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She cast a glance at the table, set for more than just me. “You’re going to eat? How can you eat?”

“I’ve found that not eating is generally a bad decision,” I replied. Evenly. I could see she was at the edge of her patience, just about to lose any ability to hold herself together. “And I can’t leave the translator all to herself. Or, gods help us all, to
Sphene
.”

“Oh, the translator! I’d forgotten all about her.” She frowned.

“Go back to bed, Lieutenant.”

Which she did, but instead of sleeping she asked Bo Nine for tea.

Everyone aboard was on edge, except for
Sphene
, who appeared not to care much about what was happening, and Translator Zeiat, who had apparently slept through the whole thing. When the translator woke I invited her to breakfast, along with
Sphene
, Medic, and Seivarden. Ekalu was still on watch. Tisarwat was awake, but I knew she wouldn’t eat, and besides she was supposed to be asleep.

“Counters is such a fascinating game, Fleet Captain,” Translator Zeiat said, and took a drink of her fish sauce. “I’m terribly grateful to
Sphene
for introducing me to it.”

Seivarden was surprised, but didn’t dare express it. Medic was too busy frowning at me across the table to react—she had still not forgiven me for leaving Medical without her approval. And she thought I should be resting more.

“Your pardon, Translator,” I said, “but I suspect most
Radchaai would be extremely surprised to hear that you’re not familiar with counters.”

“Goodness, no, Fleet Captain,” replied the translator. “I’d heard of it, of course. But Humans do such disturbingly odd things, you know, sometimes it’s better not to think too hard about them.”

“What sort of games are you used to playing, Translator?” asked Seivarden, and then immediately regretted it, either because it got her the translator’s attention, or because she realized belatedly what kind of answer might be forthcoming.

“Games, now,” said Translator Zeiat thoughtfully. “I can’t say we actually play any games. Not as such. Well, you know, Dlique might. I wouldn’t put
anything
past Dlique.” She looked at me. “Did Dlique play counters?”

“Not that I’m aware, Translator.”

“Oh, good. I’m
very
glad I’m not Dlique.” She looked over at Medic, who was eating eggs and vegetables and still frowning at me. “Medic, I do understand you miss the previous fleet captain, I do myself, but it’s hardly this one’s fault. And she’s very much like the previous one, really. She’s even making every effort to grow another leg for you.”

Medic swallowed her mouthful of breakfast, entirely unoffended. “Translator, I’m given to understand that the first Presger translators were grown from human remains.”

“I myself am given to understand the same,” replied Translator Zeiat, sounding quite unperturbed by the question. “I suspect it’s even true. Long before the treaty, long before translators were ever considered, in fact, they had, shall we say, a very… yes, a very practical kind of understanding of how Human bodies were put together.”

“Or taken apart,” Medic put in. Seivarden nearly pushed
her plate away.
Sphene
chewed placidly, listening as it had all through the meal.

“Indeed, Medic, indeed!” agreed Translator Zeiat. “But their priorities are not, well, not Human priorities, and when they put us together, you know, they didn’t really have any understanding of what would be
important
. Or maybe
essential
is a better word. At any rate. Their first several tries went horribly wrong.”

“In what way?” asked Medic, genuinely curious.

“Your very great indulgence, Medic,” said Seivarden, “but we
are
eating.”

“Perhaps you can discuss it later,” I suggested.

“Oh!” Translator Zeiat seemed genuinely surprised. “Is it propriety again?”

“It is.” I finished off my own eggs. “Incidentally, Translator. You are, of course, welcome to stay with us as long as you like, but since you did come through the Ghost Gate, I was wondering if you might be leaving us before we return to Athoek.”

“Oh, goodness, no, Fleet Captain! I can’t go home just yet. I mean, can you imagine it? Everyone saying
Hello, Dlique
! and,
Look, Dlique’s home
! It would be Dlique this, and Dlique that, and I’d have to tell them that no, I’m very sorry, but I’m not Dlique, I’m Zeiat. And then I’d have to explain what happened to Dlique and it would get very awkward. No, I’m not ready to face that. It’s very good of you to let me stay. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.”

“It’s our pleasure, Translator,” I said.

