Inheritor

Hell of a homecoming, in short. A household in disarray. If he started worrying about it—and about security lapses, information gaps—well, that wouldn’t persist.

Banichi and Jago hadn’t been here. Good as Tano and Algini were, they weren’t asgood, and problems had crept in. People hadn’t told them things they should have known.

Banichi and Jago were on it. Things would getright.

Meanwhile there wasn’t anything more he could do than he’d done, there wasn’t any more he could learn about Jase’s situation than he’d learned, nothing more he could feel than he’d felt, and at this point, if Jase had settled on dealing with it alone, he could just retreat to a distance and be sure Jase was really all right, that was all.

Chasing down the other problems that might impinge on Jase’s situation was Banichi’s business. The files—

—were his.

So he settled into the sitting room, asked the servants to have one of the junior security staff bring his computer and his notes to him, and spread out his traveling office for the first uninterrupted work he’d gotten done since the plane flight.

The simple, mind-massaging routine of translation had its pleasures. There were days on which he likedpushing the keys on the computer as long as it produced known, predictable results.

A servant came in to ask what sort of supper he’d wish. He asked them to consult Jase about what hewanted and to go by that if Jase wanted anything formal, but by his preference he wanted a very light supper: he’d been on the banquet circuit, and he’d gone back to a sedentary life in which he preferred a lighter diet, thank you. Jase, he was relatively sure, was not in a mood for a heavy meal.

To his mild surprise Jase came to the door and said the staff was asking about supper and what would heprefer. He really hadn’t expected Jase to surface at all; but Jase came voluntarily to him, being sociable, and seemed to be holding onto things fairly well, considering.

“I’ll join you, if you like,” Bren said.

“That would be fine,” Jase said, “nadi. Shall I arrange it with the staff?”

“Do, please, nadi-ji.” He had a lap full of carefully arranged computer and notes. He considered a how are you? and settled on “Thank you.”

“I’ll do that,” Jase said, and went away to the depths of the apartment where one could ordinarily find the staff.

So it was a supper with him and Jase alone, the security staff otherwise occupied. Jase was somber, but in better spirits, even offering a little shaky, unfeigned laughter in recounting things that had gone on during his absence, chiefly the matter of a security alert when the lily workmen’s scaffold had jammed and they’d had to get the Bu-javid fire rescue service to get the workmen back to the roof.

“We couldn’t get the security expansion panel down,” madam Saidin added to the account, herself serving the main dish, “because Guild security wouldn’t permit that. So there they were: the workmen had two of the porcelains with them on the scaffold, so they wouldn’t risk those. And the artist came down to the garden below and began shouting at them that they shouldn’t put the lilies in a bucket, which was what the firemen proposed—”

“God.”

“The hill is tilted there,” Jase ventured. He meant the hill was steep: but he was close to the meaning. “And the ladder wouldn’t go there.”

“They ended up letting firemen down on ropes to take the porcelains,” madam Saidin said, “so they could get the porcelains to safety. But meanwhile the artist was locked out of the building and stranded herself on the hill in the garden—she is an elderly lady—and shehad to be rescued, which took more permissions to bring someone throughthe doors below from the outside.”

“Bu-javid security,” Jase said, “was not happy.”

Bren could laugh at that—it was not, he was certain, a story which had amused lord Tatiseigi, whose sense of humor was likely wearing thin; but if an Atageini such as madam Saidin could laugh, then they all could, and he could imagine Damiri involved—from her balcony next door, if security had let her past the door.

But Jase seemed worn and tired, and declared at the end of the meal that he had rather spend his evening studying and turn in early.

“Are you all right?” Bren asked in Mosphei’.

“Fine,” Jase said. “But I didn’t sleep much last night.”

“Or the nights before, I’d imagine.”

“Nor the nights before,” Jase agreed. “But I will tonight.”

“Good,” he said. “Good. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to wake me.”

“I’ll be fine,” Jase said. “Good night.”

They’d occasionally talked in the evenings, but mostly it was lessons. Sometimes they watched television, for the news, or maybe a machimi play, which was a good language lesson. He’d expected, with supper, to need to keep Jase busy, and had asked after the television schedule, which did have a play worth watching this evening.

But there was no shortage of work for either of them, and without work there was worry: Bren understood that much very well. If Jase felt better sitting in the library and chasing references and doing a little translation, he could understand that.

Himself, he went back to the sitting room, deciding that he would deal with the correspondence, finally, now that he’d dulled his mind with a larger supper than he’d intended, and now that his brain had grown too tired to deal with new things.

Top of the correspondence list was the request from the pilots, who were trying to form a Guild. The Assassins, the Messengers, the Physicians, and the Mathematicians were Guilds. There wereno other professions, since the Astronomers were discredited nearly two hundred years ago. And now the pilots, who had heard of such a guild among humans, were applying to the legislatures for that status on the ground that atevi could not deal with humans at disadvantage—but they were meeting opposition from the Guilds and from traditionalists in the legislature who thought they weren’t professional. The pilots, who had never enjoyed Guild status, were incensed at the tone of the reply.

On the other side, the legislature wanted justification for the sacrosanctity and autonomy that a Guild enjoyed, when they did nothing that regarded confidentiality, which was the essence of a Guild.

That was one problem. Tossing into it Banichi’s information, there were interface problems with other Guilds, and the question of how such a Guild would relate to, say, the Messengers—who argued at length that the pilots in question might fit within theirGuild structure since they traveled and carried messages.

Like hell, was the succinct version of the pilots’ opinion, as it came to his ears.

To add to the mix, a fact which he knew and others might not, there was serious talk this winter of the Astronomers attempting to regain their position as a Guild, but as Tabini put it, their Guild status had originally been based on their predictive ability, and getting into thatnow-antiquated forecasting function would touch off a storm of controversy among several atevi philosophies, which on one level was ludicrous, but which to believers was very serious and which, to politicians, signaled real trouble.

The pilots wanted him to write a recommendation to the aiji and to the legislature—and there was, additionally, a letter from the head of the Pilots’ Association stating that they accepted the use of computers on his recommendation that they would prove necessary (this had been a verydifficult matter) and hoping again, since he had supported the paidhi in that situation, that the paidhi would grant his support in their cause.

The fact was, he did take the Guild status seriously—for reasons he didn’t quite want to make clear to the pilots involved.

Yet.

They were, assuredly, going to enjoy a certain importance once the earth-to-orbit craft was flying; and once the coming and going became frequent; but more than that—more than that, he began to think, the computer programs the pilots right now disdained were ultimately going to be run by atevi computer programs, using atevi grasp of mathematics.