Chapter 63
Maya was the first to arrive at the Advisory. The days of relative inactivity, of collating their evidence with Note's new evidence, had been worthwhile, but they left her desperate to push forward and destroy this conspiracy. She handed her sword and necklace to the Contegons well before her fellow Councillors.
The Contegons had an extra item to search: Note's package with the Disciple leg. They were naturally concerned, but accepted Maya's explanation of what it was. That they accepted her word on this without much questioning concerned Maya: she would raise it with Tone later.
Maya took her seat and stared at the package. What hadn’t Nephilim told her about the Disciples; what lessons were to come? What didn't she know that could save lives? The thought haunted her, all the more cruel because she knew he was so close, so easy to access. But she would not renege on her promise to leave him be, not unless everything depended on him.
She picked the spindly limb out of the packaging, then removed her glove to touch it. She couldn't see Cyrus Force without her Spirits, but she could feel it through her skin: rolling her finger across the bright, glinting leg, she couldn't find a hint of Cyrus Force.
No one had ever cared about this leg or the creature it came from. A human would fill their craft with Cyrus Force, so Disciples had created this. The lack of Cyrus Force also showed this was not fabricated evidence. Any concerns she had over presenting it to the Council, an item produced by a suspect, evaporated. She laughed, delighted and relieved, then placed the leg back in its box.
But the idea of an item without Cyrus Force haunted her: surely, at some point during its creation, a human had placed this robot in her belongings? Had they simply not cared about this back-up plan, done out of a cold, calculating logic? Or was it impossible for Cyrus Force to attach to living Disciples? Disciple corpses dripped with emotional energy, but that scorn and hatred might’ve been poured on after their death?
“Oh, Acolyte Councillor, good morning,” Lord Blind said as he entered the Advisory.
“Welcome, Lord Councillor,” she said, that mind's river irreparably diverted now.
The man straightened and walked to his seat. Slowly, deliberately, he pulled his chair out and sat. Even sitting required pomp and circumstance.
“I understand you will make this an interesting meeting,” he said, leaning back. “That you will ask for something unprecedented.”
“I will report on our investigations so far. Then I will request what not only I feel is necessary, particularly in light of the unprecedented assassination of a Cleric Councillor.”
Blind tilted his head. “You keep us on our toes, Maya.”
“I'm not the only one, now am I, Lord Councillor?”
“Yes, the Disciples keep us busy as well,” he said without irony.
Before she could respond, the Advisory door opened. Lord Councillor Blind greeted the arrivals, “Ah, Visit, good to see you. And Tone and Flux.”
Every Councillor was there eventually. Even Starfish had been pulled from Port for this meeting, and that made Pale's absence all the more obvious: his vacated chair seemed to throb, taking every casual glance, and making Quill and Draw, either side of the vacant seat, nervous.
After some idle chatter and carefully-concealed barbs, the Guardian appeared. “Good morning,” he said, moving to his chair at the head of the table with vigour and purpose. “How does this day find you all?”
“Not as good as it seems to find you,” Blind said, smugness flirting with his words.
“I am feeling better every day,” the Guardian said. “It is something of a miracle.”
Blind nodded. “We do try our best.”
At one point, the Guardian had looked as old as Blind: now, his hair was thickening and he moved without shaking. Whatever had ailed him for so long no longer did, whether through determination, belief, or luck.
“It is immeasurably sad that we do not have our colleague and friend, Cleric Councillor Pale, with us today,” the Guardian said, lowering his head and knitting his hands together. “He was a great man, a friend, and a champion of everything Sol represented. His Pyre will be tomorrow, and attendance is mandatory.”
“You don't need to be telling us that, sire,” Starfish said. He was a caricature, bless him: swarthy, bearded, and sea-salted, built like the Cathedral. Only thirty, he was the second-youngest person in the room, and someone Maya could always rely on. It was a shame his duties to Port kept him from Council meetings.
“True, though it doesn't hurt to remind people,” the Guardian replied. “We will celebrate his reconnection with Sol tomorrow. For today, I would like us to remember our departed friend.”
He bowed his head further and closed his eyes. Maya balled her fists and rested them on her package, imagining the creature that leg was shorn from, a narrow spider with a hundred mechanical legs that tapped as it approached its unwitting target. For some reason, she imagined it a shining black, with eyes like rubies across its body.
“Okay,” the Guardian said, pulling her from the image. “Without a Cleric Councillor, it falls on me to discuss the agenda.” He put the Sceptre of Sol on the table and pulled an unsealed scroll from his robes. “The first item is quite pertinent: Maya, can you update us on the investigations into Lun's Burst? And, I suppose, the wider conspiracy which planned it?”
Maya nodded. “The case – as you know, sire, but many of my colleagues won't – is based on who knew I was leaving for the eastern Front when they planned the assassination. Only six people should have known: six Councillors. One has been deprioritised, a second is cooperating, and the third was Cleric Councillor Pale. We have interviewed each suspect, and are close to clearing the cooperating suspect, leaving us with three suspects.”
“Wait, you're investigating people in this room?” Starfish asked, astonished.
