Provenance

by Ann Leckie

  “No,” said the prolocutor.

  “You were willing to send your own child to Compassionate Removal for their theft. What wouldn’t you do to have them back again?” E turned to Ingray. “The truth is, I didn’t steal the vestiges. No one stole them. They’re right where they’ve always been.”

  “But last night,” protested Ingray, “you said you were ready to talk about what you’d done with them.” And then as soon as she spoke, realized how ridiculous that was.

  “I did say that,” Pahlad acknowledged. “And I would appreciate it if you would tell the news services that I buried the vestiges in Eswae. I recall hearing that Prolocutor Budrakim opposed the excavation of the parkland. Knowing the vestiges are buried there, though, well of course he’ll have to change his tune. He made such a show of wanting them found. Wanting them back. If the only way to get them back is to dig up the parkland, well, that’s what he’ll have to do.”

  “The news services don’t know you’re here,” said the prolocutor. “And if any discover it, they won’t find it in their interest to report the fact.”

  “I suppose we’ll discover who has more pull with the local news services,” Pahlad observed, still calmly. “You, or Representative Aughskold. I’m sure she’d jump at the chance to publicly embarrass you. It is coming up on elections, after all.”

  “What is it you want?” asked Prolocutor Budrakim, harsh and blunt.

  “I want your political career ended,” replied Pahlad. Calmly, evenly. “I want everyone to know what you did to me. The problem is, I don’t have any evidence. Or not any evidence I didn’t have at the time of my trial, and”—e waved a hand—“we know how that went. I’m well aware that I could tell the story of what you did to me to every news service reporter from here to Hwae Station and it likely wouldn’t change a thing. Or if it did, it wouldn’t be until after years of litigation, and you’d spend those years making life miserable for anyone who dared to help me. But you taught me to be pragmatic. I’ll settle for embarrassing you any way I can.” E turned to Ingray. “Away from this system, people laugh at us and our vestiges. Partly because they find the idea ridiculous, but partly because some of the most famous of them can’t possibly be what they’re supposed to be. You know the panel in the System Lareum? The one that’s supposedly part of the airlock of the first crewed explorer to arrive in the system? It’s from a ship type that didn’t exist until six or seven hundred years after the actual event.”

  “It’s a fake?” asked Ingray, astonished.

  “It is,” Pahlad agreed. “And the Rejection of Further Obligations to Tyr is also a fake. Not the text itself, of course, that’s genuine, those were the words that were presented to Tyr, when the debt was fully paid off. But the actual document in the System Lareum is a fraud. The lettering is a style that didn’t come into use until well after independence, and the fabric is only about four hundred years old. Really, anything in the System Lareum that was suddenly ‘found’ in someone’s attic or a dusty storeroom was probably ginned up a few months before. As soon as you try to do any kind of research or authentication outside Hwae, it becomes pretty obvious.”

  Ingray wasn’t sure what to say. The Rejection of Further Obligations to Tyr, a fake? She remembered looking at it, and even though she had often been in the buildings where the Founders had stood, and met people whose names had come down in an unbroken line since before then, seeing that document, the original copy of the very basis of Hwaean independence and government, had impressed her to thoughtful silence. But if it was fake, then there was no difference between seeing that sheet of linen in the lareum and reading it in an information file. It was only the words themselves that were real.

  “My actual crime,” Pahlad continued, as the prolocutor looked on in stony silence, “was trying to learn more about the family vestiges that it was my duty to care for. I went looking for information in places where they know more about the Garseddai. And I discovered that away from here, nearly every expert in the topic knows about the Budrakim vestiges, and knows they’re fake. I didn’t believe it at first, but the more I learned the more obvious it became. So I told my father what I’d discovered. Because it was a very serious matter. If the vestiges that proved Ethiat Budrakim’s origin and ancestry were fake, well, where did that leave us? And besides, the family vestiges had been placed in my care, and I took that responsibility seriously.”

  “You tried this lie when you were first confronted with your crime,” said the prolocutor, with a sudden grave sadness. “It failed to convince me then.”

