Foreigner - Explorer. Part 37

A profile, now. A mouth like a vise, a brow that lowered over large eyes to shadow them-not actually an unpleasant face, once one tried earnestly to see the symmetry of it. But Jago had warned him there were very good teeth, and he could see for himself the huge hands, a grasp which had challenged even Banichi's strength.

"We talked to your s.h.i.+p," Bren said, this time in s.h.i.+p-speak. He kept the vocabulary small and repet.i.tive and the syntax very basic. "They showed us pictures, how station took you. Your s.h.i.+p says bring you back. We say yes. We leave this station. We take all the people out of this station and go. We want peace with you and this s.h.i.+p."

Now the full face, as their guest turned to face him-a scowl, was it, or a friendly face in sullen repose? And did turning toward him and meeting his eyes express courteous attention, or defiant insult?

Ma.s.sive hand went to ma.s.sive chest. "Prakuyo."

"Prakuyo.-Bren." He made a bow: one didn't hold out an intrusive hand, not with atevi, at first meeting, and not to any foreigner, in his opinion, without knowing the other party's concept of body s.p.a.ce and invasion. On the contrary, he kept his hands to himself and dropped his eyes for a moment, primate respect, before looking up. "Do you understand, Prakuyo? We take you to your s.h.i.+p."

The jaw remained clenched.

But the eyes darted aside in alarm as a disturbance reached the open door.

A very junior disturbance, as might be, who brought up short and wide-eyed, and who for a moment distracted him, distracted their guest-not, however, Banichi, as Jago alone gave a measured look at the doorway.

One hardly needed guess Cajeiri had escaped the dowager's party.

"This is the foreigner," Cajeiri surmised.

"Young lord," Bren said, now that his pulse rate had slowed, "kindly go back to Cenedi. Immediately."

"He's as large as we are," Cajeiri said, marveling. The heir, highly overstimulated by the situation and long bored, was being a seven-year-old brat.

"Go," Jago said, just that, and the boy ducked back out of sight.

"Pardon. He's a child," Bren said calmly, as their guest continued to gaze at the vacant doorway-as if, next, fairies and unicorns could manifest. Interesting, Bren thought. Even encouraging. "This room is in our s.h.i.+p. We live here. This is not a prison."

Prakuyo, if that was his name, turned a burning look his way.

"Do you understand?" Bren asked him. "Six years on the station-I think you might have learned good morning, h.e.l.lo, goodbye good morning, h.e.l.lo, goodbye."

"d.a.m.n dumb s.h.i.+t," Prakuyo muttered, in a voice that sounded like rocks. .h.i.tting together.

Had he just heard that? d.a.m.n dumb s.h.i.+t d.a.m.n dumb s.h.i.+t.

Yes, he had heard that. So much for good morning, good afternoon and other station attempts to establish communication.

"Thank you," Bren said all the same, and made a bow. "Go you," Bren said all the same, and made a bow. "Go home home. Does that make sense?"

"Madison." It wasn't a particularly happy tone.

"Do you want want Madison?" Bren asked. That was the person who'd been in charge in that prison. He laid a hand on his own chest. "Bren, Madison?" Bren asked. That was the person who'd been in charge in that prison. He laid a hand on his own chest. "Bren, not not Madison. I don't know Madison. Madison. I don't know Madison. I I make the law here. Do you want Madison?" make the law here. Do you want Madison?"

"Madison." Prakuyo hit fist into palm, not a good indicator for Madison.

"Bren," he said, laying a hand on his chest. "Thank you." Another bow. And the paidhi-aiji, in a sense of timing that had served well enough among atevi, made a wide decision-that even a small advance in communication had to be rewarded, that body language and cooperation indicated they dared run the risk of a boy not being where he was supposed to turn up. He recklessly indicated the door and trusted his staff together could flatten their guest, if they had to. "Come, Prakuyo. Walk with me. Outside."

That upset their guest's sense of the universe. Nostrils worked hard. Need for more oxygen was a basic biological preface to high action, one could take that for a fair guess, but it could also accompany decision. Bren walked easily, cheerfully, to the door, bowed his courtly best and made a clear gesture of invitation outward-spying, in the process, a clear corridor. upset their guest's sense of the universe. Nostrils worked hard. Need for more oxygen was a basic biological preface to high action, one could take that for a fair guess, but it could also accompany decision. Bren walked easily, cheerfully, to the door, bowed his courtly best and made a clear gesture of invitation outward-spying, in the process, a clear corridor.

