Protector: Foreigner #14 (17 page)

Then came a thump from their own car, or the one next to it. Bren listened hard for any cues what was going on; and felt the vibrations as the next car loaded, heard the distinctive sounds as the engine fired up.

“Staff,” the dowager said, “is joining us.
With
Boji.”

They were operating under the most extreme security Bren had ever experienced, even in far worse times.
With
the parid’ja and its huge cage.

Doors shut, elsewhere. There was a further delay. A second, more distant thump.

And they sat.

And sat. The dowager and Tatiseigi discussed the vote count on the tribal bill, which looked good. And Cajeiri sat so very still, being so very good.

“Perhaps,” Bren said, “the young gentleman might enjoy a game of chess. I think his aishid would oblige him with a challenge. There is a chess set in the galley storage.”

Ilisidi waggled her fingers, a dismissal. Cajeiri got up, bowed silently, and went over to his aishid with that information.

The game set up and started, Veijico taking black.

Tatiseigi muttered, disapprovingly, “In my youth, one would have sat.”

“Nandi,” Bren said, “he is concerned about the flight.”

“Well,” Tatiseigi said, “well, so should anyone be, with such machines.”

“Best young minds stay busy,” Ilisidi said, not displeased, and the three of them sat quietly and talked, had one cup of sweet tea, and the chess match progressed.

Then the train, with its characteristic chuff, began to move.

The chess match paused, Cajeiri’s hand, on a Fortress, hesitated in midair.

Then calmly resumed its course toward a square.

Eight, going on fortunate nine, and a mental age above that. Cajeiri, on the most intense campaign of good behavior in his whole life, set the piece down.

Cajeiri’s opponent, Veijico, lifted an eyebrow, considering the move, then cast a furtive glance toward the dowager, and quietly advised the young rascal, likely, that they were indeed watched.

There were quiet remarks. Human ears, at least, could not hear them. Likely neither the dowager nor Tatiseigi could hear. Tano got up and renewed the teapot, and provided a large pot for Cajeiri and his bodyguard as the train made its slow passage along the restricted tunnel. The rest of the adult bodyguards continued in quiet conversation interspersed with Guild signs.

They cleared the hill, cleared the tunnel, gathered speed toward the city junction, and clicked over onto the lefthand track.

Faster and faster, then, a steam-age locomotive bent again on rendezvous with a spaceship.

“Are they coming down yet, Banichi-nadi?” Cajeiri turned to ask as the train gathered speed. “Shall we see it land?”

“One fears not, young gentleman, however we will be arriving there at about the time it touches down, and we shall take the bus to meet them. You will get to see them disembark.”

“One wished—” Cajeiri began to say, and then meekly said, “One is glad, Banichi-nadi.”

“Security,” Banichi said. “One regrets, young gentleman. But these are necessary precautions.”

“Yes,” Cajeiri said quietly, frowning.

Difficult for the boy, Bren thought. But one understood. They were moving as expeditiously as possible: get the youngsters under their protection, get them to the train, and get moving again, with as little exposure as possible. The shuttle landings were fairly routine. The shuttle the children were stated to be taking was not due for days. When the news did get to observers that this one had the children, and that the heir was here, any hostile action, unless extremely well-placed or very lucky, was going to have to scramble.

The whereabouts of the train was traceable—if one had agents within Transportation; but again, the exact routing for
this
train was given only at intervals necessary to shunt other traffic onto other tracks. It prioritized itself through the system on a sector by sector basis, not always at high speed, given the engine that often pulled it, but in a traveling bubble of secrecy and priority; and they would be stalling all train traffic on a very main line for at least an hour, while they performed their maneuver out to the port and back.

“The port has contact, aiji-ma, nandiin,” Cenedi reported finally.

They were very near the spaceport.

And Nawari got to his feet. “Aiji-ma, nandiin, you will find the port bus right off the platform, so it will be a very short walk. We shall enter the perimeter fence through the service gate, which will be open. We shall pick up our passengers, and their baggage, which is able to be hand-carried aboard the bus. No one should exit the bus. Aiji-ma, nandiin, as you board, please occupy the seats behind the driver. The opposing row will be reserved for our passengers, who will board as quickly as possible.”

“Very good, Wari-ji,” the dowager said.

