Here We Stand, page 53




“We did give him a bollocking, love. A crow’s got his pride.”
“What if he’s right? What if I shouldn’t have made contact with the Jattans?”
“He should still have asked you before calling Lawson.”
“Was I wrong?”
“No.” Marc scrutinised a plate as if she hadn’t washed it properly. “You know you weren’t. We’d never have known if it was the right time to do it, but we’d have had to do it sooner or later.” He shook his head, bemused by something. “We take it in our stride now, don’t we? Aliens, I mean. I’m still more surprised by our attitude than I am by their existence.”
Ingram lay awake that night wondering what was going on in the Jattan opposition camp. Perhaps they hadn’t picked up her message at all. Spying on the Protectorate’s navy hadn’t yielded anything so far, not even a discussion about the missing ship. All she could do now was listen to Solomon’s files. Perhaps this was how it was always going to be, just waiting and watching year after year. She wasn’t sure how long she could put up with that.
Marc stirred. “Are you still awake?”
“Just working out a few things.”
“Yeah. Me too.”
Maybe he wanted to talk. He was always rather oblique when he had something personal on his mind but couldn’t bring himself to dump it on her.
“I swore I’d never weaken and ask a man this,” Ingram said, “but what are you thinking about?”
“Technology.”
“Oh.”
“If we can terraform bits of Opis and deal with pathogens and stuff, why can’t we re-do Earth and clean it up? Ainatio’s got the technology. We could rebuild the West from the ground up. Maybe that’s what we should be doing. And if the company could do it here, why did it never come up with a countermeasure for die-back? What would have happened if one of the diseases the bots found here was similar?”
Ingram wondered why she’d just accepted it as beyond the company’s abilities too. “I’m not sure I’ve got the nerve to ask Paul and Lianne why they failed so badly.”
“Save it for the next time you need to upset him.”
“Anyway, if the bots could fix die-back, some tossers would only wreck the place again. Because they want to.”
Marc rearranged his pillows and punched them into a more comfortable shape. “Yeah. If it hadn’t been die-back, they would have found something else.”
“My money’s still on terrorism rather than an accident. Could be both, though. Never let a good crisis go to waste.”
“Imagine if we’d had the gate and the probes a few years ago.” Marc sounded almost wistful. “I could ruin some bastard’s day and be home for tea before he hit the ground. No more exciting tourism trying to get out of the country before the locals invited me to a meeting with a length of metal pipe. You could have reduced Calais to talc from your country estate.”
“I’m not sure I want to fight that kind of war.”
“I would. I loved doing the job, but I’d have been happy to press a button if I’d had the option. I’m not into this honourable warrior shit. I just want to get things done.”
When Ingram had first agonised over whether to hand the Caisin gate to the government, Marc had predicted that the first thing they’d do with it would be to use it locally and settle a few scores on Earth. It didn’t sound such a terrible thing now. Either her red lines had shifted or she’d accepted the inevitable.
The test would be whether she could still justify keeping it from Lawson. She changed her mind about it several times a week, and she’d never been a ditherer. It was ironic that some of the boffins didn’t see sharing the technology as a big deal now.
“Anyway.” Marc sounded sleepy. “Anyway... welcome home, Bridget Ingram. I’m glad you’re here.”
“I’m glad I’m here too.” she said.
* * *
Office of the Government of Jatt in exile, Clerics’ Quarter, Rouvele, southern Viilor, Esmos: four days later.
Ten days had passed since the humans’ commander had sent her uncompromising demand. It was time Nir-Tenbiku gave her his answer.
He watched the transmission from the doomed probe again and replayed Captain Ingram’s message, fully aware that he wasn’t going to extract any more information from either recording. He was trying to guess her state of mind. For all he knew there could have been something highly significant hidden in her words, but he knew too little about humans to recognise it. Her emphasis was odd, but the meaning was clear; one of her people had been killed, she’d exact some kind of revenge, she’d demanded an explanation, and she’d retaliate if any more incursions were made.
Did she know where the Halu-Masset was based? If she did, her teeriks would have told her about Esmos’s neutrality, so she’d have to be extraordinarily confident or foolish to think she could come after him here.
If she knows, that is.
He was going round in circles now. Without more information, he was wasting his time. He paused the recording and leaned his arms on the desk for a few moments of reduced awareness. If he closed his eyes and surrendered to full sleep, he’d find it hard to concentrate again when he woke, but he needed to fight this fatigue. He slowed his mind and let himself drift.
He could hear and see his surroundings, but everything was veiled in a haze that would leave him more alert when he surfaced from it. Sometimes his best ideas emerged when he was in this state, and at other times random memories bubbled up to leave him disturbed. Today he saw his grandfather, leaning over him with reassuring words as he lay recovering from some childhood accident of his own foolish making. Grandfather cut a splendid figure in his pale blue ceremonial uniform. “Dals, don’t let this little mishap deter you from taking bold risks,” he said kindly. “It’s healthy to feel a little fear.”