Their guest advanced to the door. And ventured out. Bren showed him the way down the corridor, walking with him, Banichi and Jago a little behind.

"We live in these rooms," Bren said, gesturing left and right, prattling on mostly to keep the tone easy as they walked. "My companions are atevi. I'm human. Not station-human. I live on this s.h.i.+p. What are you, Prakuyo?"

He got no answer to that attempt, not the dimmest hint of understanding. Prakuyo lumbered slowly forward, with heavy swings of his head and s.h.i.+fts of dark, large eyes, taking in every detail of a corridor Narani had done his best to render kabiu kabiu and harmonious. Certainly it had to be better to alien eyes than the sterile prison section: a little table, a few hangings... one hanging, to be sure, harmonizing the troublesome dent. and harmonious. Certainly it had to be better to alien eyes than the sterile prison section: a little table, a few hangings... one hanging, to be sure, harmonizing the troublesome dent.

"Come in," Bren said, showing their guest through the door into their dining hall.

Again, not s.h.i.+p-bland. Atevi-scale chairs sat around a large table. A tapestry runner relieved the sterile modernity of the arrangement. Wall hangings provided a sense of s.p.a.ce and harmony. A graceful vase sat in the center of the table-a moveable object, Bren noted. It held lush greenery, from Sandra Johnson's now wide-spread cuttings.

Prakuyo stood stock still.

Bren laid claim to Banichi's ordinary chair on the doorward side-his security had hammered home such points with him; Banichi and Jago stood, not inclined to sit down, but their looming over the table intimated a threat that scarcely helped.

"Do sit, nadiin-ji," Bren said quietly. Their guest picked a central chair on the opposite side and sat down... whether that was his preferred posture or not: the chairs here were at least of a scale that would bear his weight.

Prakuyo was cooperating, at least... cooperating, possibly, to learn what he could before making a break for the vase as a weapon. But they couldn't act as if they expected that. Prakuyo's momentary attention was for the vase-or the greenery, that anomaly in this steel world. His eyes showed numerous frown lines, a clue, at least, that the general lighting might be too bright.

"Jago-ji, dim the light a little."

Jago rose and did that, and Prakuyo looked up, the frown lines relaxing.

The lights might be too bright, the air pressure was probably a little lower than their guest truly liked, but the cooler temperatures seemed not to bother him. He'd had all the water he wanted, on the whole, surely that brought an improvement in his mood.

"The station was not good to you," Bren said, deliberately rattling on, to see if the vocabulary provoked a reaction-or whether their guest's comprehension went beyond single words, to syntax. "Station did bad. Were you angry with them?"

Silence.

"Or were you angry at the s.h.i.+p?" Bren asked. "Did the s.h.i.+p go somewhere they shouldn't have gone? Did they do something that offended you? Something that scared scared you?" you?"

Silence still.

"Can I ask him what his name is?" Cajeiri turned up at the door. Another skip of the heart.

"One believes you have just done so, young sir. And his name seems to be Prakuyo. But if he doesn't understand my language, I very much doubt he understands yours. Have you brought your car?"

Cajeiri brought it from behind him. Their guest looked alarmed.

"Run it end to end of the table," Bren said.

"Shall I use the remote, nandi?"

Bright lad.

"You can. Just run it very slowly down the table."

Down the sacred dining table. That was a daring enterprise. Cajeiri took the remote from his pocket, which Prakuyo watched apprehensively, and operated his car very slowly, quite circ.u.mspectly.

Bren paid all considerate attention to the toy, which made its way at a jerky pace past the antique vase of greenery and into his hands.

"Now call it back."

Cajeiri did that. Grind and whir. Wobble and correct. The car did far better with grand movements, and one so hoped the young fingers would keep the rate steady and not zip it into their guest's lap. By now Cenedi's men were in the doorway, watching this performance.

Their guest, Bren marked in his peripheral vision, had looked ready to bolt at the first manifestation of the car, and at the remote control, and now just stared as the toy zigged and zagged and trundled safely back down the table.

"And back again," Bren said. While the fate of worlds trembled in the balance, while armed security outnumbered the civilians. And while a traumatized foreigner watched a child's toy wobble down a table top.

"Does he want to try it?" Cajeiri wanted to know.

