“One interrupted the paidhi-aiji, honored Father, when he was speaking to Jase-aiji: I spoke to Jase-aiji myself. I know him very well, honored Father. It hardly seemed rude at the moment. It was, however, a great misjudgment.”
“And what was the nature of this address?”
“I sent a small courtesy to my associates, to say that I am safe and well. They must be worried.”
“Indeed.” His father’s indeed could wither grass. “And a ship-aiji was to deliver this message in person?”
“Jase-aiji knows me very well, honored Father, and may well do it very quickly, by computer. And one was in all courtesy required to assure my associates of my safety. If I could send a letter up—”
“The welfare of the station and the ship are dependent on the slender resources of Mogari-nai, and my son wishes to send letters.”
“But the transmission of letters is very fast, honored Father. A whole library could go right in the middle of someone talking, and the computers would never even slow down at all. I used to write every day, everyone does it, on the ship—letters go back and forth all the time, sometimes just a word or two.”
His father lifted both brows. “In which language, son of mine?”
Caught. “In Mosphei’, honored Father.” And he was determined not to look guilty. “You surely know Mosphei’. It seems useful to know.”
His father’s expression changed not at all. “And you are in the habit of sending such personal letters?”
“Everyone does, honored Father! The system has all sorts of traffic. Even the lights going on and off are on the system. It just goes so fast no one notices. Computers are like that. Jase-aiji knows it would be no disturbance at all for me to send letters— if we could write back and forth, it would make me ever so happy, and I could find out things that go on in the station— that would be useful to you, would it not? And the computers would never slow down at all, never. The ship-folk send hundreds and hundreds of letters all day long, even silly one word letters, and the computers never blink—the lights go on and off and the air moves and everything runs without a mistake, all while thousands of letters go back and forth in every watch and everybody talks at once—just as if everyone were sitting in one room. And if one is asleep and not able to receive a message, it sits and waits for notice.”
“This seems quite a wonder,” his mother remarked into the silence that followed.
“We could have such a thing here, honored Mother! We could set it up if we had only a few computers. And it runs so fast! If I had had the system with me in Tirnamardi—”
“Uncle Tatiseigi would have had a seizure,” his father remarked.
“But if I had had it, honored Father, we would have been able to send letters as fast as a phone call. Just like that, only to hundreds and thousands of people at once. And we could have gathered even more people!”
“A few computers,” his father echoed, so far back in his train of thought that he had to blink to remember what he had said.
“Well, and one needs the connections between them, honored Father. But it takes hardly anything at all to run it, no extra power, and computers run so fast they always have time for letters or even whole conversations—they hardly notice at all while they do other jobs.”
“Indeed,” his father said, but this time it was not the withering version. In fact, his father had leaned a little his direction, and his eyes sparked with a faint interest. “One imagines the ship system my son used must be much more advanced than we have here.”
“But we could do it here, honored Father! We could connect up the mail and the phones and the security systems and the servants and everything just like theirs, and once you have the computers talking to each other, it goes far faster than phones, because if you call someone, you have to say hello and they have to say hello and you have to talk through the courtesies, but these are just pieces of information, just sitting there waiting for you, just the things you need to know. And they fly from computer to computer as fast as thinking. Mani-ma said there was a rudeness about it, but if one’s staff does it, then the servants can throw out the silly bits and find the important things. Mani’s staff did, and her staff sent back and forth to Lord Bren’s all the time. The Guild does it. One is very certain the Assassins’ Guild does it.”
“Interesting.”
It was close, so close. He had his father’s attention. He plunged ahead. “If I could get Gene to get the manuals—he could just send them down to me by Mogari-nai, and once we had the manuals, we could set it up with just two or three computers, and then we would hardly need the—Messengers’ Guild.”
“One is certain the Messengers’ Guild would be gratified to think so.”
“But, well, they could find something to do. They can run computers.”
“Gene is this young associate of yours on the ship.”
“He is extremely reliable, honored Father.”
“And he will somehow find the ship’s manuals and give them to us without the paidhi’s intercession? Remarkable, this reliability.”
“Everybody has the manuals, honored Father, well, the ordinary onesc One can even use the computers to read their own manuals.”
“And you can read them that fluently?” He was caught with his mouth open. He shut it, and bowed. “Yes, honored Father. I can.”
“And in which language does my son habitually speak with Gene?”
Deeper and deeper. And a lie would come out to his discredit, at the worst possible time. “Whichever one seems to fit, honored father.”
“Ah,” his mother said. “So Gene speaks Ragi.”
“A little. Just a little of the children’s language.”
“And you,” his father said, “speak the ship-language and Mosphei’ and this alien language, too.”
He bowed respectfully. “Yes, honored Father. Expediency.”
“Expediency. What a precocious choice of words.”
“Mani would say that. But she taught me, honored Father.”
“Well, well, two years in her care, and one is hardly surprised at such thoughts.”
“I ever so need to maintain these associations with the ship-folk, honored Father. You have nand’ Bren, and his advice. I have Gene.”
“A person untested and unadvised.”
“He will grow up, honored Mother. And so will I!”
“And you wish to slip a personal letter through this wonderful system,” his father said, “of course with a ship-aiji’s permission, asking that technical information be sent down—with or without the paidhi’s intercession?”
“It would be absolutely no inconvenience to the system, honored Father. And nand’ Bren would approve. And it is honorably owed that I present courtesies to Gene-nadi. I had no proper chance even to speak to them when I left.”
“Them,” his father said. It was a question.
“Gene, and Artur, and Irene, and Bjorn.”
“The convenient number of a personal guard.”
“They were that. They were, honored Father. They would defend me.”
“They are children,” his mother said.
But his father gave a small wave of his hand, which he dared hope was indulgent dismissal, with permission. “Compose a letter.
Nand’ Bren must approve it before sending. You will not ask for the theft of manuals. You may ask nand’ Bren what he will request for you, in that line, and what nand’ Bren approves may go out. Only what he approves may go. Is that clear? He is the paidhi, and he must rule on technological matters, even when we see ways around his authority. You will need his favor, and he will need my permission as we need his assent to obtain such books. That is the way the world turns. See to it.”
“Shall we have computers, if one can get the manuals, honored Father?”
“Ask Bren-paidhi, I say! Deal with him!”
Did his father already know how angry Lord Bren was with him, and that he had somewhat skirted the truth in that matter? It was possible. It was also possible that particular complaint was still to blow up as badly as it might. It was probably not the time to ask for a television.