Bitter Angels

by C. L. Anderson

  This, as you can probably guess, was not a viable system. In the end it brought the Security and the Clerks, and Fortress itself, back to Dazzle. The initial Security Operation units landed with one mission and one only: make it safe to farm again. This was done with an efficiency that was cheered by all but the families of the dead.

  Keeping the food growing and the water flowing is still the Security’s major mission on this world. As long as this was done, Dazzle let the Blood Family take what they wanted and keep hold of it however they could.

  Even the people.

  Especially the people.

  Upsky Station took up the top floor of the old Starfire Grand casino. As Hamahd and I crossed the arched metal-work bridge to the roof, I was met by two secops and their unusually dull-eyed Clerk. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Hamahd rake the man over with a stern glance. I spared a moment of sympathy for the other Clerk as I was palmed into the building on a check pad.

  Upsky was unfortunately beginning to show its age. The walls needed paint, the carpets needed cleaning and repair. So did most of the furniture. Much of the respectably shabby space was given over to the Clerks, who needed access to working screens so they could extract, compile, and record data on every aspect of the life and people of Dazzle. The murmur of voices, the clack of keys, the brush of fingertips and pages filled the hive. As usual, Hamahd left me here—with a respectful bow, of course, but without any explanation—and disappeared into the shifting swarm of his own people.

  I tried to get myself to relax, but it was no good. He might not be following me, but he was in there, compiling his data, setting everything up in neat files just in case he needed them.

  Just in case I made a mistake.

  I kept walking along the old, faux-wood-paneled corridor until I came to the door with Favor Barclay’s name and rank shining on its black screen.

  I touched the knob. It recognized me and the door clicked open.

  My thin, dark commander stood behind his desk, but he was not alone. In front of him sat the Grand Sentinel Torian Leidy Erasmus, Dazzle’s Grand Sentinel.

  “Come in, Captain Jireu,” said Commander Barclay. “Thank you for coming so quickly.”

  “My duty, sir.” I bowed to him, then turned and bowed much more deeply to his superior. “Grand Sentinel Erasmus.”

  The Sentinel was lean but fit, shorter than I was and much older. His face was lined and his eyes were dangerously alert and alive. He was not afraid to dress richly no matter where he went on Dazzle. Today he wore a shimmering ruby coat trimmed with onyx and gold and a black, full-circle cape made heavy with more gold and more gleaming scarlet thread.

  Of course, all this wealth concealed body armor and God-Alone knew how many weapons.

  Commander Barclay motioned me toward a smaller, harder chair than the one the Grand Sentinel occupied. I bowed again and took the seat indicated. A carafe of water and a glass waited on a table beside it. I poured myself a measure and drank the traditional welcome cup.

  Both the commander and Sentinel Torian watched me patiently until I’d drained my cup, set it down, and smacked my lips politely.

  Barclay nodded in approval for my manners and settled back in his chair, ready to get down to business. “The Sentinel is briefing me about the new arrivals we can expect from the Pax Solaris.”

  The saints again. The back of my neck prickled.

  “New arrivals, sir?” I said. I wasn’t supposed to know about this. So, until I got some signals as to how much trouble I was—or wasn’t—in I was not going to let on that I did know about it.

  “Yes. It’s no secret,” replied Commander Barclay. “The Pax is sending us an influx of new saints, and your patch is going to receive most of them.”

  “Yes, sir.” I accepted this revelation as I would any other order, showing neither enthusiasm nor distaste. After all, I already had an abandoned hotel full of saints under my jurisdiction. In fact, it might have been Liang Chen who had sent for the newcomers.

  I allowed myself a sideways glance at the so-far-silent Sentinel. Seño Torian was the overcommander of all the Security, including the Clerks. He studied me with an appearance of mild interest. I waited, focusing my efforts on keeping my face blank but attentive at the same time.

  “Sentinel Erasmus tells me these may not be the ordinary run of Solaris saints,” Commander Barclay said.

  I raised my eyebrows. “No, sir?”