"One hopes not to offend our guest's dignity," Bren said. "But our guest should know we do other things less terrible than shoot at those who don't look like us, should he not?" He smiled. Deliberately. "Are we having fun, young lord?"

"Shall I make it go fast now?"

"Slowly," Banichi said in his low tones. "Slowly."

Surely if Cajeiri were demonstrating the car for another boy, fast fast would have been very impressive. But Cajeiri, despite one accidental spurt, dutifully concentrated on keeping the movement slow. And at that moment Bindanda excused his way past Cenedi's two men, bearing a tray with a sizeable pitcher of ice water, and fine crystal cups, and a pile of white sugar cakes that smelled of fresh icing and recent baking. would have been very impressive. But Cajeiri, despite one accidental spurt, dutifully concentrated on keeping the movement slow. And at that moment Bindanda excused his way past Cenedi's two men, bearing a tray with a sizeable pitcher of ice water, and fine crystal cups, and a pile of white sugar cakes that smelled of fresh icing and recent baking.

"Excellent," Bren said. Whirr Whirr went the car, rapidly back to Cajeiri. But the car was forgotten. Their guest's attention was on those cakes. went the car, rapidly back to Cajeiri. But the car was forgotten. Their guest's attention was on those cakes.

"Danda-ji. Thank you."

Their guest duly accepted a crystal cup of water, formally served, sipped it with restraint, accepted an atevi-sized tea cake, eyes sparkling with animation and excitement.

Dared one think that tea cakes had not not regularly been on the station's menu, for their prisoner? That for most of ten years, the fare had been s.h.i.+p-fare, bland yeasts and synth? regularly been on the station's menu, for their prisoner? That for most of ten years, the fare had been s.h.i.+p-fare, bland yeasts and synth?

Cajeiri wanted his tea cake, too, but waited, hushed, toy car tucked out of the way, waiting his turn as Bindanda served all round, served Banichi and Jago as well, and deftly replenished Prakuyo's cup with ice water.

"A welcome to our guest," Bren said then, lifting his cup in salute. "Welcome, Prakuyo-nadi."

"Welcome," Cajeiri said in great enthusiasm, and likewise lifted his cup.

Could such an immensely strong hand tremble? It did, and spilled water over the rim of the cup. Prakuyo drained another icewater, crunched the ice in, yes, very healthy grinding teeth behind those incisors-definitely an omnivore-and followed it with the cake. Bindanda poured yet another water, and with a re-offer of the plate, indicated Prakuyo should take more tea cakes, until he had fortunate three-in such arcane ways culture manifested itself.

Then their guest looked doubtfully at Bren, perhaps realizing he had just forgotten that cardinal precaution appropriate in prisoners-that he had just ingested doubtful cakes and suspicious ice water.

Greenery. Cakes with natural sweetness. Greatly appreciated: Prakuyo, or at least his culture, was not that long divorced from blue sky.

"It's safe," Bren said, lifted his cup and drank, and took a bite of cake. "Tea cake. Safe. Eat."

Prakuyo ate another, no question. The cakes disappeared, each almost at a bite.

"More tea cake?" Bren asked. "Danda-ji, perhaps an a.s.sortment of breads and cheese as well. A small offering of meat. One can't know his customs. Provide a picture of the game offering, so he may know what it is."

"Nandi." Bindanda bowed and took the service and tray away for a refill.

Prakuyo's gaze traveled after him, dared one say, with longing and deep thought centered on those tea cakes-perhaps telling himself that these tall black ones were very different from little varigated humans, offering much better cuisine.

"He'll bring more food," Bren said. Certain needs were, if not wholly satisfied with mother's cooking and a sight of home, at least a.s.suaged. Their guest's facade of glum indifference had given way. That was a success. They had a few words, reinforced with food-dared they say their guest knew a Ragi word now, for tea cake? The situation with Gin and the fuel remained unresolved. G.o.d only knew what the Guildmaster and Jase were were doing with each other. But the paidhi's universe shrank necessarily to this deck, this room, this table, and he carefully, slowly, drew out of his inner coat pocket a few folded sheets of precious paper, and out of his outer right pocket a writing kit.

In fair sketch, on a blank sheet of paper, he drew a burning sun, a planet, a station, a s.h.i.+p tied to the station with an umbilical, just exactly their situation.

"The world and the sun," Cajeiri said helpfully in Ragi, leaning, elbows on table, past Jago. Then: "Is it our s.h.i.+p, or his s.h.i.+p?"