Athoek Station’s response arrived in four parts, each one innocently labeled as a routine reply to an authorized query.
Tisarwat ought to have been asleep, but was not. Instead she sat at the table in the decade room. She had not been able to stay still in her quarters, and besides the decade room was closer to the bath; she had drunk far more tea than was wise. Bo Nine had just set a fresh bowl in front of her. Nine had been impressively patient given that this was the middle of the night for her as well and she hadn’t slept any more than her lieutenant had.

Ship didn’t waste an instant, but displayed the first-arriving in Tisarwat’s vision without explanation. Tisarwat started up out of her chair. Frowned. “It’s a shuttle schedule. Why did Station send a shuttle schedule?” To be precise, it was the schedule for the passenger shuttles between Athoek Station and the tops of the planet’s elevators. Dated yesterday.

I was coming out of the bath, headed for Command, but instead I swung myself around and went toward the decade room, Five behind me. “Next one, Ship,” I said. Station Security was to place itself under the orders of a lieutenant from
Sword of Gurat
. Ancillaries from
Sword of Gurat
would patrol the station along with regular Security. And so would ancillaries from
Sword of Atagaris
. “There’s no mention of any lieutenant from
Sword of Atagaris
,” Tisarwat said, as I came in the door and Nine pulled out a chair for me. “Or any of its officers at all, actually.”

“Why not?” I asked. “Did
Sword of Atagaris
not get those pods we left?”

“Maybe
she
removed Captain Hetnys from command,” suggested Tisarwat, sitting back down. “It would hardly be surprising, Hetnys is lucky if she has half the brains an oyster has. And you’ve made it pretty clear that whoever controls Hetnys controls
Sword of Atagaris
.” She gave a little
hah
. “That’ll turn out to be a mistake.”

I certainly hoped so. “And the next?”

“A list of urgent requests for an audience with…” Tisarwat hesitated.

“With Anaander Mianaai,” I finished for her. “And of course Fosyf Denche is on the list, and of course she wants the Lord of the Radch to right a terrible miscarriage of justice regarding her daughter Raughd.”

Tisarwat scoffed. Then frowned. “And last is a list of citizens who are required to immediately relocate downwell, in order to relieve crowding on the station. Sir, look at the names.”

I was looking at it. “Basnaaid and Uran are on it.”

“Station Administrator Celar made this list, depend on it. But look at the rest of it.”

“Yes,” I agreed.

“Nearly all Ychana,” Tisarwat said. “Which makes sense, really, since it’s mostly Ychana who were displaced to begin with. And if trouble breaks out on the station they’re most likely to bear the brunt of it. I’m sure Administrator Celar was thinking of getting them to relative safety. But I see at least a dozen people who are going to immediately suspect they’re being singled out for mistreatment. And I doubt anyone on the list is going to be happy about being summarily sent off the station.” She frowned. “They’re supposed to leave
today
. That’s
fast
.”

“Yes,” I agreed. Anaander had likely ordered everyone to remain indoors, and Station Administrator Celar had had to find some way to make it work, and quickly. I sat, finally, in the chair Bo Nine had pulled out for me. Leaned my crutches against the table, next to where the pieces of
Sphene
and Translator Zeiat’s ongoing game were laid out. “Is this information supposed to go with the shuttle schedule?” Except the
order to relocate was for today, and the shuttle schedule was for yesterday.

“Sir,” said Tisarwat. Frustrated and afraid. “Did you hear me? They’re hastily relocating dozens of Undergarden residents, at a time when armed soldiers are threatening to shoot citizens on the concourse.”

“I heard.”

“Sir! A lot of the people on this list are likely to refuse to get on that shuttle.”

“I think you’re right, Lieutenant. But there’s nothing we can do about it. We are three days away from Athoek Station. Whatever is happening is happening
now
.”

Sphene
came in the door, Translator Zeiat close behind. “Well, I wasn’t ever a child, actually,” Translator Zeiat was saying. “Or, that is to say, when I was a child I was someone else. I daresay you were, too. No doubt that’s why we get on so well. Hello, Fleet Captain. Hello, Lieutenant.”

“Translator,” I said, lowering my head briefly.

Tisarwat seemed not to have noticed that anyone else was in the decade room. “So Station wants us to know that Captain Hetnys isn’t back on
Sword of Atagaris
and isn’t likely to be. It tells us that Basnaaid and Uran are being sent to safety. And that Fosyf is seizing the opportunity to put herself back on top of things. And that the shuttles are running as always? Why?”

