“Aiji-ma,” Bren said evenly. “Jase-aiji expresses grave concern for this accident. As do we both. And most earnestly assume it isn’t lethal.”
“The tapes,” Ilisidi said. The dreaded cane had been at rest. Now she banged it hard against a table leg. “The tapes, nadiin-ji.”
Sabin attempted to leave her place, to drift free, not quite in control of her limbs. Cajeiri froze in place, young creature in a thicket, as Jase sailed free of his chair to overtake Sabin, to seize her in his arms.
Bren pushed free as well.
“I’ve been poisoned,” Sabin said. “Damn you!”
“Not lethal,” Bren said to Jase in Ragi. He wasn’t that utterly confident, but he said, in ship-speak. “I fear it’s a reaction to something you ate, captain. The sauces. The sauces can be particularly chancy.” Sabin was passing into shivering tremors, angry and incoherent in the chattering of her jaw. “Not generally fatal. It happened to me, once.” On purpose. At the dowager’s table. For just such reasons. “I’m very sorry.”
Sabin reached for her communications unit, but her fingers had trouble with the button.
Jase took it, about to use it himself, but Bren shot out a hand onto Jase’s and prevented that.
“You’re in charge,” he said to Jase in Ragi. “Not likely fatal, nadi, believe me. But you and I and our security are all going up there, to attend her to sickbay.”
“We can’t have done this!”
“Insulting the dowager at her own table? You can’t have done that, either—which I assure you is far more dangerous to the peace than the soup. Disabling the opposition is a moderate response, a limited demonstration, in this case.”
“Demonstration, hell! Not likely fatal. You don’t know that. She’s not young. She could die.”
“Then stop talking and let’s get her up there to the medics.”
“Your agents going all over the ship—” Jase tried for composure, and Sabin had by now fallen into a tremulous semi-consciousness. “Damn you,” Jase said hoarsely. “Damn you, Bren. I trusted you.”
“You cantrust me,” Bren said. “Move. Fluids are going to be a very good idea, very soon now.”
They were floating mostly above the dining-table. Ilisidi had drifted up, dislodging a stray drink-globe, formidable cane in hand. Cajeiri followed, very, very cautiously, eyes completely wide.
Somehow, meanwhile, Cenedi had arrived from the serving-room, the back way—Cenedi, and then Banichi, together: a number usually unfortunate, but it was a pacifying unity here, with lords at loggerheads.
Perhaps even a human returned to ship-loyalties could feel that shift in the odds.
“She isn’tTamun,” Jase said. “She pulled back from the coup.”
“That’s all very well. You changed the agreements, youwanted us confined to quarters, youstarted imposing conditions on the atevi representation on this mission, conditions I’m not sure would be quite as extreme on our still-to-board humandelegates—”
“That’s your suspicion, Bren.”
“I’m afraid it is. But the odds have shifted. You know what’s at stake. She’s not dead. She’s in reach of medical care you’re keeping her from, nadi, and I’d suggest we get moving right now, no conditions, no maneuvers on your side. Let’s see she stays alive, nadi, before we have the association blow up in our faces.”
“All right,” Jase said in ship-speak. “All right.”
“One recommends fluids,” the dowager said, “a great deal of fluids, very soon. A blanket, for wrapping. Quickly now.”
Servants moved.
“We shall visit our guest,” Ilisidi declared. “We are of course distressed.”
“Let’s go,” Bren said. “Your security’s outside. Calm them. I’ll go with you. We won’t let this break wide open, Jase.”
“You’re not taking this ship.” This, in ship-speak.
“I earnestly hope not.” And in Ragi: “We’re sitting here at dock, we haven’t gone anywhere, and I’m not letting you pull this ship out of dock with the dowager and Tabini’s son aboard until we have some kind of cooperation and until the dowager is satisfied. Atevi act for their own interests, and it’s their planet, their sunlight you’ve been borrowing. If you want admission, Jase Graham, negotiate, because the way Sabin-aiji’s gone at it is shaping up to a disaster.”
The servant had come back with a wrap, a wonderfully hand-worked piece, no common woven sheet; and very tenderly that young man helped Jase wrap the shivering captain in its tightly confining embrace—far easier on the captain, far more comforting than a hand-grip. “Get the light out of her eyes,” Bren said, tucking a fold across Sabin’s brow. His own gut recalled the misery, and he had every sympathy for what Sabin was about to endure. “Captain. We’re getting you upstairs. Do you hear me? Hang on. This was surely an accident, an unfortunate accident.”
With Jase he moved Sabin toward the door. Jago was outside. So were Kaplan and Pressman, and so was Collins, Sabin’s man, with his team.
“The captain’s reacted to something at dinner,” Jase said. “Mr. Kaplan, alert the infirmary.”
The dowager followed, with Cajeiri trailing close, the very image of the concerned host, servants adding a cloak to the dowager’s formal attire.
“You’ll stay here,” Collins said to them, as if Jase were one of the passengers.
That, Bren thought, was a tactical mistake.
“Mister,” Jase said, “they’re going where I say they’re going. That’s up to the infirmary, where we can pass information to the medics.”
“Cenedi-ji,” Ilisidi said. “Have the area secure.”
They moved. Cenedi and four men attended the dowager and Cajeiri. “Banichi-ji,” Bren said, intent on going with them, and Banichi and Jago opted to leave security to Cenedi’s men.
That added up to nine atevi, seven of them very large indeed—a boy and the dowager, and a handful of worried human security, with Jase and Sabin—Sabin being still conscious, but quite, quite beyond coherent expression.
They reached the lift together. “Second deck, Mr. Kaplan,” Jase said, and Kaplan punched it in, Sabin’s security crowded in with them so that there was very little space left at all.
The lift shot up, opened its door onto pervisible walls and a waiting escort in blue and white, medics who received the captain in greatest haste and concern and wanted to eject them all back into the lift in the process.
“The dowager expresses great concern for the captain’s welfare and will attend,” Bren said. “Such incidents happen with native diet—rare, but they do happen. Her staff has a pharmacopeia of remedies.”
“We have our own expertise,” the chief medic said. “Captain.”
“The dowager does know what was administered,” Jase said, with no trace of irony or anger about it. “Mr. Cameron can translate.—What will you recommend, nand’ dowager?”
“A purgative,” Ilisidi said. “A strong purgative. The body will continue to throw it off in every possible way, and administration of fluids will be very helpful.”
Bren translated. “Purge the system. Get her to a small, dark room. I’ve suffered a similar situation. Fluids will help the headache. I assure you there will be headache. Severe headache.”
For the next several days. He didn’t mention that. Sabin would want to kill them by degrees. And wouldn’t want to see bright lights or raise her head above horizontal—however that worked in zero-g.
“ This is Captain Graham.” Jase’s voice came over the general address, and from Jase, in stereo, via C1’s offices, Bren had no doubt. “ Captain Sabin has had a food reaction, and is recovering in sickbay, full recovery expected. We’re close to shift-change. It’s become my watch, and first-shift may stand down as relief arrives. Second-shift, report to duty immediately.”
Sabin began to try to speak when she heard that, and was, predictably, suffering nausea. Medics, atevi security and human, moved to assist. In zero-g, it was not a happy situation.