by Ann Leckie
“The Federacy has been paying off Prolocutor Budrakim to speak in favor of allowing your fleets to get to Byeit through our system,” said Ingray. “I imagine you’ve been sending gifts to any Assembly representatives who might sway the argument in your favor, but you’ll have focused on the prolocutors. You expected Prolocutor Budrakim—and maybe other specific representatives—to be on the station when you arrived. Either in the First Assembly Chambers to be captured, or outside to advise System Defense to stand down so that he could negotiate a settlement. Right?” No change of expression on Excellency Chenns’s face. “But he got turned around when he learned that Garal was back, and the others were evacuated when it took you too long to get to the Assembly Chambers because the presence of the Geck made you go the long way around.” Chenns said nothing, just looked at her, serious. Still expressionless. Ingray supposed that it was possible the younger Prolocutor Budrakim wasn’t in on it, or the elder Ethiat Budrakim didn’t want her taking part for whatever reason. Garal had suggested that e might still speak to eir sister, if e had the chance. Or maybe she had known, but refused to do it. “That was the plan, right? Prolocutor Budrakim was supposed to broker some kind of agreement to get your hostages released in return for letting the Federacy use our Byeit gate. You would get your access, which he didn’t care much about one way or another, and he would come out of it looking like he’d done something heroic, something that might even get him a shot at archprolocutor. But Garal coming back, that concerned him far more than any plans he had with you, because if the story came out of how his own child had ended up in Compassionate Removal for something e hadn’t done, and Prolocutor Budrakim knew it, his reputation would be badly damaged and as far as the prolocutor was concerned the whole exercise would be pointless.” It couldn’t have been this specific series of events Tyr had wanted to affect, Ingray realized. But someone must have seen Prolocutor Budrakim as a step for the Federacy’s move closer to Tyr, and acted to remove that step. “Excellency Zat’s death just gives you one more grievance to justify what you’re doing, one more perfectly understandable demand to make, one that’s bound to play well on the news services back home, on top of getting rid of Zat herself. I’m sure it’s no coincidence that Commander Hatqueban is related to Excellency Hevom, or that Zat’s death came as a surprise to her. I’m sure that it did—otherwise there wouldn’t have been any reason to ask me about it. So I imagine the commander was chosen for this mission precisely because she would take personal offense at Hevom’s arrest.”
Still Chenns said nothing. Prolocutor Dicat, in eir chair, gave another snort.
“That’s quite a story you’ve constructed,” Chenns said, after a long pause. “Even with the news services pushing it, I imagine most Omkem would find the murder of Excellency Zat insufficient justification for military action. But I can think of quite a few people who would be glad to see her gone, and it’s so much neater to take what you want and then place the responsibility for it well away from home. It would be easy enough for it to have been undertaken by people who had no idea that anything else was being planned.”
“Or who did and thought a little extra grievance wouldn’t hurt,” suggested Prolocutor Dicat. “They wouldn’t need to have told you about it ahead of time.”
“No,” said Ingray, “all they needed to do was assign this mission to Hevom’s cousin.”
Chenns sighed. “I’m going to go talk to the commander.” He rose from his crouch. “Please, don’t do anything rash. No one here wants to hurt any of you.”
“Rash?” asked Nicale as he walked away. “What does that even mean? What are we likely to do that would be rash?”
“Don’t be stupid,” snapped Prolocutor Dicat. “They’re running out of time. The commander is going to have to do something drastic soon if she’s going to get what she needs before more Omkem Federacy ships arrive in the system. Whatever it is surely involves one or more of us, and if we resist we’re liable to get killed.”
They’re running out of time. And Ingray hadn’t heard anything at all from Tic, in all this time. Had he not been able to get in? But she didn’t want to think about that. “Did you know? That Prolocutor Budrakim was involved with the Omkem like this?”
Prolocutor Dicat scoffed. “We’ve all been courted by the Federacy. You said it yourself, they’ve been trying to bribe anyone they thought would swing the prolocutors and Extra-Hwae Relations their way. Did I know Ethiat Budrakim was a greedy, power hungry traitor, is the question.” E made a meditative hmph. “Well, he’s always been greedy and power hungry. That’s normal for an ambitious Assembly representative. The traitor is new.”
