Inheritor

The fact that Ilisidi, whom these lords knew well and generally believed had the education to read the data, also had the brains to read the situation in Shejidan and the experience to read the truth in the paidhi had not persuaded the diehards. It had only persuaded Ilisidi, so she’d said to him, that the lords she led were not going to follow her further if she didn’t convince them by the force of her presence. Herpolitics revolved relatively simply on the wish to retain some areas of the world untouched by industry and some aspects of atevi culture untouched by human influence.

Oddly enough she’d found the paidhi an ally in that agenda.

So the woman, Tabini’s grandmother, who’d almost been aiji of Shejidan on several occasions, must, as she’d put it to him at their parting last fall, go pour water into the ocean: meaning she wouldn’t enjoy the work of politics in Malguri. But it was, she’d said, work which needed doing, and it aimed at mending attitudes and regional prejudices which had sadly cost lives and threatened livelihoods. It was work that she could do—uniquely, could do—though he had a great personal regret for seeing Ilisidi spend her efforts on provinces when they needed her as Tabini’s unadmitted right hand on a national level.

Evenif Tabini complained of her interference.

“Tell her—” he began, completely undaunted by the statement no reply was requested. Then he changed his mind a second time. “Pen and paper, nadi, please.”

He had one of his message cylinders in his pocket. He traveled with one. He sat down at a table and wrote, in his own hand,

I am delighted by the prospect you present and would gladly scandalize your neighbors, though I fear by now they have fled the paint and the hammering. Please find the occasion in your busy schedule of admirers to receive me or, at any time you will, please do not hesitate to call upon me.

That would remove any doubt of Ilisidi’s welcome to walk into the apartment at her will, and if uncle Tatiseigi was going to pay a call on him, damn, sheknew the man, and could judge better than he could what might constitute a rescue. She might even intervene: as Tabini had said, she and he did get along, and her presence at any formal viewing might be an asset. Hecouldn’t choose the guests for an Atageini soiree, but let Tatiseigi try to keep Ilisidi from doing as she pleased—as soon try to stop a river in its course.

He had his seal, too, and the office provided the wax. He put the finished message into nand’ Dasibi’s hands, spoke his usual few words to the staff.

“Nand’ paidhi,” Banichi said, attracting his attention. “The news services.”

He had, in some measure, rather deal with Uncle.

But the mere thoughtof Ilisidi had waked up his wits in sheer self-defense, and that was, considering where he was going, all to the good.

It was down the corridor then, and into that area near the great halls of the two houses of the legislature, the commons, which was the hasdrawad, and the house of lords, which was the tashrid. Last year, for the first time on atevi television, a human face had brought into atevi homes a presence which atevi children had once feared and now wrote letters to in the thousands. Last year he’d appeared on tape. This year his press conferences went live. A room across from the tashrid was set up as an interview center—that crowd of microphones and cameras was another accoutrement of notoriety, and of life close to the place where decisions were made. Lines snaked into the little room so that one had to walk very gingerly. The place bristled with microphones surrounding the seat he would take.

He allowed all the paraphernalia he had collected, the computer (which rarely left him) and the notes and the various small items with which he had become burdened in the clerical office, into the hands of junior security, and let Banichi see him to his place and stand near him.

He settled in, blinded by the lights. He waited, hands folded on the table that supported the microphones, until the signal.

“Nand’ paidhi,” the first reporter began, and wended through the convolute honors and courtesies before the question, a circuitous approach calculated, he sometimes thought, to let the paidhi fall asleep or start wit-wandering.

The question when it finally emerged from the forest of titles, was: “Having just returned from touring the plants and facilities supporting the space program, are you confident that atevi and human construction are of equal importance and on equal footing with the ship?”

“I am very confident,” was his automatic answer. It gave him a ru

“On what account, nand’ paidhi, if you would elucidate.”

“I am encouraged by the people, nadi. I have seen the actual elements of what will become the first spacecraft to be launched from this planet. They now exist. I have met atevi workers dedicated to their work, whose care will safeguard the economic prosperity of generations of atevi.”

“What do you say, nand’ paidhi,” this came from a southern service, “to the objections regarding the cost?”

Lord Saigimi’s platform. Notan i

“The rail system on which all commerce now moves was vastly expensive to build,” he said calmly. “Look at the jobs, nadiin, look at the industry. Were we to back away from this chance to lift the people of this planet into authority over their own future, someone else would exercise that authority. By the Treaty, I look out for the peace. And I seeno peace if such an imbalance develops in the relationship that now exists between atevi and humans. That would be more than expensive, nadiin, it would be unthinkable. The program mustgive atevi the power to direct their own lives.”

“Is this within the man’chi of the paidhiin?”

“Indisputably. Indisputably. By the Treaty, it is.” The question had come from the same source. The man did not sit down. And from all his worries about changes in atevi life, he was reminded now of Saigimi’s otherqualities. The same whose associates built shoddy office buildings and who personally tried to ruin lord Geigi in order to own his vote in some very critical measures.

“Did the paidhi feel at all that his safety was threatened in the peninsula?”

That was nota permitted question, by the ground rules that governed all news conferences. He knew that Tabini was going to hit the rafters over that one, and other reporters were disturbed, but he lifted a hand in token that he would answer the direct provocation.

“The paidhi,” he said calmly, and in meticulous Ragi, “has the greatest confidence in the good will expressed to him by honest people.” The news service this reporter represented, whether by one of Deana’s little legacies or a new inspiration of Tabini’s enemies, was attempting to politicize itself—implying (because a retaliatory strike by Guild members would have to follow a line of direct involvement) that the paidhi or lord Geigi had a co