Defiance, page 33
“It is.”
“I have to trust you. And the more I trust you, the more I will tell you. But the Guild should never call you away from me. And from now on, that also includes my younger aishid. Given what Father said about the succession—if you are half of my eight, you should never be called away from me.”
There was a long, uncomfortable silence.
“There are situations of great delicacy,” Rieni said. “I do not say that we would have left here without consulting your father. We have not felt empowered to advise you.”
“From now on, this cannot happen.”
“Let us also point out, however, young gentleman, that part of the staff of this apartment may not be permanent. This is a security concern. We have hesitated to be too forthcoming in a household with new, perhaps impermanent staff and man’chi that may not yet be settled. As for your younger aishid, they are . . . younger. But they are very broadly informed, and not, as you say, stupid. You have not been badly served. We will not object to informing them.”
That was possibly the most pleasing thing this aishid had ever said to him. But it was very, very hard to relax his guard with these four, which was what that compliment might hope.
“Tariko and Dimaji will be permanent,” Cajeiri said in his most businesslike way. “So you have had time. You have seen what we are. I have told you all the truth. You would be of great value, and I do not expect man’chi, being as young as I am—I would not expect it. But we have made a place for you; and I think if you had been with us, and informed me, and perhaps used permissions you have, we could have gotten Uncle down to Najida a great deal easier.”
“You intend to include us in such operations.”
He set his jaw. “We certainly would.”
There was a subtle shift of eyes, one to the other, unreadable. Then just a single line of Rieni’s face changed.
“Nandi,” Rieni said, “this current operation still being unresolved, what else do you want?”
“Information, nadi. As much information as you can get, about mani, about what she is doing, everything—without spilling anything. And fix our communications so you can get what we need to know, and what my father should know.”
There was quiet a moment. Then Rieni said: “Do you want a report?”
“On the situation with my great-grandmother, yes.”
“The aiji-dowager has ordered Midagi, in command of the camp, to advance his force to Kajiminda, leaving three units for protection of Najida, and go to Separti by way of Kajiminda’s local road, cross the bay with local transport, and deploy on Jorida waterfront. Cenedi, departing Kajiminda estate by other transportation, has taken five units southward to Ashidama Peninsula, to take the causeway to Jorida heights, coordinating with Midagi as he does so. The aiji-dowager has sealed Kajiminda, and one of Lord Geigi’s subordinates on the space station, in communication with the dowager, has now taken over all aspects of defense of the estate. Lord Geigi himself is dealing with an emergency on the space station.”
Pieces tumbled into frightening agreement. His heart beat fast. Jorida was a fortress. The bay—he knew the size of the southern bays—having experienced one of them with no skill, no oars, and a very small boat. It was not posturing, this movement of forces. War had spread out of the Marid to where mani was, and everybody he most valued was in the middle of it. The only consolation was Kajiminda being under Lord Geigi’s protection, and Lord Geigi or whoever sat at Lord Geigi’s boards could deal with any enemy who tried to attack it—while Lord Geigi was busy trying to save the space station, and people up there were being fools.
“So where are they now? What is going on?”
“Midagi’s Guild force has passed Kajiminda estate and is advancing on Separti. Cenedi, moving west on Ashidama, will take the causeway that connects Ashidama Peninsula to Jorida. Midagi will cross from Separti to take the Jorida waterfront. From both sides, units will deal with the enemy, whether in the town or in the citadel. Your great-grandmother, the paidhi-aiji, and, we assume, Lord Tatiseigi, Lord Reijiri, and the candidate for Ajuri, are all in Kajiminda, likely with Lord Tatiseigi’s aishid. Likely the five units with Cenedi are his own double unit, and that of the paidhi-aiji, with Banichi; Lord Reijiri’s aishid, and the guard assigned to the candidate for Ajuri.”
All at risk.
“Do you know the geography of the Southwest Coast, young gentleman?”
“I know it extremely well,” he said, which was true. His heart had beat with anger at the beginning of it all. Now it was acute anxiety. “Nand’ Bren has stayed with mani?” Surely he would. Nand’ Bren took chances. But Banichi would not have him involved.
“We have no specific word,” Rieni said, “regarding civilians. We assume Lord Tatiseigi’s aishid has remained at Kajiminda: they are all aged past field service. The other units would total the five we are informed Cenedi has.”
Banichi would not want nand’ Bren to go. Cenedi absolutely would not want him to go—Cenedi was all regulations when he was under mani’s orders. That was so. And if they had that many units moving the way Rieni said, it was all calculated. There would be discussion. Units would coordinate. They would offer the Shadow Guild a chance to surrender. The Shadow Guild actually might, but they would be lying. And Cenedi and Banichi certainly knew that. Sensible people were in charge down there, though he knew nothing about Midagi. It might actually finish the Shadow Guild. And that was good news, amid a lot else that upset his stomach.