  “No, Captain,” said the Sentinel. He had a light voice, remarkably smooth for such an old man. None of us was sure of his exact age. He had most definitely had some Solaris-style life extension. Some even said he was the last living child of our Founders, Jasper and Felice Erasmus. But that couldn’t be true. That would make him the very first of the first-degree Bloods, which would make him the Saeo of the Erasmus System, as opposed to the new pairing of Esteban and Mai. I could not for one second picture anyone taking precedence over Sentinel Torian without his permission. “In fact, we believe they will be sending us at least one spy.”

  I did not know how to answer this, so I said nothing. All the saints were supposed to be spies. I watched my herd of them faithfully. So far, all I had been able to find them guilty of was using the black market when they couldn’t find what they needed elsewhere. I kept files in case I needed something to hang on one of them in the future.

  “Nothing to say, Captain?” the Sentinel asked, raising his eyebrows. For a moment, I thought he might be mocking me, and the prickling beneath my collar intensified.

  “I’m sorry, Grand Sentinel. I don’t understand why Solaris would want to spy on us.” Poor, crumbling, scrapping, enslaved us.

  Sentinel Torian’s voice went cold. “They see we are reunited and preparing to resume our place in the economic and political life of the diaspora worlds.” Out here, we do not use the word “colony.” “They are suspicious of our intentions and want to assure themselves that we don’t mean to threaten their precious stability.”

  “And do we?” I asked. I don’t know what made me do it. I was tired. I was frightened. I didn’t want to be there.

  Sentinel Erasmus laughed out loud. “Excellent question, Captain. I like how this mind works.” He directed that comment toward Commander Barclay, who returned the smile briefly, looking relieved rather than pleased, I thought.

  “What would you say,” the Sentinel went on, a faint smile still in place on his narrow, smooth lips, “if I told you, yes, we do threaten that precious stability?”

  I chose my next words with extreme caution. “I’d wonder why, Grand Sentinel.”

  “Because we mean to hem them in. We are in some very high-level and sensitive negotiations with other diaspora worlds. They are, like us, tired of this great hulk of Old Earth squatting in the middle of the Pax Solaris web, ready to take us apart if we are less-than-passive recipients of their commands and regulations.” The Sentinel sat back in his chair with his clean and well-kept hands resting on its arms and regarded me triumphantly.

  Commands and regulations? When had we ever done what the Pax Solaris told us to? Well, I was just a lowly Security captain. I couldn’t be expected to be kept in the loop about diplomacy.

  “We have reached agreement with enough systems that we will be able to create a cordon for the Solaris. Once it is in place, if they want to be able to run their ships, their goods, and their castoffs out to us, they must allow us equivalent access to the Solaris worlds.”

  Accepting our ships, our goods, and our castoffs.

  Our criminals and spies.

  It sounded perfectly reasonable, and well within the bounds of what the Blood Family was capable of. They didn’t like the Pax worlds. The internal drive had come out of Solaris. The internal drive, more than anything else, was supposed to have caused Erasmus’s collapse. The Blood Family could not forgive that.

  But something nagged at the back of my mind, buried under all the other worries and wariness. An old report, an old investigation, something to do with the sain
ts. I reached for it, but having the Sentinel’s attention on me did not make thinking easy and it slipped away.

  I turned to Commander Barclay. Now was the time to apply the first lesson I’d learned at the academy. Whatever your superiors tell you about policy, ignore it. It doesn’t matter. Only one thing matters. “My orders, Commander?”

  Barclay waited a moment to see if the Grand Sentinel would choose to speak. When he didn’t, my commander said, “Your orders are to get to know this new group of saints. Keep an eye on them, but do not frighten them—and make sure they do not get themselves into any…trouble.”

  Of course. “And will I be informed what trouble is, Commander?”

  “As necessary,” said the Grand Sentinel.

  And there it was. I was being made responsible for the new saints. If they did something successful—or unpalatable—it was on me.

