abound in the Bu-javid. I’ve spoken severely to the aiji.”
Give atevi a piece of tech and sometimes they put it together in ways humans hadn’t, in their own history—inventors, out of their own social framework, connected ideas in ways you didn’t expect, and never intended, either in social consequence, or in technical ramifications. The wire was one. Figure that atevi had a propensity for inventions regarding personal protection, figure that atevi law didn’t forbid lethal devices, and ask how far they’d taken other items and to what uses they didn’t advertise.
The paidhi tried to keep ahead of it. The paidhi tried to keep abreast of every technology and every piece of vocabulary in the known universe, but bits and tags perpetually got away and it was accelerating—the escape of knowledge, the recombination of items into things utterly out of human control.
Most of all, atevi weren’t incapable of making technological discoveries completely on their own … and had no trouble keeping them prudently under wraps. They were not a communicative people.
They reached the door. He used the key Banichi had given him. The door opened. Neither the mat nor the wire was in evidence.
“Ankle high and black,” Banichi said. “But it’s down and disarmed. You did use the right key.”
“
Your
key.” He didn’t favor Banichi’s jokes. “I don’t see the mat.”
“Under the carpet.
Don’t
walk on it barefoot. You’d bleed. The wire is an easy step in. You can walk on it while it’s off. Just don’t do that barefoot, either.”
He could scarcely see it. He walked across the mat. Banichi stayed the other side of it.
“It cuts its own way through insulation,” Banichi said.“And through boot leather, paidhi-ji, if it’s live. Don’t touch it, even when it’s dead. Lock the door and don’t wander the halls.”
“I have an energy council meeting this afternoon.”
“You’ll want to change coats, nadi. Wait here for Jago. She’ll escort you.”
“What is this? I’m to have an escort everywhere I go? I’m to be leapt upon by the minister of Works? Assaulted by the head of Water Management?”
“Prudence, prudence, nadi Bren. Jago’s witty company. She’s fascinated by your brown hair.”
He was outraged. “You’re enjoying this. It’s not funny, Banichi.”
“Forgive me.” Banichi was unfailingly solemn. “But humor her. Escort is so damned boring.”
II
I t was the old argument, highway transport versus rail, bringing intense lobbying pressure from the highway transport operators, who wanted road expansion into the hill towns, versus the rail industry, who wanted the high-speed research money and the eventual extensions into the highlands. Versus commercial air freight, and versus the general taxpayers who didn’t want their taxes raised. The provincial governor wanted a highway instead of a rail spur, and advanced arguments, putting considerable influence to bear on the minister of Works.
Computer at his elbow, the screen long since gone to rest, Bren listened through the argument he’d heard in various guises—this was a repainted, replastered version—and on a notepad on the table in front of him, sketched interlocked circles that might be psychologically significant.
Far more interesting a pastime than listening to the minister’s delivery. Jago was outside, probably enjoying a soft drink, while the paidhi-aiji was running out of ice water.
The Minister of Works had a numbing, sing-song rhythm in his voice. But the paidhi-aiji was obliged to listen, in case of action on the proposal. The paidhi-aiji had no vote, of course, if the highway came to a vote today at all, which didn’t look likely. He had no right even to speak uninvited, unless he decided to impose his one real power, his outright veto over a council recommendation to the upper house, the tashrid—a veto which was good until the tashrid met to consider it. He had used his veto twice in the research
Give atevi a piece of tech and sometimes they put it together in ways humans hadn’t, in their own history—inventors, out of their own social framework, connected ideas in ways you didn’t expect, and never intended, either in social consequence, or in technical ramifications. The wire was one. Figure that atevi had a propensity for inventions regarding personal protection, figure that atevi law didn’t forbid lethal devices, and ask how far they’d taken other items and to what uses they didn’t advertise.
The paidhi tried to keep ahead of it. The paidhi tried to keep abreast of every technology and every piece of vocabulary in the known universe, but bits and tags perpetually got away and it was accelerating—the escape of knowledge, the recombination of items into things utterly out of human control.
Most of all, atevi weren’t incapable of making technological discoveries completely on their own … and had no trouble keeping them prudently under wraps. They were not a communicative people.
They reached the door. He used the key Banichi had given him. The door opened. Neither the mat nor the wire was in evidence.
“Ankle high and black,” Banichi said. “But it’s down and disarmed. You did use the right key.”
“
Your
key.” He didn’t favor Banichi’s jokes. “I don’t see the mat.”
“Under the carpet.
Don’t
walk on it barefoot. You’d bleed. The wire is an easy step in. You can walk on it while it’s off. Just don’t do that barefoot, either.”
He could scarcely see it. He walked across the mat. Banichi stayed the other side of it.
“It cuts its own way through insulation,” Banichi said.“And through boot leather, paidhi-ji, if it’s live. Don’t touch it, even when it’s dead. Lock the door and don’t wander the halls.”
“I have an energy council meeting this afternoon.”
“You’ll want to change coats, nadi. Wait here for Jago. She’ll escort you.”
“What is this? I’m to have an escort everywhere I go? I’m to be leapt upon by the minister of Works? Assaulted by the head of Water Management?”
“Prudence, prudence, nadi Bren. Jago’s witty company. She’s fascinated by your brown hair.”
He was outraged. “You’re enjoying this. It’s not funny, Banichi.”
“Forgive me.” Banichi was unfailingly solemn. “But humor her. Escort is so damned boring.”
II
I t was the old argument, highway transport versus rail, bringing intense lobbying pressure from the highway transport operators, who wanted road expansion into the hill towns, versus the rail industry, who wanted the high-speed research money and the eventual extensions into the highlands. Versus commercial air freight, and versus the general taxpayers who didn’t want their taxes raised. The provincial governor wanted a highway instead of a rail spur, and advanced arguments, putting considerable influence to bear on the minister of Works.
Computer at his elbow, the screen long since gone to rest, Bren listened through the argument he’d heard in various guises—this was a repainted, replastered version—and on a notepad on the table in front of him, sketched interlocked circles that might be psychologically significant.
Far more interesting a pastime than listening to the minister’s delivery. Jago was outside, probably enjoying a soft drink, while the paidhi-aiji was running out of ice water.
The Minister of Works had a numbing, sing-song rhythm in his voice. But the paidhi-aiji was obliged to listen, in case of action on the proposal. The paidhi-aiji had no vote, of course, if the highway came to a vote today at all, which didn’t look likely. He had no right even to speak uninvited, unless he decided to impose his one real power, his outright veto over a council recommendation to the upper house, the tashrid—a veto which was good until the tashrid met to consider it. He had used his veto twice in the research
Similar Books