The operation was on schedule, and while they had no view, Bren had an excellent idea where they were: a flat prairie with very few features except grazing herds and the occasional patch of brush.

And at a certain point they slowed, and slowed further, then took that little jog of a switchover, toward the port, everyone swaying.

“They are in process of landing, nandiin,” Cenedi said. Then: “They are touching down.”

Cajeiri visibly elevated off his seat, then shut his mouth and settled, locking his hands in his lap and not saying a thing.

The dowager nodded, satisfied.

Bren just breathed a sigh of relief. The train did not regain its speed. It lazily chugged around a slight curve, then took the straight for a while, and another, opposite, curve, which led to the platform.

Brakes applied. The engine sighed out a final
chuff!
And stopped.

Bren got up, as their bodyguards did. Cajeiri bounced up and offered Ilisidi his hand, as Tatiseigi used the seat arm to lever himself up.

“The bus is here, nandiin,” Cenedi said. “And the shuttle has arrived.”

So. From here on until the shuttle lifted again, they were in charge of a flock of youngsters on holiday. Bren moved out into the aisle, toward the door—ordinarily protocol gave the aiji-dowager precedence, but not into a security situation, and while he might technically outrank Lord Tatiseigi as an officer of the aiji’s court, he didn’t stand on the point—he was younger, he was stronger, he was faster, and he took the risk of finding out whether the platform was as secure as they hoped it was.

He felt Jago’s hand on his arm as the door opened on a bright, sunny day, and had Banichi right in front of him and Tano and Algini at his back. Out the door, down a slightly inconvenient step—he dropped off it without a hesitation and kept up with Banichi, headed for the black, sleek bus across the wooden platform.

It was three tall steps up and inside with the driver, with Banichi and Jago and with a handful of Guild in the port service, while Tano and Algini stood outside beside the bus door, assuring a good view of the platform, just security as usual.

The dowager stepped off the train with Cajeiri and her cane to steady her, with Cenedi to offer his arm, and with Nawari and Tatiseigi’s bodyguard to assist the old lord in his descent to the platform. They crossed to the bus at their own pace and boarded.

Tano and Algini came aboard, standing next to the driver—they had the heaviest armament in evidence, rifles, a little extraordinary precaution. The bus started moving, gathering speed on a gravel drive. Cajeiri sat with his hands clenched in fists, a bundle of anxiety.

Guild was in communication with Guild, talking back and forth as the bus reached a gate and a guard post. The wire gate swung open without them even needing to stop, and the bus bumped up a hard edge and onto concrete, and kept rolling.

A long white shape sat on the strip, surrounded by service trucks.

“There is the shuttle, young gentleman,” Bren said quietly.

Cajeiri twisted in his seat, got up on one knee, and then reluctantly slithered back down, facing Bren, hands locked so the knuckles stood out.

“You may go stand at the front glass, Great-grandson,” Ilisidi said. “But do not give the driver problems!”

“Mani!” Cajeiri exclaimed, and got up ever so carefully and edged past her feet and Tatiseigi’s. “Thank you, mani!”

“Paidhi,” Ilisidi said wryly. “Go keep my great-grandson on the bus.”

“Aiji-ma,” Bren said, and as carefully got up and worked his way out to the aisle. Cajeiri was as close to the front windows as the dashboard let him get, as the bus pulled up near the service trucks and came to a stop.

The lift was in place, elevated up to the hatch, and the passengers were disembarking.

Two of them, Bren saw, from his vantage. Taller than children. He could see their heads as the lift started down.

They
wouldn’t
promise the boy and then renege.

They wouldn’t lie to all of them.
Geigi
was running this operation. He had faith in Geigi not to do something like that.

The lift settled lower and lower. He saw two men in body-armor, weapons, carrying their helmets—
ship
security. That, at least, was understandable.

And then one turned his head, looking up at the hatch, and punched the communications tab on his armor. God! That was Polano. The other must be Kaplan.

Jase Graham’s bodyguards.

Those two stepped off the lift platform, and the lift went back up.

“Those are Jase-aiji’s!” Cajeiri exclaimed.

“That they are. One has no idea what is going on, young gentleman. But they are, indeed: Polano-nadi and Kaplan-nadi.” The lift went up again, and now more passengers were debarking. Jago turned up at Bren’s side, and he said, “Kaplan and Polano, Jago-ji.”