Nir-Tenbiku couldn’t even recall how he’d ended up injured. But it was good to see Grandfather, even in a moment that had never happened, a conversation with a man who’d died before he was born. His dozing mind had superimposed his father’s voice on the official portrait of his grandfather, an almost life-sized fabric work that hung in the reception room. He understood why both elements had risen from his subconscious, but it wasn’t a real memory and he didn’t expect it to be. Perhaps it was what he’d have wanted his grandfather to say if he’d ever met him.
“Excellency? Forgive the interruption.”
Nir-Tenbiku was back in the conscious world immediately. “Don’t apologise, Bas,” he said. “I shouldn’t be napping at my desk anyway. It’s a bad habit.”
“Minister Eb-Lan is here to see you. I’ve respectfully asked him to wait. Do you need a little more time?”
Bas was being protective and rather brave, considering that Cudik wasn’t a patient person. It was very touching.
“No, I’m fine now, thank you. Show him in, please.”
Cudik arrived with a box and placed it on Nir-Tenbiku’s desk. It was one of those grocery containers for prepared meals, a disposable thing with an intricately-cut closure on top that opened like the petals of a flower bud, but no tempting aroma emerged as Cudik unfurled it. It revealed a squat, opaque green bottle.
“Is that what I think it is?” Nir-Tenbiku asked.
“I couldn’t walk past it. One of the exotic food merchants had it on display. It’ll wake you up more effectively than a nap.”
He placed the bottle in Nir-Tenbiku’s hands. It was very old and Nir-Tenbiku knew exactly what it was, because no other decoction, no other vintage, and no other commemoration had come together to create an object like this. It was a bottle of paliernui from his grandfather’s era that marked the thousandth anniversary of Cileki Citadel’s elevation from ordinary city to the regional capital of Nir province. Only a thousand bottles had been made, given as gifts to the regional assembly members, clergy, and other prominent citizens. Most had vanished by now, but from time to time a bottle would appear when someone decided to auction it for the cash.
“I’m stunned,” Nir-Tenbiku said. “But I have to ask the question.”
“How did it get here, you mean? Who’s noticed us? Who might have set it as bait?” Cudik made his gesture of resignation, splaying all his arms for a moment like an avian about to take off. “I did consider that. I’ve also considered that it might be poisoned bait, so we’ll test it when you open it.”
“But did you ask the merchant?”
“Yes. She said she’d bought it on a trip to Dal Mantir and thought it might fetch a better price on Bhinu than in the colonies.”
“As long as she thought you were a rich Jattan tax exile. And as long as she wasn’t a Protectorate agent.”
“Primary, I’ve spent years investigating the Esmosi we have to deal with outside this enclave, and I can tell you her grandmother’s clan name and what she had for dinner.”
Cudik trusted Esmosi security but he trusted himself more. Nir-Tenbiku respected that. Esmos took a dim view of foreign agents within its borders even if they weren’t planning to assassinate exiles, but that didn’t mean there were no spies operating here. Cudik liked to keep his skills sharp because he was afraid of fading with age, so he made it his business to monitor anyone who might have been a security risk. It tempered his frustration over preparing for a war that still hadn’t happened.
Nir-Tenbiku studied the bottle again. Aged paliernui became a little more liquid with the years, but it still wasn’t slopping around inside the glass. It would pour easily, though.
“You think I need to drink this, then?” he asked.
“You need to make a decision about the humans.”
“I doubt it’ll help me do that.”
“There’s no point in tossing the decision to the rest of us. We’ll accept whatever you choose to do.”
“I don’t know any more now about Bridget Ingram or humans than I did then.”
“She has teeriks, so she probably knows where we are,” Cudik said. “If they haven’t briefed her on who’s most likely to give us sanctuary, I’d be shocked. She’ll also be aware of the consequences of attacking us on Esmos.”
“Or she doesn’t know any of that. You know how teeriks keep things to themselves.”
“We know how Lirrel kept things to himself. Other teeriks might not be like that at all. Not that I doubt poor Iril, but most of our knowledge of teeriks is gossip. And we can’t judge a species by the single example we knew.”
“Ingram asks what we want,” Nir-Tenbiku said, tilting the bottle in an attempt to see the liquid level against the light. “Humans’ general demeanour and what they seem to have achieved out here suggests she’s capable of taking action but chooses not to.”
“What does your intuition tell you?” Cudik asked. “What does your soul want to do?”
Nir-Tenbiku thought for a moment. His decision hadn’t quite crystallised but he could feel it taking shape. “I want to talk to her, Cudik. I want to find out all I can about these humans and see if we can do business with them. And I don’t want them to think we’re savages. I want to show we regret what happened.”
“I understand why we need to sound them out, Primary, but does their opinion of us matter if we can simply continue to avoid them by staying here?”
“Yes. Yes, it does matter. We’re making a moral claim to the right to govern Jatt. We have a duty to uphold standards of behaviour and the reputation of our ancestors. That’s an end in itself.” Nir-Tenbiku put the bottle down. He imagined opening it when they finally retook Jevez. “And eventually we’ll have to leave Esmos, at which point we’re rather exposed. I would rather we had at least one alliance before we do.”
