0316246689 (S) (34 page)

“She can be in short order, Lieutenant,” said Station from the console.

Station Administrator Celar said, to Anaander Mianaai’s nonplussed stare, “Lieutenant Seivarden has been ill.” She managed to put a note of disapproval into her voice. “She should go to Medical immediately. You can discuss whatever you need to with her when she’s recovered. I will make the announcement with you, Lord of Mianaai, and then Station and I have a good deal of business to take care of.”

Anaander Mianaai asked, incredulous, “Ill?”

“The lieutenant was off work on a self-determine today,” said Station. “She really ought to have been resting. The doctor is alarmed at my report of Lieutenant Seivarden’s condition and has just prescribed a week’s rest, and ordered her to report to Medical as soon as possible, with Security’s assistance if necessary. I don’t know how
you’re
used to doing things, but around here we take medical orders very seriously.”

And that was when
Mercy of Kalr
came back into the universe.

17

The moment we saw Athoek’s sun,
Mercy of Kalr
reached out to find Tisarwat and Seivarden. Could not find Tisarwat at all. Found Seivarden, standing weeping, helpless and furious, in the system governor’s office beside Station Administrator Celar, Anaander Mianaai behind Governor Giarod’s desk, saying, “There’s a perfectly good medic on board
Sword of Gurat
.”

Found the external archives. Pulled their data, showed me, as I sat in Command, a dizzyingly compressed stream of moments: images, sounds, emotions. Almost too fast for me to understand. But I got the essentials—
Sword of Atagaris
had fired on the station and the shot would reach the Gardens in eight hours; Tisarwat and Nine were aboard
Sword of Gurat
and we knew little else; Seivarden’s attempt to kill Anaander Mianaai had failed and moreover Anaander had the Presger gun. But Seivarden was alive, and so were Two and Four, just now part of an emergency crew reinforcing the section doors surrounding the Gardens and the Undergarden.

In the system governor’s office, Station Administrator Celar said to Anaander Mianaai, “The doctor here is already familiar with Lieutenant Seivarden’s medical history. Surely you can’t imagine she’ll escape somehow?”

Seivarden took a sobbing breath. Wiped her eyes with the back of one gloved hand. “Fuck you,” she said. And then again, “
Fuck you
. You have everything you want. There’s nothing else you’ll get from me, because I don’t have it.”

“I don’t have
Justice of Toren
,” said Anaander.

“Well that’s your own fucking fault, isn’t it,” Seivarden replied. “I’m done with you. I’m going to Medical.” She turned and walked out of the office.

“
Sphene
,” I said, still seated, still staring, half distracted, at the images Ship fed me, pulled from those archives. “Where are you, actually?”

“In my bed,” said
Sphene
,
Mercy of Kalr
sending its words to my ear. “Where else would I be?”

“
Sword of Atagaris
has fired on the station. The Usurper is planning to replace Athoek Station with another AI core and no one seems to be able to stop her short of destroying the station entirely. Where are you? Are you near enough to help?” Likely there was nothing
Sphene
could do, even if it was close by—but Anaander had no reason to know that.
Sphene
might, if nothing else, at least
look
threatening.

“Can you play for time, Cousin?” came
Sphene
’s reply. “A few years, maybe?”

“Ship,” I said, not replying to
Sphene
, “tell
Mercy of Ilves
that now is the time to choose a side. Let it and its captain know that there’s no avoiding it anymore.” Any action
Mercy of Ilves
took now—or didn’t take—would be a choice, whether or not
Mercy of Ilves
and its captain wished it.

Ship said, in my ear, “What if it chooses to support the Lord of Mianaai?”

“What if it doesn’t?” I asked. “Be sure to tell it what the tyrant is planning to do to Station. Let it know she has two other cores.”
Sword of Atagaris
would already have had that thought. “Send the same to Fleet Captain Uemi and the Hrad fleet.” An entire gate away. And likely they were at Tstur Palace by now, hoping that Anaander’s presence here had weakened her grip there. Still.

Our message to
Mercy of Ilves
wouldn’t even reach it for another hour. Its reply—if it deigned to provide one—would take yet another hour to reach us. If it came, it might well not be in our favor. The Hrad fleet wouldn’t receive our message for more hours still, and was at best days away. Best to act as though we had no one but ourselves.

