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“Are you afraid?” his father asked him.

“No,” he said, which was at least halfway true. He decided the whole truth was due. “One is a little afraid, honored Father. But still may I go? Nand' Bren needs me.”

His father looked a little taken aback, then seemed to approve. “Yes,” his father said. “You will be going.”

“Are we taking the ship?” He thought they might go out among the planets to meet the kyo. He saw, in his head, the ship tunnels, where he had met Gene and the rest.

And he remembered the upstairs of the ship, the middle levels, and, very vividly, Prakuyo an Tep.

He remembered Jase-aiji and Sabin-aiji and a dinner party.

And where he and mani had lived, and the wonderful corridor where he and Banichi had made toy cars race. That was the best place. That area of the ship had been home. Mani's apartment, modern, but very much mani's; and nand' Bren's apartment, with all the curtain of plants that he had had. The plants had grown enormously, whenever the ship had traveled through space. That condition favored them, nand' Bren had said, even if one felt strange and disconnected and not really quite well—

All of that came back to him, more real than where he was at the moment, the way it sometimes did in dreams.

Gene's face, and Irene's, and Artur's, and Bjorn's, too—in the dark and cold of the tunnels. Those would forever be a safe, secret place for him.

“To my knowledge,” his father said, “you are going only as far as the station and these visitors will come there. Mind, you are not up there to spend time in another visit with your young associates. One hardly knows whether you will get to see them. Nor are you to ask nand' Bren to seek them out. Do you understand, son of mine? All this is too important for personal concerns. There may be political problems. Understand that.”

“Yes,” he said. One always had to say
yes
to Father. But he did understand. Business was business when things got scary, and things could get really scary with the kyo. He was older, now, and he knew that in ways he had never understood when he was meeting the kyo the first time. It was amazing how much older he had gotten, in just two years. He
did
know what could go wrong, and it was terribly scary.

But he was going to be with mani, and nand' Bren, and they would settle things.

And then maybe he
would
get to see Gene and Artur and Irene.

“You also know,” Father added, “that your
mother
is not happy about your going up there.”

“Yes,” he said. “I know. But I was
there,
honored Father. I can
talk
to the kyo. I was the first one who really did.”

“So one understands. One does not easily imagine it, but it seems nand' Bren believes you have a useful and pacifying influence, and he advised us a year ago that should this day come, he would call on you, and on your great-grandmother. Your association with this foreign person may put you in some danger, and as much experience as I have had of negotiations with difficult people, I cannot imagine what these people want that will agree with us. Please do exactly as nand' Bren instructs you to do. Do not draw nand' Bren or your great-grandmother from their jobs. Do not distract them with requests for personal favors. Smile, bow, be pleasant to this individual you know, assuming he will be aboard. But do not be pert with this stranger. Do not assume you know anything at all without talking to nand' Bren. And do not under
any
circumstances leave the area of the station or the ship where you are supposed to be.”

He had gotten in trouble on that score. More than once. “I am older, honored Father. I shall be very careful. And I shall obey mani and obey nand' Bren. Absolutely, I shall.”

“These visitors overwhelmed and destroyed Reunion Station. The humans there could not stop them.”

“I know, honored Father. But nand' Bren can talk to them. And I can. And if it is dangerous, so are places I have been, and I
learn
, honored Father. I have learned from
everything
since we came back. Even nand' Bren's bodyguard trusts me.”

His father nodded slowly. After a moment he said: “You have indeed learned. I am
proud
of my son.”

Cajeiri drew in a breath. A deep one, and bowed his head, not knowing what to say, except, “Thank you, honored Father.”

“You must not tell anyone what is going on. Not even your servants. Your aishid may know about the kyo and about going up there but they are to tell
no one
else, even on my staff. The very fact that these foreigners have arrived is secret. Your leaving will be secret. Nand' Bren has called your great-grandmother back to Shejidan, but the reason is secret. He is arranging transport, but only the people who are involved in the planning are being told at this point. Do you understand all this? Can you keep it secret?”

“Yes, honored Father. I can.”

“Just so. You will naturally take your aishid with you. The seating on the shuttle is very limited and your great-grandmother and nand' Bren will necessarily have a large bodyguard and staff all of whom have bearing on this matter. I only insist you take your aishid. If you
can
take your valets, that might relieve the duties of other staff who will be attending your great-grandmother and nand' Bren. But that may not be possible: you will have to ask nand' Bren how many seats you are allowed and with whom you will be staying once you are up there. Understand, you must make yourself and your comfort the very
last
consideration, where it comes to staff.”

“Yes, honored Father,” he said.

He suddenly thought of Boji. Boji was a silly creature. But Boji depended on him for everything. He had no trouble at all figuring how much trouble Boji could be with no gravity in the shuttle, and with all that racket, and goings-on—and getting loose on the station—

No. Boji had no place up there. Certainly not on the station. It would smell strange. Boji would not be happy.

“Eisi and Liedi could stay here and take care of Boji,” he said. “I know how to take care of myself, mostly. Except the laundry. And my aishid can help.”

“I assure you—Boji will be safe and cared for here. And we shall not let him escape or annoy your mother.”

He felt embarrassed. “He is such a silly creature,” he said. “And he wants his eggs, and he misbehaves if he has to wait, and
that
is when he bothers Mother. So he is very much better if someone can talk to him during the day and brush him and see he has his eggs.”

“Indeed,” his father said solemnly. Father was such an important man, and Boji was so small and silly he was embarrassed to be talking about Boji as any consideration at all in his father's business. But Father was also far more patient with silly things than Mother was. “Rely on us,” Father said. “Boji will have his eggs on a silver plate if he needs them. Free your mind of him.”

