Bloody hell, what excuse isPhoenix command going to tell us all this time, Jase?

He couldn’t let the distress reach his face—first lesson of diplomacy among atevi: never look upset. He looked at the ceiling a moment, away into white-tiled space, drew a deep breath, then faced solemn atevi stares with as much calm as he could muster.

“Well, Jase and I have had a lively discussion. As you heard.”

“One heard,” Banichi said.

“Jase says the captains will soon address the crew, nadiin-ji. Jase says he didn’t already know what Ramirez is alleged to have told him, so I suppose if we’re patient we may hear at least as much truth as the other captains have to admit. I’m notpleased, I may say, and I’m doubtful how much truth we may yet hear. Jase says we’ll have Mogari-nai available.”

“What measures shall we take?” Banichi asked him—Banichi had to ask, in matters involving humans. On the planet, among atevi, Banichi was inclined to know.

This one, unhappily, was up to the paidhi to figure out.

But once lied to— wheredid people start believing again?

“One wishes one knew, Banichi-ji. One waits to see what issaid, one supposes, and then one tries to determine whether we’ve now returned to the truth… or whether there’s only a new lie.”

“Does this entail a quarrel among the human associations?”

“One isn’t sure where the lines are,” he said. “One isn’t sure whose side certain individuals may be supporting.”

“The ship being refueled,” Algini said, “they can choose to leave.”

It wasn’t the first time his staff had raised that point. The last time had been in deep concern when Tabini had agreed to the refueling in the first place.

“There would seem to be very little we can do about it,” Bren said.

“We have studied the matter,” Banichi said, “and there might be something we can do about it, if we take certain key points within the ship.”

Why was he not surprised his staff, independently and quietly, had come up with a theory of how to do it?

And he had to decide, quickly, whether to let them try.

But what was next on Ramirez’ agenda? Or what might Ramirez have known? What might be coming in?

Dared they risk damage to the only ship they had—when they couldn’t, themselves, operate it?

“We know more than we did, nadiin-ji, but we don’t know what Ramirez knew. Before we make such a move, I hope I have time to talk to Jase. And I hope Jase comes to visit us with answers.”

Chapter 8

“Shipmates: the captains regret to report very sad news, Senior Captain Stani Ramirez has passed away suddenly of natural causes, much mourned and missed by us all.”

Funereal music had prefaced the announcement. The meeting—Jase’s meeting—had produced, officially, an official announcement on every channel, one, channel 2, given over to a captioned translation into Ragi—Jase’s, Bren strongly suspected. There was one ill-omened error of numerology.

“ Services are set for 1800h in the crew recreation area stationside. All but critical personnel will have the choice to attend.”

Phoenixfroze her dead—for disposition later, the word had always been. At some time Phoenixwould send her departed crewmen to a rest that forever escaped gravity wells, but it hadn’t happened yet. One assumed that for Ramirez. But they were hurrying to hold the memorial, no preparation. They had an hour.

“ This concludes the funeral announcement. A security bulletin follows.”

Damned well time, Bren thought.

“ A rumor has arisen which has raised alarm among our allies. The captains have accordingly released the following accurate information. …”

Be truthful. For God’s sake, be truthful, Jase… and be accurate.

“ Certain information regarding the station at Reunion was kept secret due to the necessity of duplicitous negotiation among the allies—”

God, Jase, actomen’shi, not eshtomeni?

“ Reunion exists. It suffered extensive damage and loss of life during alien attack. A small number of survivors decided to stay on the station, maintain a general communications silence and effect repairs such as would give them the capacity to refit and refuel Phoenix for a further, longer voyage, only should Phoenix find no resource here.

“ In the event of a second alien attack or imminent disaster to Reunion, Reunion staff is to destroy the station with all personnel and all records.

“ Phoenix command has pledged to Reunion volunteers that Phoenix will return as soon as possible to their relief.

“ A list of known survivors will be available via C1, appended to this bulletin.

“ The Council of Captains reminds the crew that we have no information as to current conditions at Reunion. There has been no communication with Reunion since, for the protection of all persons.

“ This is Captain Graham. I ask our allies be tolerant of my foreignness and make all utterances respectful and fortunate in your minds. It is the intent of the ship-aijiin to work closely and frankly with our allies.”

Well done. Well done, Jase.

As well done as could be, give or take a few glitches and one piece of accidental honesty—or maybe Jase had thought it best to tell the whole truth.

Jago was back. The whole staff assembled at the security station, leaning in the door, not venturing further into the small room.

The content was explosive enough with the crew—who couldn’t be damned happy with what their captains had done in maintaining secrecy. No democracy on the decks, that was sure. No debate about a decision to leave Reunion personnel in place… but Phoenixwasn’t a democracy and never had been.

The list of survivors rolled past. He didn’t personally know the names to look for, but he recognized crew surnames. There wereliving relatives—how close, and how emotionally viable the ties that bound them to ship-crew might be debatable, but the names told him there were ties, and the list numbered over two hundred individuals…

Two hundred individuals to keep a station alive.

But ask, even so, whether thatlist was definitive or not, or whether even Ramirez had known all the list or all the truth. The history of lies and half-truths was just too old, too long, too often.

And in all his career he doubted he had met a situation as disillusioning and as disturbing.

“I think one may transmit to Mogari-nai,” Bren said. Eidi still hadn’t gotten back to him, or acknowledged the second call, which might mean that Eidi had had to leave the Bu-javid to carry his message—or it might mean that Tabini had heard the first one and wasn’t going to acknowledge a subordinate so disorganized as to chase one message with another within minutes. It wasn’t for the aiji in Shejidan to beg details. It was for the paidhi to compose his information in logical fashion and send, and he sent. He dropped his information, piece by piece, into the gravity well and waited for some echo, any echo, to tell him how Shejidan was reacting, what Tabini was thinking, what Tabini wanted him to do about the unfolding situation.

Tabini wouldn’t rush to judgement or to action. Not in this. Silence meant that the subordinate in question should act as wisely as he understood how to do, and silence meant if the subordinate fouled up—the aiji in Shejidan could change everything in a heartbeat.

Jase, sending, would likely get no better reaction.

So Bren let it be Jase—didn’t package the information under his own name, didn’t revise word-choices into felicity and good grammar—the aiji knew Jase, and he wasn’t superstitious.

But two stations— twowas one of those damnable numbers that ran cold fingers down atevi spines no matter how modern and enlightened the hearer: twohadn’t even been in consideration when they were considering building another starship: threewas the plan as atevi laid it down, and twowas only a stage they would pass through on their way to three.