“Six of the Councillors in this room were placed under Secrecy Orders,” the Guardian said. “One of them must at least have broken the order.”
“Well, who are they?” Starfish asked. He looked around the room nervously. “I've got to say, I'm not too happy being in the room with potential Disciple-loving freaks.”
“Starfish!” Blind exclaimed. Flux coughed, nearly choking on his own spit. Draw and Visit merely glowered at the Mariner. The rest of the Councillors seemed to know who was being investigated, having bonds with at least one of those who'd been spoken to so far.
“The point was that we were trying to protect their identities,” Maya said.
“Not that there's much point now,” Tone added.
The corner of Starfish's mouth twitched, a micro-smile: he'd gotten what he wanted.
“Halving the list of suspects in a week is an impressive feat,” Octave said, nodding. The face behind his great nose seemed pleased. “You, your Acolyte, and Contegon Councillor Tone White are to be commended for moving so quickly.”
“It wasn't enough for Cleric Councillor Pale, though, was it?” Visit asked with a sniff.
Maya wanted to be angry at her snide comment, but she'd given Maya an opening. “No, it wasn't. During our investigations, Cleric Councillor Pale suggested he had discovered something relevant to our investigations. Within an hour, he was dead. That means someone was observing him.”
She looked across at Blind and Draw. Both challenged her stare, not wilting or giving anything away. Then she turned to Flux, who seemed as nervous as ever.
“Our investigations have only proven who didn't plan Lun's Burst,” she continued. “The problem we have is that two Stations are investigating three, and our fellow Councillors are under no obligation to help us.”
“A principle the Council was founded on,” Blind said. “That is, the idea that no one Station should have the power to interfere unnecessarily in the running of another.”
Note leaned forward. “You mean, like trying to stop us using Acolyte technology?”
“That is another topic for another day,” the Guardian said, killing that argume
nt before it could flourish. “Maya, what are you getting at?”
“Organising Lun's Burst and the assassination of Cleric Councillor Pale required planning, discipline, record-keeping and obscuring. Only people in a Station could have achieved this undetected, so it must have happened within the offending Station's framework. In that case, we cannot access the real evidence. We can continue interviewing our fellow Councillors, but that will take some time.” Maya stood, a faux-pas at the Mensa, but it allowed her to lean forward on her fists. “And with two Councillors having attempts on their lives in the last nine days, time is a luxury which Lun and the Disciples won't provide us.”
“What do you propose?” the Guardian asked. His eyes moved down to her chair, a subtle cue to sit.
After allowing Draw, Blind, and Flux to sweat, she sat. “I propose that Contegons not attached to the investigation raid the accused Councillors' homes and offices to gather evidence. I then propose that our investigations delve, with the aid of independent Clerics, into the Councillors' personal papers and their Stations' secret files to root out the corruption in at least one of them.”
As expected, Blind and Draw jumped to their feet, talking over one another. Quill, Flux, and Visit added to the cacophony, making an incomprehensible mess of outrage and fury.
The Guardian smacked the Sceptre of Sol against the Mensa. Everyone quieted. He gestured for Blind and Draw to sit. Glowering, simmering, they did so.
“Maya, do you realise what you're asking?” the Guardian asked.
“I do, sire. I am asking for sacred boundaries to be lifted temporarily to capture someone in this room at least for the crime of breaking a Secrecy Order. I’m suggesting that, now we face humans who sympathise and conspire with the Disciples, our laws are now antiquated.” She pounded the table. “We had proof that this could happen in Buckle, but my colleagues whose Stations were implicated insisted we delay and investigated more. Given all this, the death of a Councillor should make my fellow Councillors put aside their cherished privileges and allow Sol's justice to be done. That is what I suggest.”
Many Councillors tried to speak at once. The Guardian bashed the Sceptre of Sol to quiet them again. “Note, I notice that you are being awfully quiet. Please, share your thoughts.”
Starfish coughed and looked across at Note, who gave him a small smile. “I am, right now, a valid suspect,” she said before she turned to the Guardian. “I have already agreed to this. Two experienced Contegons and two Clerics review my personal papers and much of my reports' as we speak.”
The Guardian took in a slow breath, surprise written large across his face. “That would explain why a third Station was expected to be crossed off... Then why is this a vote, Maya?”
“Ask Draw, Flux, and Blind whether they would allow the same thing.”
“I wouldn't,” Draw replied sullenly.
“It is, is a preposterous suggestion,” Flux replied.
Blind took a moment, considered the Guardian, then said, “I feel that Flux is correct. This would be a dangerous and worrying step.”
“Agreed,” Visit said.
“I wouldn't be happy, were it me,” Quill said. “We're autonomous for a reason, sire: you don't want your every decision, every internal squabble, exposed. Particularly not to the Contegons. I mean no offence, Councillor White, but some things kept amongst the Merchants might be considered disturbing to someone who doesn’t understand our customs. We would not feel free to conduct ourselves in the right manner should this happen, the manner we have done for decades.”
“The manner that you did in Buckle?” Tone asked.
Quill opened his mouth, but didn’t have a response.
“I don't get the fuss,” Starfish replied. “It's not a complete, open house. It's a one-off.”