"Shall we see?" In Ragi. Then in s.h.i.+p-speak. "s.h.i.+p," Bren said. "Sun. Planet. s.h.i.+p. Station. Here." He tapped the table, waved a hand about the room. "s.h.i.+p."

"s.h.i.+p," Prakuyo said suddenly, explosive on the p p, which alone distinguished that word from his other notable s.h.i.+p-speak phrase. "Bren s.h.i.+p."

"Human and and atevi s.h.i.+p. Human station." Bren drew another s.h.i.+p, far distant, off to the edge of the paper. "Prakuyo s.h.i.+p." atevi s.h.i.+p. Human station." Bren drew another s.h.i.+p, far distant, off to the edge of the paper. "Prakuyo s.h.i.+p."

Prakuyo paid burning, deep attention to that.

"Shall you not ask him where he lives, nandi?"

Surely when the legendary paidhiin of the past had done their work, they'd done it without an inquisitive boy at hand.

But the toy, at least, was useful. "Car," he said, in s.h.i.+p-speak, and indicated the car in Cajeiri's possession. "Kindly make it run again, young lord, slowly." Cajeiri ran it. "The car goes." All the way to the end of the table. "The car turns. The car comes back."

Not a helpful word out of their subject, but Prakuyo watched intently.

"Station." This was the vase. And the drawing. "s.h.i.+p." This was the car. One hoped the capacity for abstraction existed in Prakuyo's kind. One rather expected that basic gift in s.p.a.cefarers. "Send the car to the end of the table, young lord. Just so." In s.h.i.+p-speak: "The s.h.i.+p goes." In Ragi: "Now to the vase, young lord, if you please." In s.h.i.+p-speak. "Bren's s.h.i.+p goes to the station."

"Bren's s.h.i.+p goes," Prakuyo said obligingly, fighting a valiant battle with the consonants. "To the station."

Bren drew hasty tall stick figures on the paper. Numerous. With a loop that made a station. "Human. Human go human s.h.i.+p." Never mind grammar. Finesse came later. He had Prakuyo's attention. "Prakuyo go Prakuyo's s.h.i.+p."

Long concentration. Tension, Bren much feared. Worlds hung in the balance.

The car whirred. Jerked forward on the table. Cajeiri grabbed it. Hugged it close, wide-eyed. Banichi's attention and Jago's was immaculately for Prakuyo.

"One is very sorry, nandi." This from Cajeiri, with the offending car hugged tight.

And just about that moment there was quiet noise outside-Bindanda, Bren thought at first, and their second snack. But the approaching tap of a cane foretold a more notable intrusion. He rose, and Banichi and Jago did, Cajeiri, too, and bowed, as, sure enough, Ilisidi arrived, with Cenedi. The dowager bent a forbidding look at her great-grandson, then a benign and gracious one toward their guest, who slowly got to his feet and gave a little bow himself.

"Well, well," Ilisidi said, clearly pleased, leaning on her cane, surveying the room. "Present this person, nandi."

"This is Prakuyo, nand' dowager. One fears communication is at a minimum."

"Nonsense." Ilisidi said cheerfully, and moved to take the seat at the head of the table, Cenedi a.s.sisting her with the chair. "He has a sense of courtesy; we shall manage. Sit. Sit, Cenedi. Make us a fortunate number. My great-grandson with his foolish toy will have us a war before we achieve understanding. Say Say to this individual that we consider war is foolish. That we offer alternatives. Let us get to the point, nand' paidhi. Let us get this individual to his s.h.i.+p and get your troublesome relations to fuel us and get themselves aboard, shall we not?" to this individual that we consider war is foolish. That we offer alternatives. Let us get to the point, nand' paidhi. Let us get this individual to his s.h.i.+p and get your troublesome relations to fuel us and get themselves aboard, shall we not?"

"Nandi." Bren gave a little bow, then sank into his chair as others did, feeling overwhelmed.

And yet-weren't they well on their way? Wasn't it, after all, the ability to wish one another well-civilized and peaceful?

"One very much regrets the car, mani-ma." This from a great-grandson whose whole universe still revolved around his own mistakes, his own necessities.

"We are quite sure," Ilisidi said with a wave of her hand.

And in the next moment Bindanda hastened through the door with tea cakes and offerings of bread, seasoned curd and meat. With an ill.u.s.tration of the fish involved... wise choice. In no wise an intelligent-looking fish.