“It’s telling us,” said Five, behind me, for Ship, “that something happened to one of the shuttles. There’s one missing off the schedule. Look.” In my vision, and Tisarwat’s, the schedule Station had sent us, and the one Ship already had. The differences flared, the arrivals and departures that were on the regular schedule but not the one Station had sent. “Those are all the same shuttle. So Station wants us to know that
something happened to that shuttle. It is also being careful to let us know that it happened before yesterday. Before, that is, Basnaaid and Uran boarded a shuttle downwell.”

Sphene
sat down on one side of the in-progress game. “Is Station doing that thing again, where it won’t tell you what’s wrong but something is obviously wrong?”

“Sort of,” I said. “Only this time we asked it to. It can’t tell us directly, because the Usurper is on the station.”

Translator Zeiat sat beside me, on the other side of the game. Frowned a moment at the bright-colored counters in their holes on the board, the scattering of eggshell fragments. “I believe it’s your turn,
Sphene
.”

“Indeed,” replied
Sphene
. It scooped the counters out of one depression on the board, turned its hand palm-up to show them to Translator Zeiat. “Three green. One blue. One yellow. One red.”

“I think that’s four green,” said the translator dubiously.

“No, that’s definitely blue.”

“Hmm. All right.” Translator Zeiat took the red counter from Sphene’s hand and dropped it in the scummed-over bowl of tea. “That’s almost a whole egg, too. I’m going to have to think carefully about my next move.”

“We have more shells for you, Translator, if you need them,” said Bo Nine. The translator waved an absent acknowledgment, stared at the board as
Sphene
redistributed the remaining counters.

“Look at the Security order,” said Tisarwat. “At the way it’s worded. I think
Sword of Gurat
is actually docked with Athoek Station. But why would…” She trailed off, frowning.

“Because Anaander needs every ancillary aboard it to police the station,” I guessed.

“But she has three other ships! One of them is a troop carrier, isn’t it? She has thousands of…” I could see the realization strike. “What if she doesn’t have three other ships? Sir!” She focused again on the records in her vision. “Why hasn’t Station told us what ships are in the system?” And then, “No,
she
won’t have told Station what ships are in the system. Especially if there aren’t many. And she doesn’t trust
Sword of Atagaris
. Or Captain Hetnys.”

“Can you blame her?” asked
Sphene
. “Arrogant and dim-witted, the both of them.” Tisarwat looked up at the ancillary, surprised to realize that it was in the room. Blinked at it, and at the translator.

“Does she not know what happened last time
Sword of Atagaris
supplied security?” asked Tisarwat. And then, “No, of course she doesn’t. They haven’t told her for some reason.”

Just from the small bit we’d seen the day before, there were plenty of things system authorities hadn’t told Anaander Mianaai. “Or she does know and she doesn’t care.”

“Very possible,” Tisarwat agreed. “Sir, we have to go back!”

“We do,” said Translator Zeiat, still staring at the game in front of her, still pondering her move. “I’m told you’re nearly out of fish sauce.”

“Now how could that have happened?” asked
Sphene
, as innocently as I supposed was possible for it.

“Please, sir.” Tisarwat seemed not to have heard either of them. “We can’t leave things the way they are, and I have an
idea
.”

That got the translator’s full attention. She looked up from the game, frowned intently at Tisarwat. “What’s it like? Does it hurt?” Tisarwat only blinked at her. “Sometimes I think I might like to get an idea, but then it occurs to me that it’s
exactly the sort of thing Dlique would do.” When Tisarwat didn’t answer, Translator Zeiat returned her attention to the game. Picked up a yellow counter from off the board, put it in her mouth, and swallowed. “Your turn,
Sphene
.”

“That one wasn’t green, either,” said
Sphene
.

“I know,” said Translator Zeiat, with an air of satisfaction.

“Ship is already making the calculations for the trip back to Athoek,” I said, to Tisarwat. “Go see Medic and tell her you’ve had way too much tea.” She opened her mouth to protest, but I continued. “It’s three days back to Athoek. We can spare a few minutes. When Medic is done with you, come see me in my quarters and we’ll talk about your idea.”