  “Is this clear, Captain?” There was an undertone in the commander’s voice. Until the new saints were gone, his attention would be on me. He didn’t like this either. He wanted to stay up here with the Clerks and the reports. He wanted to keep the markets open, and keep his home and family comfortable.

  “Yes, Commander.”

  I waited in silence while the Sentinel studied me, and Commander Barclay studied the Sentinel. Evidently satisfied that Sentinel Erasmus was satisfied, Barclay said, “Dismissed, Captain.”

  I stood and made my bow. Out in the corridor, my head began to ache again, the pain pulsing in time with my footsteps as I crossed back into the Clerks’ territory.

  Hamahd was waiting for me, of course. The Clerks had some comm network that the rest of us were not allowed to know about. I’d heard some secops brag they’d found its frequencies, but I didn’t think it was possible. I suspected if that network existed, it was installed in one of those high-clearance wings on Hospital.

  We walked out onto the rooftops. We took the arching bridge across to the Glorious roof, then a spiral stair down to the catwalk that we crossed to the Luxe. It swarmed with people lugging handcarts filled with jugs and cans, all coming back from the water market.

  As we shouldered our way through the hubbub, Hamahd pushed closer to me.

  “You should have told me about Kapa Lu,” he said.

  I started. I couldn’t help it. Then I shrugged. “I didn’t think there was any need. I knew you’d have the records.”

  “That, Captain, is not the point and you know it.”

  “I’m sorry. Will you need to write me up?” I ducked past a woman hunched under a yoke slung with about a dozen gallon jugs.

  “Not this time.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Don’t.” We stepped over the ledge, taking a shortcut to the less-crowded roof on the old Fortuna, and walked on in silence for a moment. Then Hamahd said, “I like my post here, Captain Jireu. I like Dazzle and its amenities, faded as they are. You are a good subject and I do not wish to lose you as my assignment. Therefore, I am telling you to take this new matter seriously.”

  “I do.”

  “Yes. But not seriously enough, I think. Something is changing. Our new Saeos have a plan.”

  “There’s always a plan, Hamahd.”

  “No,” whispered Hamahd. “Not like this.”

  I waited for him to go on, but he did not. We crossed Old Cramer’s Bridge, which juddered slightly under our footsteps. I licked my lips and tried to force myself to think. I never ate or slept well aboard the hyperwired ship. It felt too much like being in a cage. I wanted to go home. I wanted to get some dinner and go to bed early.

  Except Hamahd—my Clerk—who never said anything he did not have to—had just told me I was in a bigger mess than I had believed, and he had started it off by talking about Kapa.

  All right. All right. What do I know? Kapa is back and the saints are arriving. I’ve been ordered to keep an eye on the saints, and Hamahd is worried because I didn’t tell him about Kapa. I can’t talk to Kapa.

  But I can talk with a saint.

  We stepped off the spindly bridge onto what had once been a broad balcony and now was a kind of thoroughfare. I stepped to the side so a man with a load of reclaimed sheeting on his back could get past. I turned to Hamahd.

  “Hamahd, please go ahead and make sure Liang meets me at the station, would you?”

  His face was passive as he bowed, and I took it as a sign of approval. “Yes, Captain.” He set off at a much faster pace than I had been using.

  I stood there a moment, gripping the balcony rail until Hamahd was well out of sight. Hamahd’s declaration that he liked his assignment was reassuring, but I was under no illusion. If it came to an audit, Hamahd would not save me any more than I would save him. And Hamahd had the power to call down that audit. For any reason, but especially if he thought I was not taking my duties seriously enough.

  Fear spread like an old ache through my guts and I suppressed it. I thought about going home and decided I should risk the delay. It would take even Hamahd a little while to hunt up the saint. I had time to check in on Father.

  In fact, given all that had already happened, I had better.

  Most of the huge old buildings—the theaters and casinos and brothels—had been broken up, each becoming its own village with the interiors rearranged according to the evolving needs of the inhabitants. Every so often someone got a little too enthusiastic with their rearrangement, and whole floors came down. There was still a mound of rubble where the Ultima had been.