“He might not think he was being a traitor,” Nicale pointed out, timidly, looking to Ingray for reassurance. “If it was a question of just looking like he was saving Hwae from the Omkem.”
“If he was stupid enough to invite the Omkem here and think they wouldn’t take whatever they could, you mean,” corrected Prolocutor Dicat.
“So Garal coming back actually did him a favor,” Ingray suggested. “Sort of.”
Prolocutor Dicat made a disgusted, incredulous noise. Opened eir mouth to say something more but a deafening bang sounded, startling Ingray into throwing her hands up in front of her face. Heart racing, she looked around to see what had happened. Commander Hatqueban strode past, headed for the mech at the entrance away from the Rejection. Its gun was pointed at the white-painted ceiling.
Chenns was suddenly beside her. “Don’t move!” he cried. Gasping slightly. He must have run to them from Commander Hatqueban’s side. He looked as startled as Ingray was. Nicale lay flat on the floor, her hands covering her head. Prolocutor Dicat was bent forward in eir seat.
As Commander Hatqueban neared the mech it fired and the sudden loud sound brought Ingray’s hands up again. “What is it?” she asked, not even trying to sound calm.
“I don’t know!” Chenns replied. “But you need to get down. The prolocutor needs to get down.”
“E can’t get down by eirself,” said Ingray.
The mech swung its weapon toward another part of the ceiling and fired again. Dust and fragments of plastic dropped to the floor. Nicale, arms crossed over the back of her head, whimpered.
“We need to get the prolocutor down on the ground,” insisted Chenns, and pulled his helmet on.
The mech fired again, seven shots in rapid succession. Something large and black appeared, clinging to the white ceiling for just a moment, and then it dropped and hit the floor with a splat, a few meters from where Nicale lay.
“Confound it!” said Chenns, according to Ingray’s translation utility. “What is it?”
Ingray made a strangled sound. Three eyestalks tried to lift but then flopped down again, and one of the thing’s hairy, clawed appendages twitched. Blue fluid pooled around it, and more spatters of blue surrounded it.
“Fiddlesticks!” swore Commander Hatqueban, striding up to the bleeding, now-still spider mech. “Fiddlesticks! Fiddlesticks! Confounded Geck ambassador!” She turned to Ingray, said in Yiir, “She was following you.”
Ingray felt tears start. She was in terrible danger and she was utterly alone. “No! She had everything she wanted, she had Garal, she had …” She couldn’t allow Tic’s name to come out of her mouth, or she would break down utterly. “She doesn’t care about me at all!”
“Hatqueban,” said Chenns. In Yiir. “Tell me we didn’t just shoot the Geck ambassador to the Presger.”
“But …” began Ingray, and stopped herself before the words it’s just a mech could escape. How clear had the news services been about that? She wasn’t sure. The mech had stopped moving, its eyestalks lying flaccid in a pool of … was that blue fluid blood? She couldn’t keep from making a distressed moan.
“This isn’t good,” observed Prolocutor Dicat drily. E was again sitting up, leaning against the back of eir chair.
“Why was she here?” Commander Hatqueban demanded of Ingray.
“I don’t know!�
�� Ingray cried. “How am I supposed to know?”
“Hatqueban,” said Chenns, and continued, not in Yiir, “for what reason is the event? No plausibility that the Geck might interfere for this one.”
“The Pahlad the Garal Ket is this one’s ally,” replied Commander Hatqueban. “Or else curiosity. Erratic is the ambassador.”
“If you’ve broken the treaty,” observed Prolocutor Dicat, voice still dry, “I expect every human government will be more than happy to make the most abject apologies to the Geck, and as part of that they’ll likely promise to do whatever will make the Geck forget about this, up to and including handing you and your soldiers over to them. The Omkem Federacy very possibly included.”
“Be silent,” snapped Commander Hatqueban. And stood then, motionless for a good minute. Considering, maybe, or communicating with her troops elsewhere. Or both. Ingray sniffled, and stifled a sob. She couldn’t prevent the tears from rolling down her face.