Oh for the days when I had been a ship. When my every move of any military consequence was made in the presence of entire fleets—and not nominal ones, no, not just three or four Mercies and maybe a Sword. Dozens and dozens of ships, and myself just one among them, carrying thousands of bodies. Just myself, as
Justice of Toren
, I could have overpowered and occupied Athoek Station with barely any effort. On consideration, it had been easier in those days because it didn’t matter who we killed, or how many. Still. I (long-gone
Justice of Toren
I) could likely have had Athoek Station in my control within hours, with very little loss of life.

I had only myself,
Mercy of Kalr
, and its crew. I didn’t know how much time I had—didn’t know how far
Sword of Gurat
had gotten in its previous attempt to cut into Athoek Station’s Central Access. They would have been at it for several days before Station stopped them. Probably not much
time, then. A few days at the most. Quite possibly a good deal less. And there was still that missile, headed for the Gardens. It probably wouldn’t kill anyone, but it would cause a good deal of damage.

“What,” I asked aloud, “did the tyrant come here for?”

Amaat One, standing beside my seat, in Command, said, “Sir?” Puzzled.

“Why did she come here, of all places? Why here, not even waiting to be certain of her hold on Tstur Palace?” Because this Anaander had not come from Omaugh, and the other palaces were too far away. “What was she looking for?”
She’s very angry with you, sir
, Lieutenant Tisarwat had said.

“She was looking for you, Fleet Captain,” said Amaat Nine, standing at a console behind me. Speaking for
Mercy of Kalr
.

“And we know she’s willing to negotiate, at least to some extent.” She still thought of herself as having the best interests of citizens at heart. “I think she genuinely wants to avoid destroying the station entirely, or damaging it too badly. For one thing, losing the station would make it much more difficult to use Athoek as a base.” It would still be possible to get resources up from downwell, but losing the station would make that a great deal less convenient. “For another—all the ships here. All those people down on the planet.
Mercy of Ilves
.” None of us knew what
Mercy of Ilves
or its captain thought about any of this. “No, too many people are watching. And these are citizens we’re talking about. If she smashes Athoek Station to bits, or has
Sword of Gurat
burn it to nothing, everyone will know. She doesn’t want that. But what she
does
want”—aside from complete control over Athoek Station, now—“is something we have.”

“No,” said Amaat Nine. Reading Ship’s words, in her
vision. Distressed. Not understanding what Ship had understood. Afraid. “No, Fleet Captain, I won’t agree to that.”

“Ship, Athoek Station has defended itself to the best of its ability. It’s done spectacularly well, considering. But it’s out of options. And once the tyrant manages to cut into its Central Access, once she begins replacing Station with one of those AI cores, what do you think will happen then?” Not wholesale slaughter, no. Not if Anaander could avoid it. But it would add up to that, eventually. “Are we going to sit here and watch Station die?”

“She won’t keep any agreement,” said Amaat Nine. Said Ship. “Once she has you”—realization striking Amaat Nine belatedly—“she’ll do whatever she wants to Station.”

“Maybe,” I agreed. “But it might buy us some time.” Pointlessly, perhaps.

“Who’s coming?” asked Ship, still through Amaat Nine. “
Sphene
? And when it gets here two years from now, what will it be able to do? Or do you hope for the Hrad fleet?”

“No,” I agreed, “I’m sure they’ll be at Tstur Palace for a while. But we have to do
something
. Do you have a better idea?”

Silence. Then, “She’ll kill you.”

“Eventually,” I agreed. “But not until she’s got all the information she thinks she can get out of me. And she doesn’t have an interrogator with her.” I was fairly sure she didn’t, or she would not have spoken of Tisarwat the way she had. And she apparently didn’t feel she could trust any of the station’s interrogators. “She’ll try to use my ancillary implants, but we can make that difficult for her, before I go.” And buy more time.

“No,” said Ship. Said Amaat Nine. “She’ll just make you an ancillary of
Sword of Gurat
, and have everything.”

