Protector

Doors shut, elsewhere. There was a further delay. A second, more distant thump.

And they sat.

And sat. The dowager and Tatiseigi discussed the vote count on the tribal bill, which looked good. And Cajeiri sat so very still, being so very good.

“Perhaps,” Bren said, “the young gentleman might enjoy a game of chess. I think his aishid would oblige him with a challenge. There is a chess set in the galley storage.”

Ilisidi waggled her fingers, a dismissal. Cajeiri got up, bowed silently, and went over to his aishid with that information.

The game set up and started, Veijico taking black.

Tatiseigi muttered, disapprovingly, “In my youth, one would have sat.”

“Nandi,” Bren said, “he is concerned about the flight.”

“Well,” Tatiseigi said, “well, so should anyone be, with such machines.”

“Best young minds stay busy,” Ilisidi said, not displeased, and the three of them sat quietly and talked, had one cup of sweet tea, and the chess match progressed.

Then the train, with its characteristic chuff, began to move.

The chess match paused, Cajeiri’s hand, on a Fortress, hesitated in midair.

Then calmly resumed its course toward a square.

Eight, going on fortunate nine, and a mental age above that. Cajeiri, on the most intense campaign of good behavior in his whole life, set the piece down.

Cajeiri’s opponent, Veijico, lifted an eyebrow, considering the move, then cast a furtive glance toward the dowager, and quietly advised the young rascal, likely, that they were indeed watched.

There were quiet remarks. Human ears, at least, could not hear them. Likely neither the dowager nor Tatiseigi could hear. Tano got up and renewed the teapot, and provided a large pot for Cajeiri and his bodyguard as the train made its slow passage along the restricted tunnel. The rest of the adult bodyguards continued in quiet conversation interspersed with Guild signs.

They cleared the hill, cleared the tunnel, gathered speed toward the city junction, and clicked over onto the lefthand track.

Faster and faster, then, a steam-age locomotive bent again on rendezvous with a spaceship.

“Are they coming down yet, Banichi-nadi?” Cajeiri turned to ask as the train gathered speed. “Shall we see it land?”

“One fears not, young gentleman, however we will be arriving there at about the time it touches down, and we shall take the bus to meet them. You will get to see them disembark.”

“One wished—” Cajeiri began to say, and then meekly said, “One is glad, Banichi-nadi.”

“Security,” Banichi said. “One regrets, young gentleman. But these are necessary precautions.”

“Yes,” Cajeiri said quietly, frowning.

Difficult for the boy, Bren thought. But one understood. They were moving as expeditiously as possible: get the youngsters under their protection, get them to the train, and get moving again, with as little exposure as possible. The shuttle landings were fairly routine. The shuttle the children were stated to be taking was not due for days. When the news did get to observers that this one had the children, and that the heir was here, any hostile action, unless extremely well-placed or very lucky, was going to have to scramble.

The whereabouts of the train was traceable—if one had agents within Transportation; but again, the exact routing for thistrain was given only at intervals necessary to shunt other traffic onto other tracks. It prioritized itself through the system on a sector by sector basis, not always at high speed, given the engine that often pulled it, but in a traveling bubble of secrecy and priority; and they would be stalling all train traffic on a very main line for at least an hour, while they performed their maneuver out to the port and back.

“The port has contact, aiji-ma, nandiin,” Cenedi reported finally.

They were very near the spaceport.

And Nawari got to his feet. “Aiji-ma, nandiin, you will find the port bus right off the platform, so it will be a very short walk. We shall enter the perimeter fence through the service gate, which will be open. We shall pick up our passengers, and their baggage, which is able to be hand-carried aboard the bus. No one should exit the bus. Aiji-ma, nandiin, as you board, please occupy the seats behind the driver. The opposing row will be reserved for our passengers, who will board as quickly as possible.”

“Very good, Wari-ji,” the dowager said.

The operation was on schedule, and while they had no view, Bren had an excellent idea where they were: a flat prairie with very few features except grazing herds and the occasional patch of brush.

And at a certain point they slowed, and slowed further, then took that little jog of a switchover, toward the port, everyone swaying.

“They are in process of landing, nandiin,” Cenedi said. Then: “They are touching down.”

Cajeiri visibly elevated off his seat, then shut his mouth and settled, locking his hands in his lap and not saying a thing.

The dowager nodded, satisfied.