Chenns pulled his helmet off again. “Miss Aughskold, are you all right?”
Ingray took a ragged breath. “I’m fine.” But she wasn’t. She was alone, and there was no help coming.
“Are you all right, Prolocutor?” asked Chenns.
“Do you actually care?” asked Prolocutor Dicat.
“Prolocutor, I assure you, I …” Chenns began.
“Excellency Tai,” Commander Hatqueban said abruptly, in Yiir, seeming not to notice or care that she had interrupted Excellency Chenns. “You will open the case in which the Rejection of Further Obligations to Tyr is stored. Without triggering any alarms.”
Silence. Then, “I won’t,” said Nicale.
“You will,” said the commander, calmly. “Or I will shoot Excellency Aughskold.” Some catch or compartment near Commander Hatqueban’s hip came loose, and she pulled out a sidearm. A gun—Ingray didn’t know much about guns, except the sort that turned up in the occasional adventure serial. This one was black, but somehow the circle of empty space at the end the commander now pointed directly at Ingray was even blacker. The bore. That was what that was called, the channel a bullet would travel down. Her entire attention was on that hole, on the gun. Everything else seemed distant and unreal. Fresh tears welled, rolled down her cheeks.
She was alone.
“Stand up, all of you,” Commander Hatqueban continued. “We’re all going to walk over to the case, and Excellency Tai will open it and remove the Rejection of Obligations.”
“Why?” asked Ingray.
“Because the Omkem have to get out of here now before anyone realizes what just happened to the Geck ambassador,” said Prolocutor Dicat.
“Because I’ve ordered it,” said Commander Hatqueban. “Get up.”
Ingray took another shaky breath, and climbed to her feet. She wasn’t certain her legs would support her. All the fear she’d felt before—making the trade that had brought Garal out of Compassionate Removal, despairing of getting away from Tyr Siilas and back home, when Danach had tried to kill her with the dirt mover, the terrible, desperate trip in the vacuum suit—it was all nothing compared to this moment, to looking at the end of a gun pointed at her by someone who had declared their intent to kill her. She wanted to curl up and cry. She wanted to scream and run away. Don’t do anything rash, Chenns had said.
She couldn’t afford to curl up and cry. There was no point to screaming and running away. Or no point that wouldn’t end with her dead. She made herself swallow and tried to slow her breathing. So that she could say, “Prolocutor, can I help you get up?” She wanted to wipe her eyes with the back of her hand, but the thought of startling the commander into shooting terrified her even more than she already was.
Still sitting on the floor, Nicale whimpered. “Get up, you stupid girl,” snapped Prolocutor Dicat. “Get up and open the case.”
“Prolocutor,” Ingray reproved, her voice still unsteady with tears, feeling as though she was watching herself speak, and wasn’t actually doing it herself. “There’s no need to be unpleasant. This is difficult for all of us. Now, do you need help getting up?”
Prolocutor Dicat gave Ingray a baleful look but took Ingray’s arm. Nicale got herself to her feet, sobbing now, too, but silently.
“Let’s walk,” said the commander, when they were all standing, and together they moved toward the case, Ingray and Nicale on either side of the prolocutor, the mech that had stood guard over them following.
Commander Hatqueban stopped them, several meters short of the Rejection. “Excellency Tai.” Nicale wiped her eyes on her sleeve and stepped hesitantly forward. The commander took Ingray’s arm and brought the end of the gun right up against Ingray’s head. As afraid as she had been before, now she found every muscle in her body frozen. Even breathing was difficult.
Nicale brushed her fingers on the diorite plinth the case sat on, then laid her hand flat on another part. Waited a moment. The front of the case split, though it had been clear and seamless the moment before, and at Nicale’s touch the two halves swung aside as if hinged.
“Take the document out,” said Commander Hatqueban, “and roll it up.”
Nicale turned, face indignant. “It’ll be damaged! It’s hundreds of years old, it …”
“Take it out,” Commander Hatqueban repeated. “And roll it up.”
