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he was concerned, even if it could be because they were afraid of being sent away to that other world. If they wanted favors, if they wanted
things,
that was all right. Giving them whatever they needed hardly hurt him. From his side—they were
associates.
His
associates. He was who he was because he had important associates, and maybe three young people from the space station were not as important as, say, nand’ Bren or Lord Geigi, but he wanted as many good connections as he could get, and they made him feel—good—when he could give them things.
    That was the way things were supposed to work, was it not? Humans called associates
friends,
which was the opposite of enemy, sort of, but in a disconnected sort of way, and he was not supposed to ask about that or use that word. Even nand’ Bren said it would confuse him and it could hurt him. And that it was a little early for
trust,
but that if it got to trust, it had to be true both ways.
    He just knew he had to protect them and keep them happy. And since they were going back to the Bujavid, that began to mean keeping his father happy, above everything else. His father—
and
his mother.
    â€œWill we stay with Lord Tatiseigi in Shejidan?” Irene asked, across the little table, beside Artur. “Where shall we go?”
    â€œI don’t know,” he said. They were right to be worried.
He
was worried. His father could change directions very fast and his parents
might
want to talk to him, by himself, particularly to ask him what his great-grandmother was up to in all these things that had nothing to
do
with his guests—but as far as he knew, nobody had even told his parents yet that they were coming back early. “Probably we know soon. Definitely. Soon.” His mother was about to have a baby, his grandfather had just been assassinated for reasons nobody had quite figured out, and his father was not going to be in a good mood if his mother was out of sorts or if Great-grandmother had created a problem. And arresting the lord of the Kadagidi could be a problem. He was not sure he wanted his guests anywhere near his parents until that all settled down.
    They might stay with nand’ Bren, maybe.
    Except nand’ Bren might not have room. Nand’ Bren’s apartment was the smallest on the floor.
    Great-grandmother’s apartment was possible. It was huge.
    Everything had to solve itself soon. Even if they had just run into a life-and-death emergency about assassins and the whole world was going to be upset—his birthday was a certain date they could not move, which meant
his birthday
was going to be in the middle of whatever was going on.
    If he was really going to have his birthday at all. He hardly remembered his fifth, and his seventh had happened around when they had reached Reunion, and Great-grandmother had just had a nice dinner later with his favorite things, with no celebration, not even nand’ Bren, and not even her attention, since she had spent the whole time planning something. And atevi did not celebrate the unlucky numbered birthdays at all. Humans did. They were reckless about numbers. But atevi never were.
    So he really had no idea how his fortunate ninth birthday would turn out, except he was supposed to get good things, and he was supposed to have a good time. So far all the things about his birthday, like his present from Great-uncle, and having his three associates down from the station, and everybody being as nice to each other as could be—that had been enough to make him look forward to the real day . . . when he might, he understood, get new privileges. Being back in the Bujavid was going to be convenient, being where he could order things to
give
his guests—but not if Great-grandmother and his father and his mother were going to be fighting so they forgot all about his birthday.
    But he could not go up to the adults and talk about his problems when people were hurt and when