“Them.” The apparently next-ranking Security officer was plainly still confused, still hadn’t worked out what was going on. And, I realized, Security was used to thinking of Inspector Supervisor Skaaiat, indeed all of the dock inspectors, as being allies. And of course military officers held both dock authorities and Station Security forces in mild contempt, a fact Security here was certainly aware of. “Why is there a them?”
A look of frustrated irritation crossed Captain Vel’s face.
All this time, muttered words had been passing from the Security on solid ground to the Security still hanging in the shaft. I was certain an Anaander Mianaai was with them, and that the only thing that had kept her from herself ordering Security to rush me was her realizing that despite what Station (and certainly her own sensors) had told her, I had a gun. She needed to protect her own particular body, now she couldn’t rely on any of the others. That and the lag time of questions and information passing from citizen to citizen up and down the shaft had kept her from acting until now, but surely she would move soon. And as if in answer to my thought the whispering in the shaft intensified, and the Security officers shifted their stances, just slightly, in a way that told me they were about to charge.
Just then, Senior Security returned. She turned to look at me as she passed, a horrified expression on her face. Said to her now-hesitating officers, “I don’t know what to do. The Lord of the Radch is back there, and she says the inspector supervisor and this… this person are acting under her direct orders and we’re not to allow even one of her on the docks or onto any ship, under any circumstances.” Her fear and her confusion were evident.
I knew how she felt, but this wasn’t the time to sympathize. “She asked you, and not her own guard, because her own guard is fighting her, and probably each other. Depending on which of them got orders from which of her.”
“I don’t know who to believe,” said Senior Security. But I thought Security’s natural inclination to side with dock authority might tip the balance in our favor.
And Captain Vel and her lieutenant and troops had lost the initiative, lost any chance to disarm me, with Security in the balance but ready to tip my way, them and their stun sticks. Maybe if the Mercy of Kalrs had ever seen combat, ever seen any enemy that wasn’t a training exercise. Hadn’t spent so long on a Mercy, ferrying supplies or running long, dull patrols. Or visiting palaces and eating pastry.
Eating pastry and having tea with associates who had decided political opinions. “You don’t even know,” I said to Captain Vel, “which one is giving which orders.” She frowned, puzzled. She hadn’t entirely understood the situation, then. I’d assumed she knew more than she did.
“You’re confused,” said Captain Vel. “It isn’t your fault, the enemy has misinformed you, and your mind was never your own to begin with.”
“My lord is leaving!” called a Security officer. As a body, Security looked toward Senior Security. Who looked at me.
None of this distracted Inspector Supervisor Skaaiat. “And just who, Captain, is the enemy?”
“You!” Captain Vel answered, vehement and bitter. “And everyone like you who aids and encourages what’s happened to us in the last five hundred years. Five hundred years of alien infiltration and corruption.” The word she used was a close cousin of the one the Lord of the Radch had used to describe my pollution of temple offerings. Captain Vel turned to me again. “You’re confused, but you were made by Anaander Mianaai to serve Anaander Mianaai. Not her enemies.”
“There is no way to serve Anaander Mianaai without serving her enemy,” I said. “Senior Security, Inspector Supervisor Skaaiat has seen to the docks. You secure any airlocks you can reach. We need to be certain no one leaves this station. The continued existence of this station depends on it.”
“Yes, sir,” said Senior Security, and began to consult with her officers.
“She spoke with you,” I guessed, turning back to Captain Vel. “She told you the Presger had infiltrated the Radch in order to subvert and destroy it.” I saw answering recognition on Captain Vel’s face. I had guessed correctly. “She couldn’t have told that lie to anyone who remembered what the Presger did, when they thought humans were their legitimate prey. They are powerful enough to destroy us whenever they wish. No one is subverting the Lord of the Radch except the Lord of the Radch. She has been secretly at war with herself for a thousand years. I forced her to see it, all of her here, and she will do anything to prevent having to acknowledge this to the rest of herself. Including using Mercy of Kalr to destroy this station before that information can leave here.”
