini waited. Banichi and Jago were out in the meadow with Reijiri, taking a survey of the plane.
“She agrees,” he said. “She does not think us insane. People used to do this. Humans. In planes of that design.”
His aishid was not pleased with the arrangement, but there was no arguing with the math of it all.
“Now we get the materials from Lord Geigi,” he said, “hoping that the station has not entered utter crisis. And that he can give us what we need.”
• • •
His own suite afforded most privacy, and Narani and Jeladi stationed themselves at the door while Tano and Algini went with Bindanda into the remote recesses of the suite to talk . . . Bindanda himself being plainclothes Guild, in addition to his notable skills in the kitchen.
Bren drew the new com unit from his pocket and settled into a well-stuffed chair—oversized: his feet did not reach the floor, but his back reached the cushions, and one elbow found rest on a small pillow.
He activated the unit—its buttons were typical of the atevi system, and the black button was the on switch. Functions presented no great puzzle when the small screen lit with a set of familiar codes and a cursor.
He moved the white toggle to his choice, clicked the red, and connected to, he hoped, the atevi version of Central.
He waited. And waited. Then a mechanical voice said, in Ragi, from the space station: “This is the Director’s office. If you wish to leave a message . . .”
No. No. No.
He sat upright. “This is Bren, paidhi-aiji. Notify Lord Geigi. Bren. Urgently!”
There were a series of clicks. Then:
“Please wait.”
Long breath. Geigi had been the right word. The idiot robot had gotten that much. But it was taking too long, and he found himself on his feet, pacing.
Then, at last, a rattle, and: “Bren-paidhi?”
He exhaled. Dropped back into the chair. “Nand’ Geigi.”
“So they have finally given you the com unit. I have called three times unanswered. Even by Cenedi. Are you truly in my house?”
“Yes.” The mind sorted through finally and unanswered and truly and drew conclusions . . . unhappy conclusions involving arguments surrounding him, at high levels. “Perhaps an hour ago, the dowager gave a com to me. I do not know whether it is Cenedi’s, or—”
“It is yours. It was always supposed to be yours, in Senjin.”
“My aishid had it while we were there. Cenedi took it back before we left. One understood they were limited in number and we assumed they were needed for Guild coms.”
“So we perceived. I spoke to Tabini-aiji following yesterday’s call. I gave him your message. His expectation was that you had the secure unit, yet his calls were not reaching you. Your silence was most disturbing.”
Damn it.—Damn it!
“Tabini-aiji again ordered its return to you after your call to me. So he said. Yesterday, when I realized you did not have it.”
Geigi, even-tempered Geigi, had not been pleased.
He was not pleased. Ilisidi had prevented him reporting for days aboard the train and had played devilishly fast and loose with his relationship with Tabini-aiji. God, he hoped Tabini understood. He was not unreasonable. Had Cenedi needed those units for Guild coordination with the camp, he would not have objected. Had the aiji-dowager felt the need to keep certain information from her grandson for a time . . . just tell him that! At least tell Tabini the silence was not his choice.
But nothing could be gained by dwelling on the matter now.
“The situation,” he said, “seems to have been resolved, now that we are here, where she wants us to be.”
A small silence. He could imagine Geigi sitting in his office, with the weight of the entire station crisis on his shoulders and now the frustrations regarding the vital communication he had tried to give the on-world operation. Geigi was ordinarily the most forgiving and easy-going of atevi, but clearly he was struggling with his temper.
“Where she wants you,” Geigi echoed him. “In Kajiminda. With Lord Reijiri’s plane in my meadow, the Red Train at Najida, and with Lord Reijiri and Lord Tatiseigi, not to mention the proposed lord of Ajuri, all installed in my house, within reach of honorless enemies. Does she in the least acknowledge how vulnerable you all are?”
“One believes she expects you to defend us.”
“My answer remains unchanged. She entirely misjudges my willingness to intervene, and you may feel free to tell her that. See if that gets her to withdraw.”
Unchanged. Confirmation: she had asked. Bren drew a deep breath. “One doubts it will. However, one also believes we have a plan that could tip the scales entirely to our favor, with minimal risk on our part.”
“Should I have the details?”
“You have enough on your shoulders, nandi-ji, but if you can send us a high resolution image of Ashidama Bay and a weather forecast for the next few days, we would be most appreciative. Rest assured we will not see the Edi harmed or damage to this house—not a hostile foot set on its land. Leave this to us and simply assign staff to monitor any intrusion out of Separti. Given warning—we can deal with it.” One was not that entirely confident. He might owe Geigi a personal apology. But Geigi had the entire space operation on his shoulders and could not afford a crisis under his feet, so to speak.
“You are sure.”
“Yes.” It was worth a lie, in the dowager’s name. At least he could claim he was doing all he could do to handle the problem. If Geigi believed he was better off knowing, he would press.
The pause became extended, then: “The household has means to monitor intrusions. The same as what we can do from here. I shall send instructions for staff to keep watch. Only you need know where that is coming from.”
Meaning, he did not want Ilisidi knowing the extent of his operations. He thought of his own aishid, and Reijiri and Tatiseigi in that hub, and hoped to God he could warn the others before Cenedi got his hands on those terminals. Cenedi might demand things from Geigi. It was also foreseeable, however, that Geigi, from his place in the heavens, could affect every system in the house, enforcing his own demands—Geigi had a temper, good-natured though he was.
“I shall have it clear—they need my cooperation. I assure you, Geigi-ji, it will have boundaries.”
Then, and to his relief, with an audible sigh on the far end, Geigi let the subject drop.
“Staff informs me the dowager is now fully recovered and in charge. I have assigned her my own suite. I hope your own comfort is adequate.”
“Excellent. And your staff has answered every need. Apologies, nandi-ji, profound apologies for the lack of a call this morning, as soon as I received the communicator.”
“Do not be so formal. I might have contacted you through staff, Bren-ji, were the case dire. I had reports from them stacked up in my queue, while you were relatively busy last night. How are the lord of Dur and Lord Tatiseigi? How is Dur’s little plane, for that matter?”
“Well. All well, though the flight was hard on Lord Tatiseigi, and the plane was coughing as it came in. One assumes merely a matter of fuel.”
“One trusts he will rest until his aishid arrives, then take the train back to Tirnamardi.—Late last night you acquired Nomari-nadi. I assume this was unplanned.”
