Inheritor

And in that respect he could see where it was going to go over a horizon he couldn’t see past, into mathematical constructs where a lot of atevi couldn’t follow, arcane mysteries that might totallyconfound a set of philosophies built on mathematical systems. And responsible handling of thatmight be far more important to atevi than any reason these men and women yet saw.

Aiji-ma, he wrote somberly, these pilots will in years to come work closely with the Mathematicians’ Guild and with the Astronomers in whatever capacity the Astronomers enjoy at that time. I believe in due consideration that there will be reasons to facilitate exchange of information at Guild level. I know that I, being human, only imperfectly comprehend the advantages and disadvantages of a change from professional Association to Guild, but there may be special circumstances which will place these persons in possession of sensitive information which I think your greater wisdom and atevi sensibilities alone can decide.

Let me add, however, that the term Guild as atevi apply it is not the human model; and this should be considered: it came to be among the most divisive issues of the human-against-human quarrel that sent humans down to the planet.

There was a human named Taylor once, when the ship was lost in deepest space and far from any planet. Taylor’s crew gave their lives to fuel the ship and get it to a safer harbor. The sons and daughters of the heroes, as I was taught was the case, gained privilege above all other humans, used their privilege and special knowledge ruthlessly, and attempted to hold other humans to the service of their ship, a matter of very bitter division.

He stopped writing—appalled at the drift of what he was admitting to atevi eyes, to an ateva who was working to his own people’s advantage far above any theoretical interest he held in humans—an ateva whose feelingsabout the matter he couldn’t begin to judge, no more than he could expect Tabini or even himself accurately to judge the feelings of humans dead two hundred and more years ago.

He was appalled at how far he’d forgotten the most basic rules in dealing with atevi. He security-deleted what he’d just written, wiped every possible copy, and then grew so insecure about his fate and that of the computer he wasn’t sure humans had told him the truth about a security-delete.

The room after that was quiet. There was the dark outside the windows. There was the hush in a household trying not to disturb those doing work they generally couldn’t discuss. There was the burden of knowing—and not being able to talk about things.

Never being able to talk. Or relax. Or go out of that mode of thought that continually analyzed, looked for source, looked for effect.

Looked for ulterior motive.

And he was on the verge of making stupid, stupid mistakes.

He needed a human voice, that was what. He badly needed to touch something familiar. He needed to seesomething familiar—just to know—that things he remembered were still there.

He folded up the computer, got up, walked back to the office, quietly so. Jase was still in the library, reading, but Jase didn’t look up as he shut the office door.

And dammit, no, Jase wasn’t the prop to lean on. A human born lightyears from the planet wasn’t it. A man under Jase’s level of stress wasn’t it. He didn’t need to dump all his concerns on anybody.

He just needed—he needed just to hear the voices, that was all. Just needed, occasionally, to hear the accents he knew, and the particular human voices he’d grown up with, and even—he could be quite brutally honest about it—to get mad enough at his family to want to hang up, if that was what it took to armor him for another three months of his job. He loved them. He was technically allowed to say the fatal word lovein their instance, angry and desperate as they could make him.

Maybe, he thought, thatwas the part of his soul that needed exercising. Maybe it was hearing Jase talking to his mother. Maybe it was the self-chastisement that maybe he ought to make peace with his own family, and not carry on the war they’d been fighting.

Maybe it was the definite knowledge that his mother had justification for complaints against her son. It came to him with peculiar force that he’d been blaming her for her frustration when it was the same frustration and anger the whole island of Mospheira was likely feeling with him, and showing to his mother by harassing her sleep. Hecouldn’t explain his position to her, hell, he couldn’t explain it to himself on bad days, and now she had health problems the stresses of hisjob weren’t helping at all.

Not mentioning the mess he’d put his brother and his family in.

At least he could call. At least he could make the gesture and try to plead again that he couldn’tcome back and turn over the job to Deana Hanks, which was his alternative.

Jase didn’t look up. The hall was shadowed: possibly Jase didn’t notice him at all. Or thought he was being checked on by security or one of the servants—or by him—and purposefully didn’t notice.

He went to the little personal office instead, picked up the phone and, through the Bu-javid operator, put through a call into the Mospheiran phone network, which got a special operator on the other side. Checking the time, he put through a call to his brother Toby’s house.

“ This number is no longer a valid number. Please contact the operator.”

“ I’m sorry,” the Mospheiran operator said coldly, cutting in. “ There’s a recording.”

I know there’s a damn recording! was what he wanted to say. Instead, he said, reasonably, “Call Bretano City Hospital. My mother’s a patient there.”

There wasn’t even a courtesy Yes, Mr. Cameron. The operator put the call through, got the desk, a clerk, the supervisor:

“ We have no Ms. Cameron listed as a patient.”

“ They say,” the operator said, “ they have no Ms. Cameron listed.”

He didn’twant to call the Foreign Office. He had a short list of permitted persons he couldcall as paidhi without going throughthe Foreign Office or higher. And he was down to the last ones. His mother’s home phone didn’t work during the evening hours: the phone company had blocked incoming service because of phone threats. Toby mightbe there. His mother might be. Possibly she’d come home from the hospital and Toby might have taken his entire family there because he didn’t dare leave the kids or his wife alone back at their house. Damnthe crawling cowards that made it necessary!

“All right. Get me Barbara Letterman,” he said to the operator. “She’s married to Paul Saarinson.”

“ I don’t have authorization for a Paul Saarinson’s residence.”

“You have—” He made a conscious effort to keep his language free of epithets. “—authorization for Letterman. She is the same Barb Letterman. She has a State Department clearance to talk to me. She hasn’t changed her clearance. She just got married.”

“ I can only go by the list, sir. You’ll have to contact the State Department. I can put you through to that number.”

The operator knewthat number wouldn’t find anybody able to authorize anybody at that hour. He could try Shawn Tyers at home. But he didn’t want to compromise Shawn, and he had sure knowledge that his calls were monitored at several points: in this apartment, with Tabini’s security, with Mospheiran National Security and God knew, it was possible there were leaks with this particular operator. George’sfriends were gaining increasing access through appointments to various offices, just a quiet erosion of people he usedto be able to reach.

And it did no good, no good at all to lose his temper. He wasn’t out of names, if thatold list was the one she was going by. There was one woman, one woman he’d dated in time past and who had gone on the list, before he and Barb had almost gotten to talking about a future together. Sandra Johnson was a date, for God’s sake, not a resource for a Foreign Office field officer in trouble. But she was a contact—to prove he could get someone.