Burning Bright

“Where’s Rosaurin?” he shouted, raising his voice to be heard over the wind.

“I don’t know, Na Damian,” the woman called back. “In the shed, maybe?”

Damian waved in answer, turned away.

“Na Damian!” That was Rosaurin’s voice, coming from the head of the dock, beyond the plotting shed. Damian waved to get her attention.

“Over here!”

Rosaurin came to join him, the wind whipping her short hair and flinging the skirts of her coat wildly so that they seemed in danger of tripping her. A smaller figure was visible behind her, a tiny woman in loose trousers and a fitted coat, posed so unobtrusively that for a moment he didn’t recognize her. “It’s that hsaia, Na Damian—I’m sorry, the Visiting Speaker. He’s here, and he insists you promised him a tour of the facilities.”

Ji-Imbaoa. What would he be doing here, except to bring me the codes? And Cella, too. Damian Chrestil suppressed his excitement and said, with what he hoped was convincing asperity, “And at a time like this. Tell him—I’ll see him in my office, you can bring him in there.” Rosaurin looked warily at him, and Damian smiled. “Don’t worry, there won’t be any tours. I’ll deal with him. And secure that cable, will you?”

“Right, Na Damian. I’ll bring him to your office.”

Rosaurin turned away, balancing herself against the unsteady wind, made her way back down the wharf. Damian followed her, more slowly, doing his best to hide his elation. There was no other reason for ji-Imbaoa to visit the Junction Pool docks, no reason except that he’d finally gotten the codes, and if he had, and Ransome was off-line, held in the summer house, there would be no one who could stop the transfer. Except—maybe—Lioe, and she was being dealt with, too. He smiled then, unable to stop himself, and Cella smiled back at him.

“He came to the palazze,” she said. “He said it was important, so I brought him here. Your sibs don’t know he was there.” She paused then, still smiling. “Do you want me to wait with him?”

Damian nodded, knowing he did not need to wait for an answer. He ducked through the clamped-open door into the shadows of the warehouse, and stepped back into his office. He glanced quickly at his reflection—his hair was a mess, blown out of its ties by even that short an exposure to the wind, and he tidied it hurriedly—and then settled himself behind the desk. He lit the screens, calling up the plans he had been studying, and leaned back in his chair to wait, struggling to keep himself from grinning like a fool.

“Na Damian,” the secretary said, after what seemed to be an interminable wait. “You have a visitor. The Visiting Speaker Kuguee ji-Imbaoa. And Na Cella.” The expensive voice module did a fairly good job with the alien name.

“Show them in,” Damian said, and this time couldn’t keep the satisfaction out of his voice.

He rose to his feet as the Visiting Speaker entered, gesturing for him to take the guest’s chair beneath the painted triptych. “Welcome, Na Speaker, it’s good to see you again.”

Ji-Imbaoa waved a hand, waving away the need for formality, and Damian did his best to swallow his excitement.

“Your woman was good enough to bring me here. Time is of the essence now,” the Visiting Speaker said. “We can neither of us afford to waste any more time.”

In the background, Cella lifted one precise eyebrow, and said nothing.

“I’ve not been wasting time,” Damian said.

Ji-Imbaoa waved away the comment. “No matter.”

“No,” Damian Chrestil said. “It does matter.” It was a risk, pushing him at this point, but he could not afford to let ji-Imbaoa treat him like an employee. “I have been ready to fulfill my part of the bargain. The delays come from your end.”

There was a little silence, ji-Imbaoa’s hands closing slowly on the arms of his chair. Damian waited, and, as slowly, the hsaia’s hands relaxed.

“It is so,” ji-Imbaoa said. “However, that delay has ended. I have the codes.”

It’s as much of an apology as I’m likely to get. “Excellent,” Damian Chrestil said, and held out his hand.

Ji-Imbaoa ignored it. “I have gone to a great deal of trouble to get this information. I had to contact my friends through commercial linkages—at great expense—because Chauvelin refused to allow me the use of the ambassadorial channels. I think I should have some recompense for this.”

Damian swallowed his first response, said, with careful moderation, “Na Speaker, surely that’s one of the ordinary risks of doing business.”

“I am not a business person,” ji-Imbaoa said.

That’s for certain. Damian said aloud, “You expect me to pay for your connect time to HsaioiAn.”

The fingers of ji-Imbaoa’s hands curled slightly, a movement Damian had learned to interpret as embarrassment, but the Visiting Speaker nodded. “I think it would be fair.”