by Ann Leckie
Ingray blinked, alarmed and bewildered. “I don’t know anyone from Tyr Siilas.” Well, that wasn’t strictly true. After spending so much time there recently she had quite a few acquaintances there, but not friends. Not anyone who could bring any influence to bear in a situation like this.
“Captain Uisine approached me while you were standing in front of the lareum,” Over Captain Utury said, coldly. “He had a plan. Or rather, he insisted that once inside the lareum, you would have a plan. Once you’d had a few minutes to panic and then taken a look around you, he said. He would be there to look after you, and help you if he could.”
“That’s why you didn’t stop me,” Ingray realized. “That’s why that cleaning mech didn’t actually drag me away.”
“I confess I was dubious. But Captain Uisine also had those mechs, which he offered to use in our interest. Not as many as we’d have liked—if he’d had a half dozen more we could have ended the whole mess in a few hours. The Geck likely had enough to help us out, but of course we couldn’t ask them without potentially violating the treaty.”
The Geck. “Wait. The Omkem already think they’ve violated the treaty. They didn’t know the Geck ambassador was just a mech.”
“Yes,” agreed the over captain blandly. “Ambassador Tibanvori seemed unhappy that the Omkem have apparently come away with the impression that it was the Geck ambassador herself they shot. Apparently Mx Ket wasn’t entirely clear when e spoke to Commander Hatqueban about it. Still, even shooting her mech is likely to cause some sort of diplomatic incident, unless the Geck decide to be understanding about it.”
“But …” began Ingray.
“It would be extremely unfortunate,” Over Captain Utury broke in, sharp and deliberate, “if the Omkem were to get the impression that the Geck had intervened to retrieve a mech that actually belonged to a citizen of Tyr. That might open the door to suspicions that the whole thing had been contrived for some other purpose, like allowing Captain Uisine to attempt to send in another, hopefully better camouflaged mech. Because that would be a blatant violation of the treaty.”
Ingray remembered Commander Hatqueban asking, Is there another one with you? We can’t see any, but I’m sure it’s here. And Garal saying there hadn’t been. That if they’d sent another, the commander would have detected it. “Did they … but they couldn’t have! The Geck ambassador would never have agreed to do that.” Would Garal have? But clearly e had.
“Of course she wouldn’t,” said Over Captain Utury. “But if we’d known they were going to go in to fetch their mech, we might have been able to take advantage of that. Without their knowing, of course. If it were to come out it would look very bad and cause quite a few problems, so we didn’t do that. What Captain Uisine might have done on his own, though, well, we’re not responsible for that.”
Ingray frowned. The over captain continued. “Captain Uisine is one of the best mech-pilots I’ve ever had the honor to meet. We couldn’t have taken control of the Omkem freighters so easily without his help. Even with that help it was going to be tricky to do it without alerting Commander Hatqueban that we were up to something, and endangering you and the other hostages. We were still considering our options when you set off the alarm and gave us the opportunity to cut off communications to the Assembly Chambers and make it look like it was just part of the security system. And once we’d taken control of the freighters, it was simple enough—for certain values of ‘simple’—to break into their mechs’ controls and use them ourselves, with Commander Hatqueban none the wiser. Well, for a little while anyway.”
“But what happened to the vestiges? What happened to the Rejection of Obligations, and the Assembly Bell?”
“We have them, don’t worry,” said the over captain.
“But how …”
“The Rejection and the Assembly Bell were both inside the mech that Specialist Nakal was piloting. It’s a mystery how they got there. Frankly I can’t help but notice that you’ve spent quite a lot of time with a notorious thief lately. I’m not prepared to guess what skills you might have picked up.”
“But I …” Ingray was aghast. There was no way she could have done anything to either the Rejection or the Assembly Bell. “I didn’t do anything. And Garal’s not a thief.”
But Tic was. He had stolen three ships right out from under the noses of the Geck. Or, she didn’t think the Geck actually had noses, but. He’d been there, in the Assembly Chambers, even though she’d thought she was alone. But Over Captain Utury wasn’t going to admit that he’d been there.