“Yes, honored Father,” he said quietly.

“Good. I already have broken the news of this trip to your mother. You may understand she is upset. One would recommend you go see her. You may choose your time. But let me tell you something you may not have observed: your mother is as touchy about her prerogatives as your great-grandmother is. Do
not
just agree with her. And do not delay telling her. Understand and pay attention. She finds herself in a difficult situation in your going.”

“She is jealous of great-grandmother.”

“She is
rightfully
jealous.”

It is
not
rightful, he thought. He held himself from saying that, but he realized he had let his expression slip.

“Son of mine, you left
her.
It was not your fault and it was not your great-grandmother's, but it certainly was not hers.
I
sent you away.”

“You had to,” he said.

“Indeed. You were in danger. You were inquisitive, you were elusive even at that age, and you were a vulnerability someone could exploit. I could have sent you to Malguri—indeed, I considered it. But your great-grandmother chose to go up to the station. She could keep you safe. And as it turned out—none too soon.”

“One has thought, honored Father, if you had been taking care of me, you and Mother might not have gotten away.”

His father had a grim look, a very grim look—and nodded. “Very likely not. And during the years we were in hiding, it was often enough worse. We were in places, your mother and I, where a small boy could not have kept up, or climbed, or fared well in the cold. Understand, son of mine, at times your mother feared the ship was lost and you were dead. And at the worst times, she still held out hope that if we both were lost,
you
would grow up and come back and set things right. But all of it was hard. Every day was hard. She never let you go. And of course once you did come back, you had attached to your great-grandmother. You were that age. Your mind was waking. And neither you nor we can reach back and change that. No more can your great-grandmother mend you by unraveling what that time caused to happen. Nor—likely—
would
she. Man'chi goes both ways, son of mine. So nothing can change what happened, and your mother and I are not children. We understood what we were doing when we sent you, and when your great-grandmother made the decision to go out on the human ship—we knew what she was doing. But things were less and less stable on the Earth. I felt—and this is difficult, son of mine. I felt that the world was changing. That I had let something loose that was changing the world, and I knew no better answer—for you—than to put you into the tutelage of the woman who taught me, the woman who twice ruled the aishidi'tat—and who remembers more of how things came to be than most still alive. I knew that you would see foreign things your mother and I would never understand. I knew you would not be ours when you came back, I knew, and I gave you to her. But give your mother what honor you can, son of mine.”

“I always try!”

Father nodded. “I know you try. But understand what I have just told you. Your great-grandmother calls you clever.
Find a way,
son of mine. Your mother knows what I did and why I did it. She has had a very difficult several years since. Today I have had to tell her you are leaving us again. At least—try to talk to her.”

“Yes,” he said. He did not want to. In some ways his mother had been behaving strangely since the new baby had come. Her coming to his room—having tea—

That had just been uncomfortable. Though they both had tried, it had been uncomfortable. Threatening, in a way. Challenging him.

And now this happened.

Maybe he should have gone directly to have tea in his mother's room and not invited her to take tea with
him
, as if he were aiji. Maybe that was what she had wanted him to do.

Except it was his sister's bedroom and his sister was always sleeping, always not to be disturbed.

“You know what your mother went through having your sister,” Father said. “You saw the pain and inconvenience of bringing a child into being. Always remember she did the same for you. And then lost you. She forgives me for it. Or tries to. But I ask you bear a little discomfort yourself, son of mine. Try. Even if she will not hear it. That you tried will matter sooner or later.”

He understood. He understood scary things, some of which mani had told him, some of which he had guessed. But he also knew his mother was going to be furious with him about going—for leaving in the first place, which was not his fault; and for leaving with mani, which was not his fault, either. And angry for everything that had happened in the past. There was current trouble, too: grandfather had been assassinated, Ajuri clan had no lord, and Father would not let Mother take the lordship, and certainly would not let
him
take it—so Ajuri was not in good favor right now. And there might not ever be a new lord, which would break Ajuri apart and make it dependent on two or three other clans for everything administrative.

His mother was mad about that, among other things.

But Mother could also give orders that would make trouble for Boji while he was gone, and he knew his father would protect Boji for him, but he just did not want to create that situation or get his father into an argument with his mother on that, when there was so much else wrong.

His father wanted him to go in there. His father said now was better than later—when his mind wanted to argue he could deal with the kyo and come back with everybody's man'chi and then his mother would see he was right and not be as angry.

But that was building a house from the roof down, that was what Lord Geigi said. That was starting from
after.
They already had more
after
than they could deal with.

So, leaving his father's office, he paused with his aishid outside his father's door and drew a deep, deep breath, still not having the least idea how he was going to do what his father asked. “The kyo have come, nadiin-ji, and I have to go up to the station, and it is all secret from the rest of the staff. I am going to talk to my mother now. Wait for me.”

They heard it, they listened. And it was nothing they could possibly save him from. He walked on down the hall with his throat gone tight, and knocked at his mother's door.

Mother's chief maid answered, and without a word, let him into the first room, that with the beautiful windows, all in white filmy curtains.

The most beautiful room in all the apartment was Seimiro's nursery. And Seimiro spent her time asleep in her crib, oblivious to the weather outside, which he supposed was typical of babies. He walked over and stood looking down at her small frowning face.

Her mouth twitched. Maybe she was having a dream. He had no idea.

But she was improving. From nobody—before she was born—she was becoming a small mystery. He wondered what she thought,
if
she thought—whether she noticed things or enjoyed things.