“Indeed,” she said, and then the lift started down again.

With another man. Jase.
Captain
Jason Graham—fourth highest authority on the starship
Phoenix,
onetime ship-paidhi, the ship’s emissary to Tabini-aiji.

“Jase-aiji!” Cajeiri said.

Then, beside Jase—three significantly shorter persons appeared as the lift lowered and the angle shifted.

Two boys. One girl. All in station-style dress and light jackets, one gray, one green, one blue, all with a single duffel, and with a few other bags about their feet.

“Gene-ji!” Cajeiri said, restraining a gesture into a small movement. “And Artur and Irene! May we open the doors, nandi? May one go out?”

“Jago will go out and bring them aboard,” Bren said. “Let us not create a problem for security. They will have baggage, one is sure. Jago-ji, assist Jase.”

“Indeed,” Jago said, and moved past him to reach the steps and the door. It opened, and Jago and several of the dowager’s young men exited onto the pavement.

Cajeiri just stood there, all but shivering, it was so hard for him to stand still.

Security in their operation, Bren thought, had just gone up several notches in firepower, if not in knowledge of the planet. Kaplan and Polano were armed to the teeth, not to mention the instrumentation on the armor. He had no idea what its capabilities were, but he knew they were considerable.

If the wearers failed to succumb to the flat expanses around them.

They were all old acquaintances, from two years on the ship together, and Jase’s own visit to the world. Cenedi recognized them, no doubt he did, and so would Nawari and several others of the dowager’s young men.

Protocol, meanwhile, did not leave a captain of the starship out on the concrete looking for an official face. Bren went to the steps and jumped down to the pavement, close to the shelter of the bus and beside Jago. He raised his arm in a very un-atevi wave.

Jase spotted him and waved back—came toward them, with Kaplan and Polano and his young charges . . . human kids, wide-eyed and looking around at everything.

Doing very well, however. No one had thrown up.

“Bren,” Jase said—and then did the atevi courtesy and bowed. Bren bowed. The youngsters bowed, tentatively, and then looked up in surprise—one might even say—dismay.

“Hi,” Cajeiri said from the bus steps. “Come in!”

The youngsters looked uncertain. Then the tallest boy, himself about shoulder-high to Bren, dark-haired, on the stocky side, waved a hand, sketched a bow and grabbed the assistance-bar to climb aboard. It was a very tall step for him. He made it, and there he and Cajeiri were, the human boy looking a few inches up at Cajeiri.

“Gene-ji,” Cajeiri said happily. “Hi there!”

“You grew!” Gene said. “You’re as tall as Bjorn!”

“Bjorn’s not here?”

“Couldn’t come. He’s in school. Well, so are we, but not his kind of school. Artur, Irene—” The other two were blocking the doorway, staring up. “He’s as tall as Bjorn, isn’t he?”

“Get aboard,” Bren said to the last two. “Everybody inside. Take the first seats on the left, facing each other. The aiji-dowager and a high-ranking lord are across the aisle. Be very polite! Bow. Low.”

They didn’t acknowledge the instruction. They just went scrambling up the steps. Irene, smallest, and straight from a long free fall, had to be pulled up the steps.

“Jase,” Bren said, still amazed. “So good to see you! Are you running security on this trip, or what?”

“This is my vacation,” Jase said. “You invited me, remember? God, it’s good to see you. Sorry about the surprise. But the Council wanted to provide their own security.”

“Backup is more than welcome! We’re headed for Tirnamardi.” Baggage was down, a lift full of it that they had not planned for, and the dowager’s young men were moving to get it and load it onto the bus. “Get aboard. My security doesn’t want me standing out here. Or you. Jago-ji!”

“Nandi.” Jago was right by him, assisting him up, and Jase. Polano and Kaplan moved with a soft, motorized whine. Polano somewhat awkwardly managed to get a toe on the step. Then, quite amazingly, he just rose up on that one foot and took the next step. Machine-assist. Balance-assist. Kaplan did the same, and one had to get out of the way, because they took up a lot of room.

“Just stand there,” Jase said, which left them no view of the shuttle and the trucks. But the rest of the baggage was coming aboard, with the dowager’s young men.