Blind tutted, shook his head. “You understand little: I agree with everything Quill said, but my real concern stems the precedent such investigations would set. The affairs of one Station will be ranked below another, making the Contegons a greater Station than they currently are now.”
“You mean, it'd expose some practices you don't want us to be aware of?” Tone asked.
“Like everything a Contegon does is perfect. Discipline Chambers, for example?”
Tone growled. Maya closed her eyes, her own treatment in a Discipline Chamber springing to the fore. It annoyed her that Blind had a point.
“Octave, what do you think?”
Maya turned to look at the Doctor Councillor. “I think that the very fact of how much concern and panic this suggestion has created should warn us against it, let alone that it is borne of a mood of fear and suspicion. And, dare I say it, vengeance, Acolyte Councillor?”
“Maya does know a lot about seeking vengeance,” Draw added.
“And you know a lot about follies, Draw,” Maya fired back.
The Shield Councillor narrowed his eyes. “Hush, woman.”
For a third time, the Guardian struck the table with the Sceptre of Sol. “Enough. I would hear from Flux, then I shall render a judgement as to whether this should be considered.”
All eyes turned to Flux, who seemed to wilt under the pressure, his loose skin flapping in panic. “I... Well, I'm not for it. I'd be worried where it might end. Regular inspections? Speculative Hereticums? Even the Guardian being investigated, sire.”
The Guardian sucked air between his teeth, and then fell silent. After much consideration, he said, “Maya, I don't think you would win this vote, so I will not allow it to come to one. Even if you had more support, I'd be inclined to prevent it anyway.”
Maya's heart plummeted. “Why, sire?”
“I don't think panic should rule us,” he said. “We have had this framework of investigation, evidence gathering, and Hereticums in place for an age, and they have not failed us. Not once.” He turned to Draw and Blind. The two Councillors had been looking smug, but they recognised the rebuke. “We need patience and trust in ourselves. Should any Councillor volunteer for this inspection then that would be a different matter.”
“Any takers?” Tone White asked.
Almost in unison, the three men shook their heads.
Maya couldn't believe it. These Councillors, these men and women, had put their own fiefdoms ahead of the capture of Disciples. They were risking their lives, and the lives of others, for their personal pride. What were they doing that scrutiny worried them? What did they want to hide?
Everything that Request had ever said about the Stations felt true. That added to her bitter tone as she slowly said, “Very well. But I and Contegon Councillor Tone White will not be held accountable should more blood be spilled as a result of these slow, incapable methods.”
“The matter is closed,” the Guardian said, looking around the room to enforce his point. “After that... heated discussion, I want us to take two minutes. I am calling a recess.”
He stood, then stepped away from the Mensa to show that any conversations the Councillors held would not be official. Her fellow Councillors shook themselves to relieve the tension of their debate. Note and Tone went to one another, had a whispered discussion.
Maya sat, stared at the box. Her head pounded. Her voice box felt like she'd been talking for twelve hours. She raised a hand to her temple, and found her fingers shaking uncontrollably. In all her clashes with the Council, she had never been this angry. It was a burning black feeling that dripped down her throat like she had inhaled tar. Deep breaths would not calm her: if anything, they inflamed her fury.
Rationally, she knew she couldn't feel like this in a Council session. There was another point, a key point, to make about the Disciple creation: not only that, but she had to retain her credibility. But the feeling would not pass. If anything, it grew.
She needed to vent. And she only knew one way. Standing, she left the room, yanking her sword from the vigilant Contegons and running to the nearest balcony. Once there, she soared into the morning air, through the thick cloud covering. All her concentration
and energy went into breaching the damp, billowy gloom.
Soon she rested gently over a carpet of grey with the sun and pure blue surrounding her. The vista calmed her. She looked around, seeing the Gravit Mountains to the north, and considered paying a visit to the Front and destroying some Disciples. But the idea was daft: she had to be at the Council meeting, mustn't seem weak by throwing a fit when she didn't get her way. She had to return.
With a final look around, she plummeted back to Aureu, pulled her wings in to descend rapidly. When she spread them out after a mile or so, started her spiral, she noticed that her Cyrus Force wings were black.
The realisation made her lose concentration, almost sent her back to Aureu much faster than she wanted. She slowed as quickly as she could, flapping her wings wildly to pull out of a tailspin... but her wings were Cyrus Force green again. She frowned, extended her wings fully to check them, but only saw green.
“Applekill, did you see that?”
Applekill appeared beside her, floating without a care. “See what?”
“My wings, did you see their colour?”
The Spirit eyed her nervously. “I don't know what you're talking about.”
“Mission, what about you?”
“Maya, you didn't bring Mission with you, remember?”
Maya shook her head. “Of course. What was I thinking? I must... What I saw must've been my imagination, or a trick of the light.”
“Or you're over-tired and stressed. Maybe you should take the rest of today off?”
Maya shook her head. “That’s not going to happen.”
With a flick of her wings, she made her final approach to the Cathedral. She couldn't rest, not now the most logical route had been shut to her: to save any lives, make any progress in her investigations, she'd have to redouble her efforts. There would be no rest, not for them, not at all.