“What good is it to you,” asked Prolocutor Dicat, on Ingray’s other side, still holding her arm, “if it’s destroyed when you take it out of the case?”
“I’ll help,” said Excellency Chenns, and bent to set his helmet on the floor and then stepped forward to help Nicale with the long, wide linen.
Between the two of them they unfastened it from the display, slowly and carefully rolling it up as they went. Stopping once near the end when the weight of the rolled fabric pulled too hard on what little was left and the edge ripped, a good six centimeters, and another two as they rolled past the tear. When they were done, Chenns left Nicale sobbing by the empty case and brought the Rejection over to the mech that had followed them from the middle of the room. The mech’s wide side panel popped open—with distant surprise, Ingray saw that her hairpins weren’t inside the compartment. They must be in a different mech—the ones Ingray had seen so far all looked alike, though she presumed the commander could tell one from another somehow. Chenns put the Rejection into the compartment, folding one end over to make it fit, to Nicale’s audible distress, and the compartment closed with a snap.
“Now,” said Commander Hatqueban, lowering her gun, “walk.”
“I don’t think the prolocutor can walk far,” said Ingray. The fact that the commander’s gun was no longer pointed at her was such a relief that it was nearly painful. She felt far more in danger of just giving up now, of just sitting down and crying. But she couldn’t.
“The prolocutor will be carried, if that’s the case,” said Commander Hatqueban. “Move.”
18
Ingray had always thought of the First Assembly Chambers as being practically next door to the System Lareum, but just walking to the lareum exit nearest the Assembly on one side of Prolocutor Dicat, still-weeping Nicale on the other, step by slow step, the distance seemed to stretch out to kilometers. And there was no distraction from each of those steps, no way Ingray could let her mind wander, knowing two hulking gray military mechs with guns were following behind, one pointing its weapon at the ceiling, the commander herself up front with her own sidearm ready in her hand, her head tilted to look up as well as forward.
They walked several minutes in silence through the lareum’s vestige-hung rooms. Beyond the space where the Rejection had once hung, spindly-legged pale blue escort mechs lay here and there, smashed, legs askew.
“There’s a tram,” Nicale said, as they neared the exit to the corridor the lareum shared with the Assembly Chambers. She spoke at a volume that was quite plausibly conversational but obviously pitched to reach the ears of Commander Hatqueban, three meters ahead of them. She sniffled. “There’s a little wheeled tram to get people th
rough the lareum if they have trouble walking, and there’s another one just outside the entrance to take people to the Assembly Chambers if they need it.”
Without turning around Commander Hatqueban said, “We’re not taking the tram.”
“Why not?” asked Nicale.
“Don’t go getting us killed,” muttered Prolocutor Dicat irritably.
Commander Hatqueban said nothing. Beside her, Chenns glanced back for just a moment, expression apologetic, and then faced forward again.
“The tram between here and the Assembly probably isn’t working,” Ingray said, very quietly. “I bet it’s shut down. I’m sure nobody wanted to make it easy for the Federacy to use it.”
“Oh,” said Nicale. “Where are they all, anyway? There were more mechs when they first took over the lareum. But we’ve only seen maybe three or four since then.”
“Spread out, maybe,” suggested Ingray, still quietly. “Keeping our own soldiers out.” And then, struck by a thought, she whispered, “You may be right, Prolocutor, the commander probably wants to get away from here before anyone realizes what’s happened.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her free hand. She was not going to cry any more than she already had. She would not think about Tic’s mech dead and bleeding back there. “So maybe we don’t want to suggest faster ways to get to the Assembly Chambers.”
Prolocutor Dicat sighed, whether from fatigue or impatience Ingray couldn’t tell. “Finally. I was beginning to think neither of you had any brains to speak of.”
Needled, Ingray opened her mouth to say something unflattering about the prolocutor. But then she closed her mouth. Prolocutor Dicat was likely in pain, on top of being held captive and now forced to walk a considerable distance without eir normal assistance—e usually used a cane, and the commander had probably taken it from em, or it had been lost somehow. So instead of saying anything, Ingray shot a glance at Nicale, who grimaced in response, but said nothing herself.