Shocked silence. Then Inspector Supervisor Skaaiat said, “We can’t control all the accesses to the hull. If she goes outside and finds a launch unattended, or willing to take her…” Which would be anyone she found, because who here would think of disobeying the Lord of the Radch? And there was no way to broadcast a warning to everyone. Or to ensure that anyone believed the warning.
“Carry the message as quickly as you can, as far as you can,” I said, “and let the omens fall as they will. And I need to warn Mercy of Kalr not to let anyone aboard.” Captain Vel made a quick, angry motion. “Don’t, Captain,” I said. “I’d rather not have to tell Mercy of Kalr I killed you.”
The shuttle pilot was armed and armored, and unwilling to leave without her captain’s direct order. I was unwilling to allow Captain Vel anywhere near the shuttle. If the pilot had been an ancillary I wouldn’t have hesitated to kill her, but as it was I shot her in the leg and let Seivarden and the two dock inspectors who’d come to do the manual undock for me drag her onto the station.
“Put pressure on the wound,” I said to Seivarden. “I don’t know if it’s possible to reach Medical.” I thought of the Security, soldiers, and palace guards all over the station, who likely had conflicting orders and priorities, and hoped that all the civilians were safely sheltered by now.
“I’m coming with you,” said Seivarden, looking up from where she knelt half on the shuttle pilot’s back, binding her wrists.
“No. You might have some authority with Captain Vel’s sort. Maybe even with Captain Vel herself. You do have a thousand years’ seniority, after all.”
“A thousand years’ back pay,” said a dock inspector, in an awed voice.
“Like that will ever happen,” said Seivarden, and then, “Breq.” And recollecting herself, “Ship.”
“I don’t have time,” I said, brusque and flat.
A brief flash of anger on her face, and then, “You’re right.” But her voice shook, just slightly, and her hands.
I turned without saying anything more and boarded the shuttle, pushing off from the station’s gravity into the shuttle’s lack of it, and closed the lock, then kicked myself over to the pilot’s seat, waving away a globule of blood, and strapped in. Thunking and pounding told me undocking had started. I had one wired-in camera fore, which showed me a few of the ships around the palace, shuttles, miners, little tenders and sail-pods, the bigger passenger and cargo ships either on their way out or waiting for permission to approach. Mercy of Kalr, white-hulled, awkward-shaped, its deadly engines larger than the rest of it, was somewhere out there. And beyond all of this, the beacons that lit the gates that brought ships from system to system. The station would have gone utterly, suddenly silent to them. The pilots and captains of these ships must be confused or frightened. I hoped none of them would be foolish enough to approach without permission from dock authorities.
My only other wired camera, aft, showed me the gray hull of the station. The last thunk of the undocking vibrated through the shuttle, and I set the controls on manual and started out—slowly, carefully, because I couldn’t see to either side. Once I judged myself clear, I picked up speed. And then sat back to wait—even at this shuttle’s top speed Mercy of Kalr was half a day away.
I had time to think. After all this time, after all this effort, here I was. I had hardly dared hope that I could revenge myself so thoroug
hly, hardly hoped that I could shoot even one Anaander Mianaai, and I had shot four. And more Anaander Mianaais were almost certainly killing each other back there in the palace as she battled herself for control of the station, and ultimately of the Radch itself, the result of my message.
None of it would bring back Lieutenant Awn. Or me. I was all but dead, had been for twenty years, just a last, tiny fragment of myself that had managed to exist a bit longer than the rest, each action I took a very good candidate for the last thing I’d ever do. A song bubbled up into my memory. Oh, have you gone to the battlefield, armored and well-armed, and shall dreadful events force you to drop your weapons? And that led, inexplicably, to the memory of the children in the temple plaza in Ors. One, two, my aunt told me, three, four, the corpse soldier. I had very little to do now besides sing to myself, and no one to disturb, no worries I might choose some tune that would lead someone to recognize or suspect me, or that anyone would complain about the quality of my voice.
I opened my mouth to sing out, in a way I hadn’t for years, when I was checked mid-breath by the sound of something banging against the airlock.
