Pernatte looked mildly incredulous. “Such as—?”
“She controls Carbuncle’s power supply at will. She controls storms. She has taken control of our own orbital weapons systems, so that I didn’t dare to use them—”
“What?” Pernatte’s disbelief was plain now.
“The city is in … disarray,” Vhanu said, his voice catching. “I have not been able to obtain the quotas of the water of life that I promised to deliver, even though—and here again, she lied—the seas are teeming with mers. She seduced Gundhalinu to make him stop the mer hunts; and when I took control from him she turned her people against us. And when even that wasn’t enough, she shut down the city’s power, so that it was all we could do to maintain order. After I forced her to restore the power, she called up a storm at sea that destroyed virtually every vessel in the city’s harbor. When I threatened to turn our weapons on Carbuncle unless she stopped the storm, she said that they would not function, that we would strike our own starport instead—” He broke off, as Pernatte’s expression, and the rising murmurs of the people behind him, began to register. “I know, this seems absurd to thee, I know it sounds impossible; but it happened!”
Pernatte took a deep breath, as if someone had been holding his head under water. “This is … quite unexpected, Vhanu-sadhu.” He glanced away from Vhanu, at the tense, tentative faces of the other officials behind him. “Do you all share this interpretation of events—?”
“We did not actually witness all the incidents that Commander Vhanu related to thee, uncle,” Tilhonne said cautiously. “But what we do know about the Queen proves unquestionably that she is to blame for our difficulties in obtaining the water of life, and that Gundhalinu was involved in a liaison with her that compromised his judgment as Chief Justice, especially regarding the mers.”
“I see.” Pernatte pursed his lips. He turned slowly, as if his body were resisting the motion, until he faced Moon again. Meeting her eyes directly this time, he asked, “And what is your response to these questions? Do you have one—?”
“—Lady,” she finished for him, in Sandhi, seeing that he did not have the faintest idea even of how to address her. “I have many responses, Citizen Pernatte,” she said; addressing him as foreigners on his homeworld were expected to do. “Where shall I begin?” She felt the blood rise into her face as her existence suddenly became real to the others who surrounded her. Her gaze glanced off Vhanu’s frozen hatred, back to Pernatte’s reluctant attention, as Pernatte said, “I have always been told that Carbuncle’s power supply was completely self-contained. Do you actually have a secret way of controlling it?”
“No,” she said.
“Then how do you explain a blackout that lasted for three full days?” Tilhonne demanded. “There is no record of such a thing ever happening before.”
“Once in every High Year, Carbuncle shuts down,” she said carefully, “because it has to renew its systems. That only happens during High Summer; the Hegemony has never been on Tiamat during High Summer before.”
“Then how do you know about it,” Pernatte said, “if it only happens once in two hundred and fifty years?”
“The traditions of my people tell of it, going back for centuries.”
“I saw you restore power to the city with my own eyes!” Vhanu said.
She did not take her eyes off Pernatte. “I knew that it was due to happen. It would have happened anyway. I pretended to do it myself. It was an act.”
“And there was a storm that struck the city?” Pernatte said.
She nodded. “But that was the will of the Sea Mother … an act of the gods, you would say.”
His frown came back. “And do you actually have some means of controlling our orbital weapons system?”
She smiled, as she looked toward Vhanu at last; it was not a smile she remembered ever touching her face before. “That was a lie.”
“What—?” Vhanu started forward, stopped himself. “No! She said—”
“Did you actually test the system, Vhanu?” Pernatte asked.
“No, I was afraid to. I—”
“You believed what you wanted to believe, Commander,” Moon said, letting the disgust she felt for him fill her words. “You wanted to believe that I was—what was it, a witch? That the only way that BZ Gundhalinu could have fallen in love with me was because I had somehow … magicked him into a sexual obsession. That the only reason he could possibly have for resisting the slaughter of the mers was that I had him in my thrall. That the only motive I could have for protecting them was superstition … that the only reason I could have for taking him into my bed was to use and control him. Nothing—” She broke off, taking a deep breath. She looked back at Pernatte. “Nothing,” she said softly, “could be further from the truth.”