“Thank you,” he said. Maybe, with as much detail as they had just told him, and the difference between what they guessed and what they knew—it was everything. He hoped so. He hoped with all else that was going on, and all the uncomfortable changes, that he and the elder aishid he had to live with were settling into a way that would work.
“Nandi,” Rieni said, with a little nod. Not coldly, not sullenly.
Rieni had told him as much as they knew. Which was not enough. But at least it was not disaster down there.
• • •
The valiant engine kept on—a balance between Reijiri’s getting them over land and into the path of the bus as soon as possible—and their fuel leak. They were not pushing the speed now, having achieved as much altitude as Reijiri deemed prudent, concerning the fuel consumption.
Reaching land to the south was the first priority; and once over land, they would go east as long as they could, along the shoreline road that the bus would use. It was all grainfields ahead, and roadway that might, theoretically, be a better emergency strip. But not having a clear view of that road was potentially disastrous, especially if at any point it was cut into a bank with little clearance for the wings.
Ultimately, they would take what they could get.
“We can glide,” Reijiri said, “even once we run out of fuel—we can glide so well I have generally found the petal sails not worth the weight. Do not be alarmed if the engine cuts out entirely, Bren-ji. We still have altitude.”
“One is very glad to know it,” Bren said. Over the side, the view was still the ink-black of the bay. Which would be a very cold bath, assuming that Reijiri could coax the plane into a sort of gentle slide to a stop in the water and not tip them end over end.
And upon that came the darker thought, that maintaining personal awareness of direction if they did end up in the water would not be a given. Swimming, but swimming on the wrong heading in the dark . . .
He did not want to think about that. He concentrated instead on trying to detect any possible view of land under them—the forward direction being only a view of the engine—but getting a very good look over the side meant releasing the safety belt, and he did not want to do that, either. Besides, getting them a good landing was Reijiri’s job, all of it. “You are clearly doing excellently well,” he said. Encouragement might at least be some comfort. “Can you see anything?”
“The back of your head,” Reijiri reminded him, a strained attempt at humor. “But I have a clear view of our compass, and south is unmistakable. Unless we have crossed the whole of Ashidama Peninsula, which I assure you is not remotely possible, there will be land ahead of us.”
Anywhere else on the continent there might be some beacon to guide them. There was absolutely nothing but seasonally tended fields on Ashidama Peninsula, so far as he knew. As for seeing their way down after they did find land—the moon was up, but in its last quarter, and if it helped Reijiri, it did not help human eyes much at all.
The plane banked a little.
“I think that might be water’s edge,” Reijiri said. “A faint, faint pale line. Do you see it?”
Bren looked over the side, eyes straining against the dark. “There might be.” He feared it was a lie.
The engine coughed. The plane leveled out and resumed its steady ninefold heartbeat. Reijiri applied no fuel-consuming rush, just held steady toward the hope of grainfields. A broad, unpopulated hump of a peninsula where they could hope to come down in some gentle fashion.
Any half-gentle fashion. Anything in which the safety belt held.
How would cultivated fields be? Give or take plowed ground, perhaps less smooth than the untilled meadow at Kajiminda.
But they had altitude. Reijiri had landed, he had said, in many a grainfield across the north.
Reijiri had regaled him with, in the course of the flight, other dicey moments, learning to fly in the northern grainfields. They had not all gone well. The left wing had undergone repair.
It was not necessarily information he wanted. But the conversation maintained a thread of connection in the dark.
Altitude, Reijiri had said. That was a good thing. Altitude gave Reijiri a lot more time to do things.
“How much fuel have we?” Bren asked, thinking of the bus, and the single strand of road that connected Jorida to everywhere else.
“It is getting very low. We are into the reserve. But we are lighter for it.”
“One appreciates your cheerfulness in our situation.”
“One appreciates your appreciation, nandi. You are an excellent companion.”
He liked Reijiri. Humanly speaking. He had liked him before, and now found reasons upon reasons to appreciate him, whatever the appreciation Reijiri had for him. “I can think of no one I had rather have sitting behind me tonight, nandi. You will get us down. You will surely get us down.”
“Getting down is a given,” Reijiri said. “One deserves no credit in that. But I shall do my—There indeed is land below us, nandi-ji! We are about to cross the edge!”
“Excellent! Excellently done, Jiri-ji!” He drew larger breaths, one after the other in the rushing wind, chilled through, and without feeling in his hands—but now with the assurance of solid ground, however they managed to meet it, and the added fact that their engine was still going. He kept quiet and listened to the beat of that engine, steady, promising safety ahead, possibly even a little chance of picking a landing spot, and even meeting the bus.
“I have no precise idea where we are coming in,” Reijiri said, “but my estimation is we are closer to Jorida than to the back of the bay and that the bus would not have gotten this far yet. How good is that road, do you think?”
“My guess is that it has had maintenance at harvest—but perhaps none at the end of it. Cenedi took that into account. One would expect they are well onto the coastal road, perhaps halfway to Jorida. Where are we?”
