His eyes filled. He couldn’t help it. Jago wiped his face repeatedly.
“I’m fine. Where’s my computer, Jago? Have you got it?”
“Yes,” Jago said. “It’s perfectly safe.”
“I need a communications patch. I’ve got the cord, if they brought my whole kit.”
“For what, Bren-ji?”
“To talk to Mospheira,” he said, all at once fearing Jago and Banichi might not have the authority. “For Tabini, nadi. Please.”
“I’ll speak to Banichi,” she said.
They’d charged the computer for him. The bastards had done that much of a favor to the world at large. Jago had gotten him a blanket, so he wasn’t freezing. They’d passed the border and the two prisoners at the rear of the plane were in the restroom together with the door wedged shut, the electrical fuse pulled, and the guns of two of Ilisidi’s highly motivated guards trained on the door. Everybody declared they could wait until Moghara Airport.
Reboot, mode 3, m-for-mask, then depress, mode-4, simultaneously, SAFE.
Fine, easy, if the left hand worked. He managed it with the right.
The prompt came up, with, in Mosphei’: Input date.
He typed, instead, in Mosphei’: To be or not to be.
System came up.
He let go a long breath and started typing, five-fingered, calling up files, getting access and communications codes for Mospheira’s network, pasting them in as hidden characters that would trigger response-exchanges between his computer and the Mospheira system.
The rebels, if they’d gotten into system level, could have flown a plane right through Mospheira’s defense line.
Could have brought down Mospheira’s whole network. Fouled up everything from the subway system to the earth station dish—unless Mospheira, being sane, had long since realized he was in trouble and changed those codes.
But that didn’t mean they were totally out of commission. They’d just get a different routing until he got clearance.
He hunted and pecked, key at a time, through the initial text.
Sorry I’ve been out of touch…
Banichi had been forward in the plane, standing up, talking to Ilisidi and one of her men, who was sitting at the front. Now he came down the aisle, leaning on seat-backs, favoring the splinted ankle.
“Get off your feet, damn it!” Bren said, and muttered, politely, “Nadi.”
Banichi worked his way to the seat beside him, in the exit aisle, and fell into it with a profound sigh, his face beaded with sweat. But he didn’t look at all unhappy, for a man in excruciating pain.
“I just got hold of Tabini,” Banichi said. “He says he’s glad you’re all right, he had every confidence you’d settle the rebels single-handed.”
He had to laugh. It hurt.
“He’s sending his private plane,” Banichi said. “We’re re-routed to Alujisan. Longer runway. Cenedi’s doing fine, but he says he’s getting wobbly and he’s not sorry to have a relief coming up. We’ll hand the prisoners over to the local guard, board a nice clean plane and have someone feed us lunch. Meanwhile Tabini’s moving forces in by air as far as Bairi-magi, three-hour train ride from Maidingi, two hours from Fagioni and Wigairiin. Watch him offer amnesty next—if, he says, you can come up with a reason to tell the hasdrawad, about this ship, that can calm the situation. He wants you in the court. Tonight.”
“With an answer.” He no longer felt like laughing. “Banichi-ji, atevi have all the rights with these strangers on the ship. We on Mospheira don’t. You know our presence in this solar system was an accident… but our landing wasn’t. We were passengers on that ship. The crew took the ship and left us here. They said they were going to locate a place to build. We weren’t damned happy about their leaving, and they weren’t happy about our threat to land here. Two hundred years may not have improved our relationship with these people.”
“Are they here to take you away?”
“That would make some atevi happy, wouldn’t it?”
“Not Tabini.”
Damned sure not Tabini. Not the pillar of the Western Association. That was why there were dead men on the plane with them: fear of humans was only part of it.
“There are considerable strains on the Association,” Banichi said somberly. “The conservative forces. The jealous. The ambitious. Five administrations have kept the peace, under the aijiin of Shejidan and the dictates of the paidhiin…”
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