Pernatte stared at her for a long moment, and she found no understanding in his eyes. But, to her surprise, she found belief. “So you are saying, then, that everything you did, and Gundhalinu did, was for the purpose of protecting the mers, which you claimed were an intelligent alien race, and not merely animals?”
“Yes,” she said.
He looked down, away, restlessly. “Frankly,” he said at last, “I have found the idea that the mers could be intelligent almost impossible to accept.”
Moon opened her mouth.
“But—” Pernatte held up his hand. “I have been forced to accept it … we all have.” He indicated the tribunal members around him.
She did not know whether the disbelief on Vhanu’s face or her own was more complete. “What are you saying?” Vhanu demanded. “That you accept what this foreign woman has told you, over my own testimony—?”
“No.” Pernatte looked at him with troubled eyes. “I am saying that we have been—made aware of certain relevant new data, new discoveries, by sources which are above question.” He emphasized the words carefully. “This has resulted in a change in Hegemonic policy. The Central Coordinating Committee has reversed its position on the status of the mers. It has declared them to be a separate intelligent race. They will no longer be hunted and killed; there will be no more water of life.” His eyes turned bleak as he spoke the final words.
“What?” Vhanu said. “That’s impossible! Father of all my grandfathers, I don’t believe this!”
Pernatte’s dour expression deepened into disapproval. “I know this comes as a blow to thee, as it does to all of us. Thou may verify it, if thou wish—we have a sibyl here.” He gestured at the tribunal member who wore a trefoil.
Vhanu shook his head, taking a deep breath. “No. That will not be necessary. Thy word is sufficient, Pernatte-sadhu.… But if there is to be no more water of life, then what purpose is there even in maintaining contact with a world like this one?”
“Not much, perhaps,” Pernatte answered. “Although it has been pointed out that, given the scarcity of habitable worlds, no world on which humans survive successfully is beneath our attention. Even before Gundhalinu became Chief Justice, he documented in extensive reports that the cooperative long-term development of Tiamat’s natural resources is not a pointless—or necessarily unprofitable—project. And considering that we now have no alternative…” He turned back to Moon. “In light of these new events, Lady, it appears that your defiance of Hegemonic law was justifiable. Some might even call it honorable.” He lifted his hand. “Release her,” he said to the guards.
They looked toward Vhanu, waiting for confirmation. Moon looked at him too, as betrayal distorted his face. “No!” he said. “By all the gods, this is not going to happen! This woman must be stripped of her influence and position. She must be investigated, taken back to Kharemough. She is in collusion with some group, or some power—”
Pernatte stepped forward and seized Vhanu’s spasmodically gesturing hand. “Vhanu…” he said, his voice low but impossible to ignore. “Thou have been under a great deal of strain, I know. Thou have been faced with many difficult decisions in recent months, and thou have tried to behave honorably
. But thou must let this obsession go. The situation has changed here. This woman is not only a sibyl, but the leader of her people.”
“She has to be replaced!” Vhanu insisted.
“But not by thou—not by us,” Pernatte said, his jaw tightening. “Vhanu, to find that a man like Gundhalinu could willingly let himself become so infatuated with a—” he glanced at Moon, “with a foreign woman, is as incomprehensible and distasteful to my beliefs as it is to thine. And yet suddenly everything has changed, black has become white. What he did is no longer treasonable, but instead…” he shook his head, “preternaturally wise. How can we explain the changes a man goes through, who is a stranger far from home—?”
Vhanu froze, and suddenly all the resistance went out of him.
“I think it would be prudent for thou to return to Kharemough with me, Vhanu-sadhu,” Pernatte said, lowering his voice again. “Thou are in need of a rest and a chance to regain thy perspective. I’m sure there is a less taxing position somewhere, for which thou would be better suited.”
Vhanu gazed at Pernatte in stricken silence. And then, tight-lipped, he turned toward Moon. He did not acknowledge her with his eyes as he gave the signal to release her.