This sort of shuttle had two airlocks. One would only open when docked with a ship or a station. The other was a smaller emergency hatch along the side. It was just the sort of hatch I’d used to board the shuttle I’d taken when I’d left Justice of Toren so long ago.
The sound came one more time and then stopped. It occurred to me that it might only have been some debris knocking into the hull as I passed. Then again, if I were in Anaander Mianaai’s place, I’d try anything I could think of to achieve my aims. And I couldn’t see the outside of the shuttle with communications blocked, only those two narrow views fore and aft. I might well be bringing Anaander Mianaai to Mercy of Kalr myself.
If someone was out there, if it wasn’t just debris, it was Anaander Mianaai. How many of her? The airlock was small, and easily defensible, but it would be easiest not to have to defend it at all. It would be best to keep her from opening the airlock. Surely the communications blackout didn’t reach much farther away from the palace. I quickly made the changes in heading that would steer me away from Mercy of Kalr but still, I hoped, toward the outer edges of the communications block. I could speak to Mercy of Kalr and never go any closer to it. That done, I turned my attention to the airlock.
Both doors of the lock were built to swing inward, so that any pressure difference would force them shut. And I knew how to remove the inner door, had cleaned and maintained shuttles just like this one for decades. For centuries. Once I removed the inner door it would be nearly impossible to open the outer one so long as there was air in the shuttle.
It took me twelve minutes to remove the hinges and maneuver the door to a place where I could secure it. It should have taken ten, but the pins were dirty and didn’t slide as smoothly as they should have, once I’d released their catches. Human troops shirking, I was sure—I’d never have allowed such a thing on any of my own shuttles.
Just as I finished, the shuttle’s console began to speak, in a flat, even voice I knew belonged to a ship. “Shuttle, respond. Shuttle, respond.”
“Mercy of Kalr,” I said, kicking myself forward. “This is Justice of Toren piloting your shuttle.” No immediate answer—I didn’t doubt what I’d said had been enough to shock Mercy of Kalr into silent surprise. “Do not let anyone aboard you. In particular do not let any version of Anaander Mianaai anywhere near you. If she’s already there keep her away from your engines.” Now I could access the cameras that weren’t physically wired, I hit the switch that would show me a panoramic view of what was outside the shuttle—I wanted more than just that forward camera view. Hit the buttons that would broadcast my words to anyone listening. “All ships.” Whether they would listen—or obey—I couldn’t predict, but that wasn’t something I could realistically control anyway. “Do not let anyone aboard you. Do not let Anaander Mianaai aboard you under any circumstances. Your lives depend on it. The lives of everyone on the station depend on it.”
As I spoke the gray bulkheads seemed to dissolve away. The main console, the seats, the two airlock hatches remained, but otherwise I might have been floating unprotected in vacuum. Three vacuum-suited figures clung to handholds around the airlock I’d disabled. One had turned her head to look at a sail-pod that had swung dangerously close. A fourth was pulling herself forward along the hull.
“She’s not aboard me,” said Mercy of Kalr’s voice through the console. “But she’s on your hull and ordering my officers to assist her. Ordering me to order you to allow her into the shuttle. How can you be Justice of Toren?” Not What do you mean don’t let the Lord of the Radch aboard, I noticed.
“I came with Captain Seivarden,” I said. The Anaander Mianaai who’d come forward clipped herself to one handhold, then another, and pulled a gun from the tool-holder on her suit. “What is the pod doing?” The sail-pod was still too close to me.
“The pilot is offering help to the people on your hull. She’s only just realized it’s the Lord of the Radch, who’s told her to back off.” The sail-pod would do the Lord of the Radch very little good—it was built for only very short trips, more a toy than anything else. It would never make it as far as Mercy of Kalr. Not in one piece, and not with its passengers alive and breathing.
“Are there any other Anaanders outside the station?”
“There don’t appear to be.”