  “Oh, no, I convinced you! Which is why a few weeks later you suddenly discovered they were actually inferior copies of the originals, and accused me of stealing them. It was easy enough to use the information I myself had given you to make a case for them being forgeries. And now if I told anyone the truth, it would sound like a desperate lie. But it would be all right, you assured me when I was arrested. It was the only way to preserve the reputation of the Ethiat who had set them up as family vestiges to begin with, and you would take care of me so long as I kept my mouth shut. And oh, you took care of me.” E turned to Ingray again. “Like I said, what I want is to tell the news services about the way I was unjustly convicted of a crime I didn’t commit, and hopefully end the prolocutor’s political career—or maybe even see him end up in Compassionate Removal, but I’m not sure I could manage to do it. But forcing him to play along with digging up the parkland when there’s nothing there, well, that I might be able to do … and if I’m lucky it will ultimately lead to the same result. So do me a favor and be sure to tell the news services that I buried the vestiges near the hill where Excellency Zat died.”

  “Oh, they’ll like that,” said Ingray in admiration, unable to stop herself.

  “Won’t they just,” agreed Pahlad with a tiny quirk of a smile. “Be sure to tell your mother, too. I’m certainly planning to tell every guard I meet from here on out.”

  Prolocutor Budrakim appeared to have reached a conclusion. “But our conversation here is being recorded,” he said. “You’ve just claimed that you never stole the vestiges, so how could they be in Eswae?”

  “Good point,” said Pahlad. “Do let’s have the entire conversation sent to the news services. The public can make up their own minds about it.”

  That seemed risky to Ingray—if nothing else, she doubted any Hwaean would react favorably to Pahlad saying the Rejection of Obligations was a fake, and Pahlad had contradicted emself several times during the conversation. But it seemed Pahlad had decided e had nothing left to lose. And Ingray knew when to play along. “It is coming up on elections, after all,” she said, her voice pious.

  “And you’ve just said the System Lareum is full of fakes,” pointed out Prolocutor Budrakim. “That won’t exactly make you popular, or convince people to listen to you.”

  “It’ll get me a lot of attention, though,” Pahlad pointed out. “And now I’m done talking. To you, anyway, Prolocutor. I have plenty to say to the news services, I find.” E smiled, a slight upturn of the corners of eir mouth that did not reach eir eyes at all. Ingray shivered.

  Prolocutor Budrakim was stonily silent as he walked through the door into the corridor. A spindly mech came up beside him and chirped an offer to see him out, but he only turned and walked away, the mech tottering after him.

  Another mech took Ingray back to Taucris’s office. “Ingray,” said Taucris, rising from her seat as Ingray entered. “There’s a problem.” She glanced over Ingray’s shoulder as the mech that had accompanied her backed out and shut the door. “The Omkem consul has said the Federacy is going to litigate to get Excellency Hevom released to them.”

  “I expected that,” said Ingray.

  “Yes, and that’s bad enough. Just an hour ago, searchers found Excellency Zat’s mech. And the knife. The other knife, I mean, the one that Zat was stabbed with, not the one Pahlad had in eir bag.” Her eyes went to the black bag, still on Ingray’s shoulder, and back to Ingray’s
face. “It was in the storage compartment inside the mech itself.”

  “Where was the mech?”

  “In the middle of the river. One of its legs was caught in a crevice between pieces of glass on the bottom.”

  “And one of its marker spikes was gone.”

  “Yes,” Taucris acknowledged. “So it’s obvious the mech was used to murder Zat. And it couldn’t have been anyone but Hevom. We already knew no one else could have controlled it—it was manufactured in the Federacy. It’s like we said earlier, even if anyone else had known the accesses, it likely wouldn’t have been compatible with their implants. We’ll check that to be sure, of course, and we’re in the process of checking Pahlad, but I doubt anyone else within kilometers of the parkland that day had compatible wiring. And if that’s the case, no one but Zat or Hevom could have put the knife into the storage compartment. So there’s really no question that Hevom did it, we just don’t know why. But that’s not the problem. Or, it is a problem, because the Federacy is essentially asking us to declare a murderer innocent and send him home. But the problem I meant is, the Omkem Chancery is also demanding that Pahlad be turned over to them, to be tried for the murder of Excellency Zat.”