Moon stepped forward, massaging her wrists. Pernatte bowed to her, a full obeisance. “Forgive me, Lady, for the hardships and humiliation my government’s unjust accusations have caused you to endure,” he said, with perfect poise and transparency. “Be assured we shall make whatever reparations are necessary to reestablish our previous relationship of trust and goodwill with your people.”
Moon took a breath, held it until her lungs ached; until she was able to say, with equal conviction, “I accept your apology. Citizen Pernatte … on the condition that the charges against Chief Justice Gundhalinu are dropped, and he is restored to his former position as the leader of the Hegemonic government on Tiamat.”
He nodded, without showing the least surprise, “Your request will be accomplished as swiftly as stardrive technology can make it possible, Lady. I’m sure it is a request that will meet with the complete approval of all parties.” Only the barely perceptible tic of an eyebrow betrayed any emotion.
“Thank you,” Moon said, and smiled with complete sincerity. “Perhaps you and your committee members would be my guests, then, at a dinner in your honor at the palace tomorrow … and we can discuss further policy changes in more pleasant surroundings.”
Pernatte smiled too, slowly and almost grudgingly. “It would be our pleasure,” he said. He turned back to Vhanu. “And now, Vhanu, if you would kindly show us to our proper quarters, we can all finally get some well-deserved rest.”
Vhanu nodded stiffly. His face was a mask of highborn propriety, and his eyes were completely empty as he turned his back on them and led the way out of the hall.
BIG BLUE: Syllagong, Men’s Camp #7
“That’s it?” Piracy said, as Gundhalinu and Bluekiller dropped their day’s take into the cache-pit.
Bluekiller shrugged, his brows furrowing. “Treason twisted his ankle. Slowed us down.”
Gundhalinu reached into his coverall pocket and pulled out a small wad of janka wrapped in a rag. He held it up. “Here,” he said. “Somebody from Gang Four paid me for a question with this.” He took barter now for any equipment he fixed and any questions he answered. He had not wanted to put a price on answers he gave as a sibyl, but Piracy had insisted.
He heard grunts of interest from some of the men around him; aware of no warmth, but at least of acceptance, as he tossed the wad of janka to Piracy. Janka was a mild narcotic some of the men chewed, when they could get it.
“You take a cut?” Piracy asked.
He shook his head. “No, I … Yes.” He sat down cross-legged on the ground, suddenly too weary to go on standing. “Yes, I’ll take a cut.” Maybe it would help him sleep. The longer he was here, the worse he slept.
Piracy glanced up at him in brief curiosity, looked down again. “Okay—” he said. “You heard Treason. Anybody else wants a chew, ante up.”
Half a dozen scabbed, filthy hands tossed offerings from their scant rations onto the ground in front of Piracy. He split up the wad of janka scrupulously with his knife, passing it around. Solemnly he pushed the final piece, and the small pile of rations, toward Gundhalinu.
Gundhalinu gathered them in, his battered hands indistinguishable from anyone else’s. He began to eat without ceremony, not caring what it was that filled his stomach, barely even tasting it. The sun’s burning face pushed up over the horizon, making him squint. The other men who weren’t already sitting sat down now, taking out their own food, as Piracy resealed the lock box, kicking ash and cinders over it.
They ate in near silence, as they did at the end of every workshift; having little left to say, and no energy to say it. But they ate together, still hungry for human contact, although none of them would admit it. This had come to be the most important moment of his own day, the one thing that he looked forward to: sitting on the ground in the cold wind among these men who made his barely tolerated existence possible.
Sometimes Piracy even held up the other end of a conversation with him. Piracy’s mind possessed an odd, eclectic accumulation of knowledge, most of it self-taught. They had talked for hours while Gundhalinu recovered from his beating, sharing the other man’s hut. But even Piracy did not risk talking to him often now, and sent him out with Bluekiller, not as his own partner; afraid that getting too friendly with an ex-Blue would undermine his position with the others.