“I would judge, about a quarter of the way from Jorida to the back of the bay.” A pause. Then: “What would be your choice, Bren-ji? To meet the bus if we can, or to try to set down now?”
“My choice would be the bus,” he said. He was cold, he was tired, sleep had been at a premium for days, and the prospect of joining his aishid in an action called for resources he was not sure he had . . . But a long struggle to hike back to Kajiminda from a problematic landing was unthinkable—a prospect made only more problematic if one of them were injured in the landing. He had no desire to be left with the plane while Reijiri hiked back to try to find the bus, and God help Reijiri if their positions were reversed.
And if both of them were incapacitated—
“Definitely the bus.”
The plane banked gently east. “I agree. We are now indeed over land, Bren-ji, and I have no trouble distinguishing the road!”
“Excellent! This far from Jorida, the bus should be using its headlights. We should be able to spot them.” He deeply regretted not having the communicator at the moment. With it, he could call Cenedi, he could call Geigi, for that matter, and ask whether Geigi’s eyes could get them to the bus. But he could not so much as mention that communications system to Reijiri. “We might turn our own lights on when we see them. They will know who it is, with no doubt, and we might be some help to them at Jorida, if only to guard the bus.”
“I would agree. We shall simply follow the road as long as the fuel holds out . . . and do not worry, Bren. The plane does not drop out of the sky when the engine stops. We shall get down in fairly good order, right beside the road if I can find a smooth stretch that is wide enough—not to obstruct the bus.”
“Excellent,” Bren said, and allowed himself a dozen quieter breaths. They would not have to swim. They had land under them. He was not happy with the thought of the engine giving out, but Reijiri swore it was no problem . . . and given the scattered availability of fueling opportunities and the vast extent of farmland in the north of the aishidi’tat, where Reijiri had learned to fly, it did seem Reijiri might have had experience with uncertain landings, and know something about his fuel use. An excellent pilot, he swore to himself, no matter he had once sworn Reijiri was the most irresponsible young man on the planet—
They flew on, neither gaining nor losing altitude—occasionally banking a little to get a view, and truing up their course a little.
There was no view of the bus yet. No headlights, however dim, in the distance. No sign, yet, of dawn. There might be a bank of cloud in the west. There was a scarcity of stars there, when he twisted about to look.
And one began to worry. It seemed like a very long time—though they were flying conservatively, not climbing, not accelerating, not doing anything sudden.
They might be losing altitude—he thought at one point, on one of their small reorientations to have a look below.
Then as if it had done all it could, and had no more to give, the faithful, fortunate engine gave a considerable cough. And a second.
“One regrets. I am going to climb just a little. I want to give us as much vertical distance as possible. That may give us more choices about landing.”
“Yes,” Bren said, an atevi-style yes of agreement. Consent. Absolute—there being no damn choice else. His heart rate picked up. He felt the slight acceleration.
Then there was another cough. And another. They had, he was sure, achieved a little more altitude, and then had to laugh at himself. How would he know? He could barely make out the difference between land and water, when he could see below them.
He began experiencing a ridiculous series of shivers, which might legitimately be the cold—he tucked his hands in his armpits and tried to ignore his stomach upset—and might as equally be the result of sheer terror. Reijiri said it was not a problem, and he sounded calm. Confident. Veteran of many, dozens of tight situations, if his stories were to be believed. Reijiri was doing what he knew to do, and considering other chances Reijiri had taken, one was inclined to believe Reijiri could get them down.
The bus should have been in view by now. He was sure they had gone far enough, difficult as it was to judge. Either way, they were going down, and the shivers eased, the last dregs of adrenaline ebbing out. Now, of all times, when he had to summon it up—he and Reijiri would have to hike a wooded road all the way back to Kajiminda if they had somehow overshot the bus—and given that the clear view was always over the side, in the dark, they could conceivably have missed it.
Cough. Again.
“If we have gotten beyond them, we can walk back,” he said. “Tracks will tell us.”
“I am going to have to—” Reijiri began, and then whipped steeply over on the right wing and gunned it. “Gods less fortunate!”
There was black on one side, starry sky on the other and no view but the valiant engine in front. The engine coughed as the plane leveled out.
“Cliff,” Reijiri said, as the engine continued to cough. Lights under the lower wings flared on, illuminating the underside of the plane, spreading a glow on the yellow wings and struts and otherwise blinding them to the night, except the tops of brush below. The engine continued to cough. “We are about to lose the engine. I am sorry about that!”
“That would be the road back there,” Bren said, informationally. “The cliffs are the edge of the Taisigin!”
“We shall turn,” Reijiri said, and there was a forced calm in his voice as they began to do exactly that. “Did you see anything of the ground?”
More than I wanted, was the honest answer, but it was not useful information. He tried to restructure the image he had had in that one glance over the right wing. “Scattered brush. If that is the Taisigi reserve above, then it should be grainfields west and south, not that far. And an access road separating the fields.”