  Ingray thought she felt the bag twitch, and pressed her arm against it, squeezing it more tightly to her side, as a warning. “But Pahlad couldn’t have done it!” And then, realizing, “And how do they know e’s even here? Wait. Hevom.” Hevom had been in the room when the deputy chief had named Pahlad. And when the knife had been found.

  “Something’s wrong, Ingray. It just doesn’t make sense. Zat was rich and influential. She had lots of friends and supporters.”

  “And Hevom was the poor relation,” Ingray agreed. “So why are they protecting him? And why”—she found herself suddenly nauseated—“are they trying to pin the murder on Pahlad?”

  “Maybe they feel like they have to punish someone, and it’s easier to think one of us did it than one of their own,” Taucris suggested. “Even so, it just feels wrong. I feel like there’s something else going on and I can’t figure out what it is. Pahlad definitely didn’t murder Zat, and we can prove it. And the deputy chief has said that to the consul, but they’re still going ahead with the litigation. And calling in representatives to support their claim, and I’m afraid Prolocutor Budrakim would be only too happy to get rid of em. It won’t matter if e can get the news services to believe the thing about the Budrakim vestiges if e’s hauled off to the Omkem Federacy and executed for a murder Excellency Hevom committed.”

  Realization struck Ingray. “You were listening in.”

  “I was,” Taucris admitted. More abashed than necessary, Ingray thought, given that doing so was no doubt part of her job. “Pahlad is your friend, isn’t e? E trusted you to be there when e had to talk to eir father, and if that’s what happened, if the prolocutor sold em out to protect the reputation of fake family vestiges, then I don’t blame em for not wanting to talk to him alone.”

  “Yes,” said Ingray. “Yes, e’s my friend.”

  Taucris nodded, as though Ingray had said something more that had needed her agreement. “And I don’t think there’s anything I can do. I don’t know if there’s anything anyone can do. Pahlad is still legally dead, but e’s here and not dead, and I don’t think that’s ever happened before.”

  “I’m beginning to wonder if it has, and we just don’t know about it.” Ingray frowned. Suddenly the reason she’d come to see Taucris seemed out of place, even trivial. Though it wasn’t. The presence of an alien ambassador on the planet—even if she was just a piloted mech—was possibly even worse news than the danger Pahlad was in. But there was quite possibly nothing Planetary Safety could do about it. The Geck ambassador would do whatever she wanted to do, but she couldn’t stay indefinitely, and at least Tic and his ship were safely out of her way. “Taucris,” she said, and saw a fleeting expression on Taucris’s face. Embarrassment? Pleasure? Just at Ingray saying her name? Taucris had always been shy, but … and suddenly it became clear to Ingray why Taucris might have confided in her earlier, why she was so concerned about someone who might be Ingray’s friend. “Taucris,” she said again, and yes, there was that expression again, and she found she didn’t mind the implications of that at all, but this was not the moment to stop and explore that. “The Geck ambassador is on the planet.” She explained about the ambassador holding up the ship at Tyr Siilas, and the accusation that Captain Uisine had stolen his ship, and the ambassador confronting Ingray at home that morning.

  “But,” Taucris protested, when Ingray had finished, “how did the ambassador get off the station? And I thought the Geck needed to be near water all the time? I remember hearing that.”

  “It’s not really the ambassador. She’s piloting a mech. And it’s … it’s a weird mech. It’s kind of like a spider, but kind of not, and it can change its shape quite a lot.” She was suddenly acutely aware of the bag hanging from her shoulder.

  Which was a mech almost exactly like the one the ambassador was piloting.

  “I don’t think there’s anything Planetary Safety can do,” Taucris was saying. “I mean, if she injures you, that’s probably a treaty violation. And they have to leave eventually. But I think that even if you report it, you’ll be told there’s nothing we can do. We’d probably do whatever she asked, actually, so long as it didn’t hurt anybody. I bet if Captain Uisine hadn’t left so quickly the Assembly would be arguing over whether to give him up to them, even if it would make problems with Tyr. He’s not Hwaean, after all, and nobody wants trouble with the treaty.”