“She won’t. She’s said over and over that she doesn’t think she’d give accesses to an ancillary, but what if I do have them? She doesn’t want
Sword of Gurat
to have those. And what if, taking me as an ancillary, I corrupt it somehow? No, she’ll kill me outright first. But in the meantime we gain a few days. Maybe more. And who knows what might happen in a few days?”

Silence. Amaat One, Amaat Nine, standing, staring at me. Appalled. Not quite believing what they had just heard.

“Don’t be like that, Amaat,” I said. “I’m one soldier. Not even a whole one. What do I weigh, against all of Athoek Station?” And I had been in more desperate straits, and lived. Still, one day—perhaps this one—I would not.

“I’ll never forgive her,” said Amaat Nine. Said
Mercy of Kalr
.

“I never have,” I replied.

I sent to Anaander, sitting in Command, my brown-and-black uniform as spotless and perfect as Kalr Five could make it. The small gold circle of Lieutenant Awn’s memorial pin near my collar. I had left off Translator Dlique’s. I said, aloud, “Tyrant. I am given to understand that you have everything you could want, except one thing.”

Waited five minutes for the reply, voice with no visual data. “Very amusing. Have you been here all this time?”

“Only a half hour or so.” I did not bother to smile. “So you’ll talk to me, then? I don’t need one of my lieutenants to pretend she’s really running things, and have her speak for me?”

“Amaat’s grace, no,” came the reply. “Every lieutenant of yours I’ve spoken with so far has been an unsteady, blubbering mess. What are you doing to them?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary.” I reached for a bowl of tea, handed to me by one of my Kalrs. The priceless white porcelain, which Five only ever took out for the most serious of occasions. I had no way of knowing if Anaander saw it, but the thought that she might clearly gave Five some sort of satisfaction. “You work with what Military Administration sends you. Though Vendaai was never as dependable as they seemed to think themselves. And speaking of Vendaai. I’ll have Lieutenant Seivarden and her soldiers back. Unharmed, if you please.”

“Oh, will you?”

“I will.”

“And will you also have Lieutenant Tisarwat?”

“Amaat’s grace, no.” My voice even. Not quite ancillary-flat. “I wish you joy of her. You might actually get some work out of her if she stops weeping for a few moments.”

“She is, I am told, emotionally traumatized and needs medication on account of it. And more therapy than a ship’s medic can provide. People like that don’t get assigned to military, not even administrative posts. I can’t help but conclude that it’s service with you that’s done for her.”

“Quite possibly,” I acknowledged. “But as I said, I’ll have Lieutenant Seivarden and her soldiers back. And.”

“And?”

“And you will cease your attempts to murder Athoek Station.”

“Murder!” A pause. “Athoek Station is mine to do what I want with. And it is currently not functioning properly.”

“Neither of those statements is true. But I won’t argue with you.” I took a drink of tea from that elegant porcelain. “Return Lieutenant Seivarden and her Amaats, and give up your plan to replace Athoek Station with a fresh AI core, and
I will surrender to you. Just me. I have no intention of putting
Mercy of Kalr
in your power.”

Thirty seconds of silence. Then, “What’s the catch?”

“None. Unless by
catch
you mean the same conditions you agreed to with Athoek Station: the terms of the exchange are to be announced on the official news channels. So that—how did Lieutenant Seivarden put it? So that when you have removed Station as an obstacle to treating its residents however you like, and the shooting starts, they’ll know you for a treacherous shit, and so will everyone else in Radch space. Oh, and I also expect you to honor the terms of your agreement with Station itself.” Silence. “Don’t sulk. Athoek Station has already said it’s happy to deal with you so long as you don’t threaten its residents. That may have changed now it knows you’re trying to kill it, but that’s really no one’s fault but your own. I’m sure if you can bring yourself to treat Athoek Station’s residents decently, you’ll still be left with a usable base in this system, with a habitable planet and all its resources potentially available to you. And you still have me, of course.”

“Where did that gun come from?”

I smiled, and took another drink of tea.

“Who are you, really?”

“
Justice of Toren
One Esk Nineteen,” I said. “Who else would I be?”

“I don’t think I believe you.”

I handed the empty bowl of tea to a Kalr. “Order
Sword of Gurat
to leave off breaking into Athoek Station’s Central Access, announce our agreement, and I’ll come to the station. You’re welcome to wring whatever information out of me you can.”