Precursor by C. J. Cherryh

own speed.
    “The new paidhi was accepted?”
    “There’s no polite choice. They find no affront in Mercheson’s withdrawal, but they’re not happy and they wonder what she’ll say.”
    “Since they tried to kill her, probably not a thoroughly positive report.”
    “But to recall her… Mospheirans accept this as the Guild’s right over its own representative. I did talk with Shawn Tyers. And talked with the delegates on the plane. They were surprised you granted their visa, aiji-ma.”
    “Were they? And the meeting with Jase?”
    “We talked at some length.” He kept all expression off his face, out of his voice. “I advise the aiji against sending him.”
    “When shall we send him, then?”
    A question, a challenge for an answer. “When the second shuttle flies,” he said. “I need Jase.”
    “And if I say he goes as Ramirez-aiji requires?”
    “Then he will go, aiji-ma. But I’ll wish to go back to the space center. I was surprised, of course. We spent the conversation reminiscing. I fear I came away not having asked things I should have asked. I’m not ready to lose this man…”
    “
What
would you have asked?”
    “Principally, what Jase thinks they’ll ask next. He doesn’t think they’ll let him come down soon. I find this alarming.” It wasn’t no, not yet. He still schemed to advance a plan. “He might take moderately ill. The shuttle cycles in six weeks. That would give us time, aiji-ma.”
    “Time. —And Trent Cope? Did he recover?”
    “Jase doesn’t favor him. I don’t. Though it’s very difficult for a person to be forthcoming when he knows he’s sedated.”
    “Understandable. He has all of Jason’s physical difficulties?”
    “Moving at night did prove better.”
    “And your household? Well?”
    “Very well, aiji-ma.”
    “And President Durant?”
    God, what was this? A catalog?
    “Very well. I introduced Trent-paidhi myself, though Trent-paidhi was mildly indisposed and took immediate leave to a windowless room. The President asked politely regarding your health, aiji-ma, and extended his wishes for you and Lady Damiri.”
    There was no reaction to the good wishes. Tabini, even seated, towering in the natural height of adult atevi, was a powerful individual… a hunter on opportunity, besides a student of every curiosity, and of technology. His gold eyes were pale to the point of ill omen, and the predatory look came naturally. There might never have been so progressive and enlightened a ruler as Tabini in all the history of the Western Association. But his direct, continuing stare unnerved his opponents.
    “You were surprised by the delegation, paidhi-ji?”
    “Utterly. I knew they were training a group to go, as of last year. I knew there was going to be a request as soon as the shuttle officially had a flight schedule. I did report that, aiji-ma, I’m sure I did.”
    “You did, nand’ paidhi. I certainly attach no fault to you in this matter of the delegation; on the contrary, I sent directly to Tyers, and
suggested
this mission.”
    Without translation? It was impossible. Someone had mediated. Someone knew what was going on. He damned sure didn’t.
    No study, no committee, no hesitation. Bang! Stamped, sealed, approved, and the team suddenly had a visa; use it or else.
    In the same heartbeat came a footfall at the door, a whisper of fabric, a faint whisper of spice, to nostrils assailed with Mospheiran scents for days. Lady Damiri arrived in the room, and Bren rose in courtesy as Tabini’s wife settled in the graceful chair at Tabini’s elbow.
    “We will miss you, paidhi-ji,” Damiri said to him.
    Miss? Bren thought in shock, and Tabini looked vexed.
    “Love of my life,” Tabini began.
    “Oh, you haven’t told him.”
    “No, I haven’t told him, daja-ma. —Bren, nadi, there was a reason I sent Jase Graham to the space center in such haste. Your belongings are by now packed.”
    While he was at the dowager’s apartment? In a matter of two hours?