  “Right,” agreed Ingray. She had that free-fall feeling again, and it was terrifying, but almost familiar by now. “But I can report it, right? I can make sure there’s an official record of the fact that she’s here, and bothering me, and trying to find Pahlad? Who do I report that to?”

  In the groundcar, Ingray set the bag on the floor—she didn’t want it to become a spidery thing again while she was touching it—and waited.

  After a few minutes a stalked eye poked out of the bag’s side and turned toward Ingray. “So it took more than five or ten minutes,” the mech whispered. “But I was right otherwise. You have a plan. So tell me, how are we getting Pahlad out of there?”

  “Have you known who e is the whole time?” asked Ingray.

  Two seconds. Then, “I have difficulty believing you haven’t known who e was the whole time. Gold Orchid doesn’t make that sort of mistake. E’s an impressively good liar, I’ll grant you that, and that’s only to be expected, given eir upbringing. You do fairly well yourself on that score, and I doubt you have anything like a natural ability for it. But Gold Orchid would never have delivered em to you if they weren’t absolutely certain e was Pahlad. It was pretty obvious that e didn’t know what you were up to and didn’t want to be pulled into whatever it was. Once e had some idea of the situation, well, then e changed eir mind. And before you ask, e’s right about how people away from Hwae think of vestiges. And e’s right about the Budrakim Garseddai vestiges—from everything I’ve been able to find, they were obvious fakes from the start. Are you going to tell me you thought all those bits of trash displayed on the station were real, or important?”

  “They’re important to us!” Ingray insisted, stung.

  “It doesn’t matter,” said the mech. “This is a distraction. What’s your plan?”

  “It’s …” Suddenly the idea that had seemed so brilliant and obvious back in Taucris’s office looked incomplete and ridiculous. “So, the mech you’re using. It looks exactly like the ambassador’s.” Stopped. Afraid to go on and say more, because the entire idea was utterly foolish.

  “Ingray,” whispered the mech, “what is it you do for that nuncle of yours? Please tell me e consults you whenever e needs an outrageous and brilliant strategy. So you want me to impersonate the ambassador and demand Pahlad’s release into her custody. My custody. Our custody.”

  “Can you do that?”

  “Of c
ourse I can. I’ve known her since I was born. Well, she was he some of the time, and a few other pronouns this language doesn’t have other times, but I’ve known that entity all my life. I can play her well enough for this. It wouldn’t fool any of the Geck delegation. Well, I would probably fool the Radchaai ambassador, she’s useless.”

  “That’s the problem,” said Ingray. “The Radchaai ambassador is in contact with Hwaean authorities. She’ll know it’s not the Geck ambassador doing this.”

  “No, she won’t,” Tic whispered, contempt somehow managing to come through in the mech’s odd, whistley voice. “The Geck ambassador won’t speak to her. Never has. She’s spent her entire posting—most of her life, I suspect—watching imported Radchaai entertainments and playing dice one hand against the other. And complaining she can’t find a decent cup of tea. So she’s not a problem.”

  “The ambassador herself is a problem,” Ingray pointed

  out.

  “Maybe,” Tic conceded. “But if you recall, she was looking for Pahlad because she knew e was on my ship with me, not because she wanted to hurt em. I’d much rather hand em over to the Geck delegation than the Federacy. Which might happen, if we get em to the station but can’t get em onto my ship before we’re caught.”

  “You’re not actually very far from the station,” Ingray said. “Your delay is too short.”

  “Good catch. No, I didn’t take my filed route. I changed the ship’s appearance a bit, and I’m sending out a false ID. I’m not docked, though, and I doubt my ID would stand up to scrutiny well enough for me to get permission to dock without tipping off station authorities. Or the ambassador.”

  “So, why are you doing this?” It still bothered her. They had known each other for a few weeks, certainly, and he had seemed to be good company. She thought of Tic drinking, just the slightest bit drunk, saying to Pahlad, I like you. The spider mech in the ship’s tiny galley running its claws through Pahlad’s newly short hair. The fact that Pahlad, hearing that the Geck had come into the system, had immediately messaged the captain, even before Ingray had thought of it. “Are you and Pahlad …”