The Anaander Mianaai with the gun extended armor in a flash of silver that covered her vacuum suit, held the gun against the shuttle’s hull, and fired. I’ve heard it said that guns won’t fire in a vacuum, but really it depends on the gun. This one fired, the impact a bang that I could feel where I clung to the pilot’s seat. The force of the shot pushed her back, but not far, securely clipped as she was to the hull. She fired again, bang. And again. And again.
Some shuttles were armored. Some even had a larger version of my own armor. This shuttle wasn’t, didn’t. This shuttle’s hull was built to withstand a fair number of random impacts, but it wasn’t built to endure continued stress on the same spot, over and over again. Bang. She had thought through her inability to open the airlock, realized that whoever was piloting this shuttle was her enemy. Realized that I had removed the inner door, and that the outer wouldn’t open until the air was out of the entire shuttle. If Anaander Mianaai could get in, she could patch the bullet hole and repressurize the shuttle. Even after a hull breach the shuttle (unlike the sail-pod) would have enough air to take her all the way to Mercy of Kalr.
If she had tried to order the palace’s destruction from where she hung on to the side of this shuttle, she had failed. More likely, I realized, she’d known from the beginning such an order would fail and had not tried to give it. She needed to get aboard a ship, order it closer to the palace, and breach its heat shield herself. She wouldn’t be able to get anyone else to do it for her.
If Mercy of Kalr was correct, and there were no other Anaanders outside the station, all I had to do was get rid of these. The rest, whatever was happening on the station, I would have to leave to Skaaiat and Seivarden. And Anaander Mianaai.
“I remember the last time we met,” said Mercy of Kalr. “It was at Prid Nadeni.”
A trap. “We never met.” Bang. The sail-pod moved away, but not far. “Until now. And I was never at Prid Nadeni.” But what did it prove, that I knew that?
Verifying my identity might have been easy, if I hadn’t disabled or hidden so many of my implants. I thought for a moment, considering, and then I spoke a string of words, the closest I could get with my single, human mouth to the way I would have identified myself to another ship, so long ago.
Silence, punctuated by another shot against the shuttle hull.
“Are you really Justice of Toren?” asked Mercy of Kalr at length. “Where have you been? And where’s the rest of you? And what’s happening?”
“Where I’ve been is a long story. The rest of me is gone. Anaander Mianaai breached my
heat shield.” Bang. The forward Anaander ejected the magazine from her gun, slowly and methodically, and inserted another. The others still huddled around the airlock. “I assume you know what’s going on with Anaander Mianaai.”
“Only partially,” said Mercy of Kalr. “I find I’m having difficulty saying what I think is happening.”
No surprise at all, to me. “The Lord of the Radch visited you in secret, and placed some new accesses. Probably other things. Orders. Instructions. In secret, because she was hiding what she’d done from herself. Back at the palace”—it seemed ages ago, now, but it had only been a few hours—“I told all of her straight out what was happening. That she was divided, moving against herself. She doesn’t want that knowledge to go any further, and there’s a part of her that wants to use you to destroy the station before the information can get out. She’d rather do that than face the results of that knowledge.” Silence from Mercy of Kalr. “You’re bound to obey her. But I know…” My throat closed up. I swallowed. “I know there’s only so far you can be forced to go. But it would be extremely unfortunate for the residents of Omaugh Palace if you discovered that point after having killed them all.” Bang. Steady. Patient. Anaander Mianaai only needed one very small hole, and some time. And there was plenty of time.
“Which one destroyed you?”
“Does it matter?”
“I don’t know,” answered Mercy of Kalr, from the console, voice calm. “I’ve been unhappy with the situation for some time.”
Anaander Mianaai had said that Mercy of Kalr was hers, but Captain Vel was not. That had to be uncomfortable for it. Could potentially be uncomfortable for me, and extremely unfortunate for the palace, if Mercy of Kalr was sufficiently attached to its captain. “The one that destroyed me was the one Captain Vel supports. Not, I think, the one that visited you. I’m not completely certain, though. How are we supposed to tell them apart when they’re all the same person?”
“Where is my captain?” asked Mercy of Kalr. It said something to me, that the ship had waited this long to ask.