Destroyer

“We understand, nandi,” Tano said—security staff, Tano and Algini, not domestic, but head of domestic staff was the post Tano and Algini had devotedly held down for two years, and would hold until Narani came to take those duties. “Your staff in Shejidan, the last we knew, had held your household safe, and your office staff withdrew to the west, to Lord Geigi’s province, where they have most of the critical records. No one had troubled them there, as best we know, nandi, though we have heard nothing for considerable time.”

A vast relief, to hope for the safety of people whose lives might have been at risk in Shejidan… damn the records, though he would have been sorry to lose the work. “One is grateful. One is exceedingly grateful, nadiin-ji. Are their households safe? And are yours?”

“Again, nandi,” Algini said, “the last we heard indicated no reprisals. One hopes they have called their nearest kin to join them among the Edi.”

Hundreds who depended on him were all put at risk because he himself was a logical target in the coup, along with all his holdings and offices; and their families were potentially at risk. The majority of them, at least, had not realigned in the crisis—rather choosing to relocate, with all the hardship that meant, to safe territory. What did one say for such people, beyond extreme gratitude?

“Well, nadiin-ji, we must take account of our resources,” he said, and saw the intensity of every face, every hushed, expectant face, hoping for a plan.

“There is a shuttle,” Algini said.

“So I have heard,” he said. He counted it as their most important resource, the ability to get down to the planet. There was nothing to protect them on the way—and all of them knew it. “And I have no doubt I must go down there. Do you, nadiin-ji, believe the station? Is the aiji alive?”

“One has that earnest hope, nandi,” Tano said, “but we have seen no evidence and had no report beyond the initial days. Mogari-nai is down. Nothing gets up from the planet.”

“We shall see what we can do about that,” he said. He shrugged on the coat Algini handed him, let Tano adjust the collar and straighten his queue.

“Banichi,” he said. “Jago.”

No question they would attend him to the meeting, little question they would gather as much from Lord Geigi’s security as he did from Lord Geigi, things of a more specific, technical nature, with times and dates, things he would wager Tano and Algini and the rest of the staff, for that matter, already knew… but it saved briefing-time. He had the uncomfortable notion his time here was going to be very short.

A young woman—Adaro was her name: he had by no means forgotten—opened the door for him and bowed as he left. Banichi and Jago stayed in close attendance, down what was not an ordinary station corridor, but a section that might have been, give or take paneling instead of stone, the foyer of some great house on the mainland. In this corridor, various staffs shared duty, and kept order, and maintained—his heart was glad to note it—flowers of suitable number and color, so soothing to atevi senses, soothing to his own, after so many years of living in his green retreat. Safety, those flowers said, and Peace, and Refuge, speaking as clearly as the carpets on the floor and the hangings and the tables—three in number—fortunate three—which stood each beside a door of the trinity of established great households: his, the dowager’s, and lord Geigi’s.

Home, it said to him in every detail. Troubled it might be, by war and upheaval: it was not the black deep, it was not the cold nowhere. It had a geography, it had a map, and he knew them as he instinctively knew the basic geometry of every atevi dwelling, and as he intimately knew the people he dealt with across the station.

He had every confidence, for instance, that Sabin would be getting details out of Captain Ogun, who’d presided over the beleaguered station and kept it fed and on an even political keel through this catastrophe.

He knew that Jase would be analyzing everything he got from Sabin and Ogun, with the ear of a man who’d spent years among atevi, and who understood significances that might float right past Sabin and Ogun themselves.

He was sure beyond any need to inquire that Gin Kroger was going to be calling down to the planet, to find out what she could from Tom Lund, down on Mospheira, to get the Mospheiran viewpoint in the crisis.

His mind swam in a sea of separate realities as he walked to Lord Geigi’s door, as Banichi signalled their presence. Lord Geigi’s major domo showed them in… he coasted, a little numb still, through the formalities. The majordomo ushered him to the drawing room, presented him to Lord Geigi in his own environment, and his mind was still half with Jase, and what Jase would likely ask Ogun, first off.

“Tea?” Geigi offered.

“It would be very welcome.” Atevi custom absolutely avoided rushing into bad news. The human wanted to blurt out a dozen questions, gain a rapid-fire briefing, race over the facts to get to the worst, but no, the atevi mind said settle, sit, have a cup of tea and get oneself prepared for the details laid out in meticulous order. Tabini might be deposed, possibly dead: bad as it could be, there was still hope for resurrecting the aishidi’tat, and that hope lay primarily in the persons in this small drawing room.

He took the offered teacup from Geigi’s servant, sipped the warm, sweet tea gratefully, reminded that even here, tea had surely become a luxury, and a generous offering. He sighed and settled back in the carved, tapestry-upholstered chair, cup in hands. Banichi and Jago had quietly gone aside, an expected absence. And the dowager must be arriving—he heard a faint stir in the rooms behind the shut door. His host, too, left him, personally to see Ilisidi in, he was sure.

Ilisidi did arrive, together with Cajeiri—a presence which might not have happened among humans, but it by no means surprised him that the heir was here. Cajeiri had his own reasons for being here, getting news firsthand—had his right, that was the point.

“Aijiin-ma,” he said, the plural, and rose and bowed to both arrivals in this formal setting, receiving a courtesy in return as Ilisidi settled in a fragile chair. A swing of her cane indicated a chair beside her for her great-grandson. The several of them made a triangle of chairs with Lord Geigi’s, as that stout lord took a more substantial seat.

Tea was the order, then, all around, solemnly served, solemnly accepted, a few sips drunk. Ilisidi’s countenance was unreadable; Cajeiri’s was solemn, quiet—if there had been words of comfort, they had been said in private. If there was lingering disturbance, it was evident only in the absence of light in the boy’s eyes. The young chin was set. Hard.

A full cup down. A second served.

“We shall hear it,” Ilisidi said then, and Lord Geigi lowered his cup, cradling it in his hands, and said, solemnly,

“The rebels said no word, offered no argument in advance of their move, and there was no provocation ever stated. Lady Cosadi of Talidi province had turned up in residence in the Bu-javid—” That was the center of government, the residence of every lord at court. “Accepting guests into the Tasigi residence.”

It was her right to bring in guests. It was always the most difficult challenge to Bu-javid security. The Talidi side relations were lucky to have survived the last dust-up in the aishidi’tat. They had lived and taken their place under Tabini’s tolerance.

“Cosadi,” Ilisidi said. “Is that the begi

“Yes,” Geigi said shortly. “Cosadi.”

Daughter of the late Sarini of the Marid Tasigin, of Talidi province: bad blood from the begi

“Mercy has its reward,” Ilisidi said darkly. “Guests, is it? Who was scrutinizing these people?”