Cudik wandered over to the window and looked out on the garden. “The other snag is that we still haven’t told the Convocation about the humans, or that we’ve created some difficulties with them.”
“They only need to know when they need to know.”
“And you know what’ll happen if they find out from someone else.”
The Convocation didn’t like foreigners bringing trouble with them. The best Nir-Tenbiku could hope for was that they’d withdraw the sanctuary they’d given the Halu-Masset. If the humans turned out to be a problem for them, though, their displeasure would be much more robust.
He let his thoughts tumble out. “I’m going to respond to the humans and apologise for the incident,” he said. “I’m going to tell them the truth, too, because their teeriks will have told them about the broader situation anyway.”
Cudik sat down again. “Suitably redacted.”
“They must know by now that we have a grievance with the Protectorate. I’m not so naive that I’d volunteer the small detail.”
“Indeed. My apologies.”
“And I’ll say that if they don’t feel able to open talks with us, that I would at least ask them not to ally with the Jattans, if that’s what they have in mind. In exchange for staying neutral, we would see what benefits we could offer them.”
“Primary, that’s a complete surrender.” Cudik sounded weary. “Pay them to stay out of it? How do we even know what they want?”
“That’s one of the questions I’ll ask, if we get that far.”
“What about the ship? Aren’t you going to ask for its return?”
“At least the Protectorate can’t get hold of it.”
“I’d advise against this, Primary.” Cudik did exactly what his cabinet portfolio required and saw everything through the lens of defence and security — the risks, the costs, and the likelihood of success. “These are concessions to be eked out sparingly, and only if we absolutely need to make them.”
“I can only tell you the direction in which my arguments will lead,” Nir-Tenbiku said. “Everything depends on how the humans respond at each stage. We might not even get past the apology. I’m simply telling you how far I’m prepared to go.”
Cudik had a habit of looking off to one side when he was conflicted, as if he was too polite to tell his Primary that he was an idiot but still had to steer him away from a dangerous path. In the end, Nir-Tenbiku could take whatever action he wished because it was the Primary’s prerogative. But he was flying blind, dealing with a potential enemy who was justifiably aggrieved but about whom he knew very little, and the little he knew was alarming and complex. Faced with that, he could either remain paralysed by indecision or say what was on his mind.
Being open would at least show him what the humans were really like.
“I defer to you, obviously,” Cudik said. “I would just urge extreme caution.”
“Whatever we do, the humans are here, they’ll almost certainly stay, and we have to deal with them at some point, either as the new government of Jatt or as failed rebels in need of friends.”
Cudik just rocked his head from side to side, more in surrender than agreement. “Very well. Shall we send a message now and see how long she takes to respond?”
“No, I want to speak to this Ingram in real time,” Nir-Tenbiku said. “I want a conversation, not an exchange of memos. I need to get the measure of her.”
They’d have to send an initial message and see if the humans wanted to continue the conversation. If they did, it would happen in real time, with no chance to think things over or express them more carefully. He’d avoid ambiguous language and keep things simple.
“You’ve always been a careful man, Primary, but this is a big decision,” Cudik said. “I hope it’s just a case of my lacking your vision to see what has to be done.”
“If you’re asking if I’m guessing my way through this, I am,” Nir-Tenbiku said. “Gan-Pamas gave his life for the restoration, and his advice was to interact with the humans. If he believed they were significant enough to take the risk, I believe him.” He called up the chronometer and studied the floating numbers, trying to work out when to send his invitation to talk. “What time of day would it be at their location?”
Cudik pulled out his navigation device. “Mid-morning.”
“Let’s do this right away, then.”
Nir-Tenbiku didn’t take the responsibility of contact lightly, although the teeriks had obviously beaten him to it and had probably already influenced how humans would see the politics of this sector. Teeriks didn’t count, though. How he handled this would determine the future not only of Jatt but of Kugad and Esmos too. He wasn’t easily scared, but while he had no doubts about what he needed to do for Jatt, he didn’t know what was best for the sector in which Jatt would have to exist.
There was no point worrying about what he couldn’t do, though. If he did, he would do nothing, which wouldn’t stop whatever the humans had in mind from taking place.
Bas brought in the transmitter and placed it on his desk, then waved at the control panel to activate it.
“When you’re ready, Excellency.”
Nir-Tenbiku was as ready as he’d ever be. He slowed his breathing and put the bigger picture out of his mind, ready to address just one person on another world.
“This is His Excellency Nir-Tenbiku Dals, rightful Mediator of Jatt, Primary in Exile. I wish to speak to Captain Bridget Ingram to answer her question. I also wish to extend my apologies for the unfortunate incident that took place. I await your response.”
There was no concession there to worry Cudik. It was neutral, and he’d kept his speech basic to avoid mistranslations. Now all he could do was wait. He nodded to Bas to send the transmission and hoped that the Convocation wasn’t intercepting his communications.
“Shall we open that bottle?” Cudik asked.
“Would you be offended if I asked to save it for when we liberate Jevez and declare the independence of Jatt again?”
“Not at all, Primary. Very apt.” Cudik got to his feet. “It’s probably going to be some considerable time before the humans respond, if they do at all of course. Would you excuse me?”