The ground trembled; Gundhalinu swallowed convulsively, and coughed.
“We got almost a full cache, Piracy,” someone said, after a time. “We could make a trek to the post soon.”
Piracy glanced up over the mouth of his canteen. He grinned, setting it down. “Yeah,” he said. “I guess that’s true. Maybe it’s time we choose who gets to go.” A charged field seemed to build around him as he groped in a pocket, drew out the cracked, ancient gaming piece he guarded as if it were a jewel. “Three closest guesses take it, as usual. Whoever went last two times is out of the game.”
Gundhalinu had been told the rules of this choosing, but he had never actually witnessed it. He watched as the exhausted, dull-eyed men around him suddenly came alive, leaning forward, calling out numbers with an eagerness he had never seen them show about anything before. The three who won got a break from the grueling drudgery of their work routine, and the chance to spend a night in a place that actually resembled civilization, with beds, showers, and real food, while they traded in the harvest they had brought for the small rewards that made their lives bearable until the time when they were set free from this living death.
“Treason?” Piracy said. “You got a number?”
Gundhalinu looked up, startled; realizing that he had not said anything, as usual. He had not even been sure they would let him play. Sudden excitement and hope filled him until he shone like the rest. He licked his cracked lips, and said, “Twenty-three.”
Piracy nodded, and pushed up onto his knees. He held the game piece cupped between his hands, shaking it, prolonging the ecstatic moment when anything was possible for the men around him. And in that moment Gundhalinu understood what had made him their leader. When the game piece fell, three men would not only have the journey itself as a reward—they would have the days in between of looking forward to it. Even the losers would win those days of pleasant anticipation, of deciding what small, precious item not tied to their own survival that they would put in a request for.…
Piracy held his hands out, bathed in golden light, and let the game piece drop.
Whoops of triumph and curses of frustration made a deafening cacophony in Gundhalinu’s ears, which had grown too used to silence. He pushed forward, seeing the number face up in the sand, seeing that it made him a loser. The loss caught in his chest like a barb; he swore. The others shrugged and shook their heads, accepting defeat like they accepted everything else. But he felt stunned as he realized ho
w much the sudden, real hope of winning had meant to him, now that it had suddenly been taken away.
He tried to focus on an adhani; unable even to remember one, as Piracy announced the winners. They were congratulated by the losers, more roughly than was necessary, but taking it with smug good humor. He felt bodies begin to move, jarring him as they rose and went their separate ways back to their huts to sleep. There was more conversation than usual, more animation, even laughter. He forced his own unwilling body to get up, suddenly aware of every ache and strained muscle; not understanding why only he felt worse, not better. Maybe because the rest of them knew this would all end for them someday; only he had no other hope that he still dared to believe in.
“Hey,” somebody said. “Look at Treason.”
Gundhalinu stiffened, and turned toward Accessory, who was pointing at him.
“He’s got the green light,” Accessory said. “Look!”
The others began to turn back, staring in curiosity, as Gundhalinu suddenly lunged at him, knocking him to the ground.
Gundhalinu sat on Accessory’s chest with his hands around the other man’s neck. “Joke about that again, you bastard, and I’ll stuff your lying tongue down your throat—”
“I’m not lying!” Accessory squealed, prying at his hands. More hands were on him, dragging him off of Accessory, holding him back.
“He’s not lying. Treason,” Piracy said. He stepped in front of Gundhalinu, meeting his furious stare. He held up a fragment of polished metal, let Gundhalinu see his reflection in a sudden blaze of sunlight, and the green light on his collar shining like a star.
Gundhalinu stopped struggling, seeing his own mouth fall open. His hands rose to the collar around his throat, as the men holding him let him go; as the rest clustered behind Piracy, staring at him.
“You said he was a term,” Accessory muttered, getting to his feet. “I thought he only got the green light the hard way.”
“I was … I am,” Gundhalinu whispered, still gazing at his reflection, seeing a man he barely recognized press grimy fingers to his throat; detecting the faint warmth given off by the light on his collar.
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