“So,” said Ingray after a few moments of thought, “you must be grateful that I kept Commander Hatqueban from threatening or destroying such valuable vestiges.”
“Don’t push your luck, Miss Aughskold. Right now the only reason you are going to be able to walk out of here—and not straight into a holding cell—is that Captain Uisine is a friend of yours, and my superiors are hoping there’s some way to get access to his mechs without violating the treaty. And having said that, I will now warn you that the events inside the lareum and the Assembly Chambers, and our conversation here, are to be kept absolutely secret. There’s an official version that has already appeared on the news services. Don’t worry—it’s not really all that different from what actually happened, and you come off very heroically”—with no change of expression that Ingray could see, or change of her voice, Over Captain Utury managed to convey her distaste at saying that—“as do Prolocutor Dicat and Miss Tai. Once you’ve become acquainted with the official account you’ll have access to communications again. If anyone asks you, just confirm that official version. But for the moment you’re better off just claiming exhaustion and not speaking to any of the news services.”
“I … I suppose I can do that.” The whole conversation had seemed surreal. This part of it wasn’t much stranger than the rest.
“It’s not a question of whether you can,” replied Over Captain Utury. “You don’t have any choice in the matter. You do understand that?”
“I do,” Ingray acknowledged.
“Good. And lest I seem ungrateful, I acknowledge that you risked your life, and in so doing you allowed us to resolve this with a good deal less bloodshed and damage to the station than might otherwise have been the case. And I’m sure the Tyr Executory and the Peoples of Byeit will consider themselves indebted.”
“I …” Ingray didn’t know what to say, whether to cry or laugh. “I want to go home now.”
The station’s various transport services were all running again, which meant Ingray only had to walk a short distance supported by her blue-and-gold-uniformed guard, and then board a tram that stopped just across from the hostelry where Netano was staying. One of Nuncle Lak’s aides met her, supported her to the rooms her mother had taken, sent Ingray to a bath while her clothes were laundered, and then installed her in a bed with a thick, fluffy blanket and cushions tucked all around, one under her injured arm. “Representative Aughskold is still in meetings,” the aide said. “She’ll be with you as soon as she can. I’ll bring you some water. Would you like some serbat?”
Ingray remembered lying on the bench in the Assembly Chambers, wishing for just this—maybe not this exactly, because she’d wanted her own bedroom at home, but still—her bed, a cup of serbat, and maybe some food, and she realized she was quite hungry. “Is it possible to get some fruit and cheese?”
“Of course it is,” said the aide. “I’ll take care of that right now.”
Ingray lay back against the cushions and closed her eyes. The correctives would probably be off in a few hours. She wasn’t entirely sure what she would do once they came off anyway, and in the meantime this was wonderful, lying here comfortably, knowing she was safe and could go wherever she wanted once she could walk on her own again.
Time to check her messages. Top priority, a note from Nuncle Lak saying e’d assigned an aide to deal with messages that might be an annoyance or didn’t need Ingray’s personal attention. The aide
e named was someone Ingray had known for years, and a quick look at the unfiltered mass of waiting messages told her Nuncle Lak had done her a favor.
The aide had already marked a few messages for Ingray’s attention. The first was from one of the children from the lareum, and it read, Dear Miss Ingray, thank you for saving my life. When I grow up I will work for you. I am good at math and I know how to cook noodles. There were more, similar messages where that one came from, the aide indicated.
Next, a message from Taucris. Ingray spent some time over that one, and then some time over a reply. That done, she took a look at the station news services.