  My own door faced the open street. The only way to it was to cross Bidden’s sagging bridge, and climb down the rattling ladder to our balcony. Once a sliding crystal door had opened onto the tiled space, but I had replaced it with a new door of reforged and bolted metal. I rapped out our particular signal. Eventually, the bolts slid back and the door creaked heavily open.

  “Welcome home, Captain.” My father, Finn Jireu, bowed and held out his hands for my coat, just in case anyone was watching.

  Fifteen years ago, my father and mother had sold themselves into bondage to buy a slot for me in the Security academy. The minute I got my rank and a steady posting, I started searching for them.

  So far, I’d only found Father. Calling him my servant allowed him to live in my home, sleep in his own bed, have space and place and a little dignity. As a lieutenant, I was allowed a human servant. As a captain, I was allowed two. The arrangement twisted my guts, but if this game would keep him with me, I would play.

  I touched his shoulder to assure him we were alone for the moment. He nodded and straightened up. “All right?” he asked in his thin and raspy voice. His coat was plain pale blue and his trousers straight buff brown. His boots were clean and new. Everything absolutely appropriate to his position as a waiting man, except for his sharp expression.

  I shrugged. “I’ve got to get down and talk to Liang Chen,” I said. “Something’s up with the saints and God-Alone knows what.” I pulled Emiliya’s letter from my coat and handed it over to him. “Can you get this to Mother Varus?”

  “Sure, sure. Sit down and eat, Captain Son.” Our small dim flat smelled of hot duck and garlic and my stomach was already growling. “I know, you’ve no time to make a proper meal of it.” He waved my words away before I could say them. “I’ll take Mother Varus the leftovers as well.”

  I sat cross-legged on the carpet with my father, wolfing down steamed buns filled with duck and cabbage. For this brief time, I could pretend that there was nothing waiting outside the door. I poured him a cup of strong tea and heard the local gossip, although I only half listened. It was enough to hear his voice, steady if thin, and to know that for the moment, he was all right. No matter what came next, for right now, I had made at least one member of my family safe.

  “Do you think they’ll make us celebrate the birth, then?”

  “Eh?” I looked up from the dumpling I’d been poking to pieces. Father cocked his head at me.

  “The Saeos. This baby of theirs should be due in another month or two. Do you th
ink we’ll be required to make a turnout?”

  Ah, yes. Sometime back, our rulers had announced they were going to have an heir. And weren’t there three or four others in the first degree that were due at about the same time? Details trickled back.

  “I’m sure of it. They’ve even hauled old Master Bloom out to design the party.”

  My father’s mouth twitched. “The self-proclaimed Master of Dazzle running a baby’s natalday party? Oh, I bet he’s loving that.”

  I shook my head. “Don’t underestimate him, Father. He has more disguises than any of us knows. I’d bet a gallon of pure water the best is his look of being a broken old man.”

  Father nodded, but I wasn’t sure he believed me. There was no time or reason to argue the point. I got to my feet and Father rose as well and walked me to the door. I embraced his thin shoulders when I left, and he slapped me softly against the arm for showing sentiment. Feeling obscurely better, I made my way down to the foundation streets.

  My Security house, No. 39, took up what once had been a string of boutiques for the tourists. I captained fifty Security, more than twice the usual number. This was because of the “OB troubles” down here, and because we had a water market.

  Despite the Security and the Clerks, the way Fortress really controlled the Erasmus system was through the water. Of all the moons in the system, only Fortress had its own supply. The rest of us had to import it.

  Of course Fortress said they were committed to keeping a continuous and adequate supply of potable water, but somehow it never quite happened. The water markets only opened every other day, and it took every secop we had to keep them from turning into riots. The Security had to escort the carriers to fill the tanks. The Security had to keep order in the square where the excess was bought and sold at approved times. There was always talk of reservoirs and of getting the central plumbing working again. I did not expect to live long enough to witness these miracles. Why would Fortress voluntarily give up so much control?