The version of events Over Captain Utury had given the news services was nearly unrecognizable, but as the over captain had suggested, from a certain angle it bore at least a superficial resemblance to what Ingray had actually gone through. The three of them did indeed come off as heroic, facing down the menacing Commander Hatqueban and her huge and terrifying military mechs. Daringly rescuing the Rejection of Obligations and the Assembly Bell. The portrayal of Prolocutor Dicat seemed the most like emself in all the versions Ingray found, though still not quite right. Nicale might as well have been someone else entirely, and Ingray herself—well. Ingray didn’t know who it was the “official sources” who’d supplied the information were talking about, but it couldn’t have been her.
Ingray sighed. Blinked away the news, looked at her personal messages again, but Taucris hadn’t replied yet. Thought of sending a message to Tic, but she didn’t know how to address it. And Garal—would she need to send that to the Geck ship? How would she do that? Nuncle Lak would know. She sent the question to em. Heard the aide come in with food and serbat but discovered that she didn’t want to open her eyes. And then she must have slept, because the next thing she knew the pieces of the spent corrective on her knee were a scratchy annoyance under her skirts and the aide was standing in the doorway saying, quietly, “Miss Aughskold? The infirmary sent along a pair of shoes they say is yours, and Officer Taucris Ithesta is here to see you.”
20
Ingray had been hoping that Taucris would come, but once they were settled on the bed, leaning shoulder to shoulder—on Ingray’s uninjured side, of course—on a bank of cushions, the pieces of corrective handed off to Nuncle Lak’s aide, Ingray wasn’t sure what to say. She couldn’t talk about what she’d been through for the past few days, not in any truthful way, and talking about it in terms of what she’d seen in the news services felt not only useless but dishonest.
But as soon as the aide had left, with the promise of a fresh decanter of serbat, Taucris said, “I know you can’t talk about what happened, and we’re all just supposed to believe what’s on the news, so I won’t ask you about it. Unless you want me to.” She looked sidelong at Ingray. “Maybe you’d rather watch an entertainment.”
Which Ingray thought sounded like a nice idea, but they began the process of choosing one—something light, something funny, something new—which turned somehow into a conversation. About Taucris’s work, about Ingray’s uncertainties in her own job, about parents and siblings, and each other, and hours later, the entertainment unchosen, Ingray and Taucris still sitting close up against each other, an empty tray on the bed with a scattering of seeds and bits of cheese, the aide came back into the room and told them that Tic and Garal had come.
“We didn’t mean to interrupt anything,” said Tic, with a barely noticeable glance at the bed they were sitting on. “I’d have sent a message but apparently I won’t get access to system messaging unless I take a job with Hwae System Defense.”
“You’re not going to take it?” Ingray asked, gesturing Tic and Garal an invitation to sit on the bed.
He sat, and Garal beside him. “What, and sign away my mechs? That’s what they want, you know.”
“You were there,” said Ingray. “You followed Garal and Ambassador Tibanvori and got back in. You put the vestiges in the mech somehow, without anyone seeing you.”
“I have no idea what you mean,” said Tic, seriously.
“Don’t look at me,” said Garal. “I certainly wouldn’t know anything about it.”
“And I’d have had to figure out how to hide from the mechs that spotted me the first time,” added Tic.
“Over Captain Utury said you were the best mech-pilot she’d ever met,” Ingray said, and with a blink sent a request for more food and serbat.
“Of course she did,” agreed Garal. “Because he is.”
“Are you safe?” asked Taucris. “I mean, I know the Geck have acknowledged you as Geck, but that doesn’t mean everything’s forgotten. Are you actually allowed to leave the Geck ship?”
“I wouldn’t say forgotten,” said Garal, with a very small smile. “But considering the ambassador herself is clearly able to come and go as she pleases, permission or not, and considering how much System Defense would like to convince the Geck to maybe sell them some mechs …” E shrugged. “Yes, I have permission to be here, and unless I do something very foolish no one will bother me.”
“So …” Tic hesitated then. “I promised I wouldn’t talk about this.” He glanced at Taucris. “The whole point of my getting involved was to avoid Ingray getting killed. Well, and doing what I could to prevent the Omkem from getting one step closer to being able to threaten Tyr. But someone did almost get killed.”
Someone did get killed, Ingray thought, and it was my fault. But Tic obviously meant Nicale. She wondered what Tic had been doing in those few seconds when the light had gone out, when she’d heard gunshots. When Nicale had been shot. “She’s going to be all right.”
“Yes,” agreed Tic. “I’m relieved. But people getting killed—that’s basically what the military is about. And I don’t want to do that. And besides, it’s the mechs that they really want. I have them locked up right now, and I’m keeping a close eye on them. I’m sure the over captain is as honest as it’s possible for an over captain to be, but I’m not taking any chances. I paid good money for my Tyr citizenship, and I’m still enjoying my shipping route. I might change my mind someday, but …” He waved away that future uncertainty.
“And the Geck?” asked Taucris. “Do you think they’re really going to leave you alone now?”
“They will,” said Garal. E pulled a cushion over from the other end of the bed and leaned eir elbow on it. “Certainly for however long the Conclave takes, and I’m sure they’re going right home after that.” Tic leaned his own elbow companionably on the same cushion.
“I read the Geck ambassador’s message,” said Tic. “And I’m … I haven’t replied. I don’t think I’m going to. I think it’s better if I don’t.” Calm and serious, as though the contents of that message had not upset him at all, which Ingray was sure had not been the case. “I’m … I almost wish she hadn’t sent it. But then again …” He hesitated. “I think it’s going to be a while before I quite know how to think about it.”
“She did send over some sea worms, though,” said Garal.
“I almost sent them back,” acknowledged Tic. “But damn, I miss sea worms.”
Ingray imagined Tic eating worms, cold and wriggling, and managed not to grimace. And was struck by the thought that when Tic wanted that feeling of being home and safe, he doubtless thought of live sea worms and room-temperature algae paste, and lukewarm, salty poick rather than fruit and cheese and serbat. “Did the ambassador send some poick, too?” she asked.
Tic gave a laugh that somehow seemed both genuine and strained. “She did. Don’t tell me you have a taste for it? I’m sure Garal can get you some if you want it.”
“I tried it.” She made a face.
“I’ve already said it’s an acquired taste,” said Garal. Tic laughed again, much less tense this time. Garal continued. “I was thinking about going to the Conclave, but I’ve decided I want some quiet and routine for a while.”
“Are you going with Captain Uisine, then?” asked Taucris. She had evinced no surprise at Tic and Garal arriving toget
her, or sitting so close.
“With the ambassador’s permission, yes. Though I am under orders to memorize the treaty by the time the Geck ship returns to Tyr Siilas, and I have a list of restrictions I have to observe. Most of them obvious things like not breaking laws in the systems I visit. Which I wouldn’t want to anyway. And some that didn’t make much sense to me when I read them, so I assume they’re based on Geck biology.”
“They are,” Tic confirmed. “And fortunately culturing sea worms won’t break the treaty, unless we dump some in a non-Geck ocean. Which I know enough not to do to begin with.”
“You can have them all,” said Garal, equably. “Ingray, you could probably go to the Conclave if you asked. You’d have to ask very soon, but I’m sure the ambassador would let you come along.”
Go along to the Conclave! There would be aliens there—the Rrrrrr, the Presger. And, chilling thought, the artificial intelligences that had broken away from the Radch and demanded recognition as a Significant species in their own right. No matter the actual result of that conclave, it would be a historic occasion. She might well be the only Hwaean to go. She was fairly sure no Hwaeans had been at any of the others.
It would be an adventure, that was certain. And sitting here, safe, snuggled up against Taucris, she realized that, like Garal, she didn’t want any more adventures. Not for a while. “No,” she said. “I just want to go home. I want to go down to the planet, back to the house in Arsamol.” And do her job in Nuncle Lak’s office, have everything back to normal for a while. Except, having Taucris here wasn’t normal, not just yet, but that was more than all right. “It’ll be years, won’t it? I heard it will be years just for everyone to get there, and this is a complicated issue, they might be more years debating it.”
