0316246689 (S) (33 page)

Station spoke, then, from the office console. “Truer than you know, Lieutenant.
Sword of Atagaris
has just fired on the station. Nine hours to impact. It will strike the Gardens. I’ve just ordered the Undergarden work crews to evacuate and seal the area off as well as they can. Your confirmation will be appreciated, Station Administrator.”

“Granted, of course,” Celar replied, rising from her seat.

Seivarden said, “You’ve killed the Mianaai in the governor’s residence, of course, Station.”

“I’m trying to, Lieutenant,” said Station, from the console. “But she seems to have managed to put some holes in the section door over the concourse window. I’m not certain how.” Section doors, on ships or on stations, were made to be extremely difficult to breach, for fairly obvious reasons. “Not much, but enough to suck in air from the concourse when I try to pull it out of the room. Would this be the fleet captain’s invisible gun, that she used in the Gardens?”

“Oh,
fuck
,” said Seivarden, and rose, herself. “How many holes?”

“Twenty-one.”

“She’s got six shots left, then,” said Seivarden.

“And,” said Station, “Anaander Mianaai demands I stop trying to suffocate her, or
Sword of Atagaris
will fire again.”

“I don’t see there’s much choice, Station,” said Station Administrator Celar. Seivarden gestured agreement. Helpless and angry—largely with herself—but refusing to show it.

“She also wishes to meet with
whoever it is who’s in charge here
. In, she says, her office. In ten minutes. Or…”

“
Sword of Atagaris
will fire again. Yes,” acknowledged Seivarden. “I suppose
whoever it is who’s in charge here
means you, Station.”

“The Lord of Mianaai doesn’t think so,” said Station. Impossible that there was the least trace of complaint or petulance in its tone. “Or she’d have asked to talk to me directly. Besides, it’s Station Administrator Celar who is the authority here.”

Station Administrator Celar looked at Seivarden. Her face expressionless, but doubtless she was remembering the death of the head of Security. Seivarden said nothing. Finally Celar said, “I don’t see there’s much choice here, either. Lieutenant, will you come with me?”

“If you like, Administrator. Though you do realize, I’m sure, that my presence will… give a certain appearance of official association.”

“Do you think the fleet captain would object to that?”

“No,” said Seivarden. “She wouldn’t.”

On the concourse, the line that Station Administrator Celar had anticipated had already begun to form. Eminence Ifian and her subordinate priests—fewer than half of the number of the previous work stoppage—watched the incipient line with complacence. As Station Administrator Celar and Seivarden walked past the temple entrance, Ifian rose from where she’d been sitting on her cushion. “Station Administrator, I demand to know the truth. You
owe
the truth to the residents of this station and instead you’re disseminating lies in order to manipulate us.”

Station Administrator Celar stopped, Seivarden with her. “What lies would these be, Eminence?”

“The Lord of the Radch would never fire on this station.
As you well know. I am appalled that you would go so far in your rejection of legitimate authority, indeed, your flagrant disregard for the well-being of this station’s residents.”

Seivarden looked at the eminence. Her lip curled, the very image of aristocratic hauteur, and she said to Station Administrator Celar, “Administrator, I wouldn’t dignify this person with a reply.” And without waiting, either for Ifian to answer or Celar to move, turned away from the temple and walked toward the governor’s residence. Celar said nothing, but turned when Seivarden did.

Anaander Mianaai stood behind the system governor’s desk, flanked by two
Sword of Atagaris
ancillaries. “Well,” she said, on seeing Station Administrator Celar enter, followed by Seivarden, “I ask for whoever’s in charge and I get this. Very interesting.”

“You wouldn’t accept that Station was in charge,” replied Celar. “We weren’t sure who you would accept, so we thought we’d provide a variety for you to choose from.”

“I’m not certain what sort of a fool you take me for,” said Anaander, smoothly, in apparent good humor. “And, Citizen Seivarden, I remain astonished at your involvement here. I wouldn’t have thought you would ever be a traitor to the Radch.”

“I might say the same of you,” said Seivarden. “Except events have been so convincing.”

“It’s you, isn’t it? Controlling
Justice of Toren
, and
Mercy of Kalr
. And Athoek Station, now. The very young—and, I must say, not entirely steady—Lieutenant Tisarwat was quite definite about there being no instances of me aboard
Mercy of Kalr
.”

Mention of Tisarwat hit Seivarden like a slap. She did not
manage to keep her astonished dismay off her face. “Tisarwat!” Realized there was some deception afoot, but that she could only guess at its outlines. “That fish-witted little double-crosser!”

Anaander Mianaai laughed outright. “Her horror of you is second only to her terror of the ancillary. Who is nominally in command, of course, but…” She gestured the impossibility of that. “I will say, Lieutenant Tisarwat was surely more of a nuisance to you than anything. She must have had something resembling wits, at some point, to be assigned to an administrative post, but the gods only know if she’ll ever recover them.”

“Well,” Seivarden said, with a nonchalance she did not feel, “you’re welcome to her, for whatever good you can get out of her.”

“Fair enough,” said Anaander. “So, since I know for a fact that I would never under any circumstances give an ancillary the sort of access codes that are clearly involved here, I must assume that it’s you in control of Station. I will, therefore, deal with you.”

“If you insist,” said Seivarden. “I am, however, only Station’s representative.”

Anaander gave her a disbelieving look. “Here is how it will be. I am once again taking control of this station. Any threat to me, and
Sword of Atagaris
fires on the station again. Its first shot—the one that will hit some eight hours from now—is merely an assurance of my intentions, and will mostly only damage uninhabited areas. Subsequent ones will not be so cautious. I am, I find, perfectly happy to sacrifice this instance of myself if it will deny my enemy a foothold. I will have control of the official news channels, through System Governor Giarod. There will be no further unexpected appearances
on the news.
Sword of Gurat
will return to running Station Security. It will also continue to cut into Station’s Central Access. Any attempt to stop this, and
Sword of Atagaris
will fire on the station again.”

“Station,” said Seivarden, silently, “do you understand that the Lord of Mianaai has three AI cores here with her?” The meter-and-a-half-high stack of them still sat, smooth and dark, in the corner behind Anaander. “Once the Lord of Mianaai cuts into Central Access there will be nothing stopping her from replacing you with one of them.”

“I really don’t know what you mean, Lieutenant,” said Station, into Seivarden’s ear. “I really don’t see that there’s much alternative.”

Aloud Seivarden said, “These are significant concessions you’re asking of us. What do you offer in return? Besides the favor of not destroying the station and everyone on it? Because you know as well as we do that neither of us actually wants that, that, in fact, everyone here—including you—is willing to go to some trouble to avoid it. Otherwise you’d have done it already.”

“Vendaai has been gone so long,” replied Anaander with a half laugh, “that I had forgotten how insufferably arrogant they could be.”

“I am honored to be considered a credit to my house,” Seivarden said, coldly. “What do you offer?”

Silence. Anaander looked from Seivarden to Station Administrator Celar and back. “I will not reinstitute the curfew, and I will allow the Undergarden to be repaired.”

“That might be easier,” Seivarden said, blandly, “if you had
Sword of Atagaris
remove that missile before it hits.”

Anaander smiled. “Only in exchange for your complete, unconditional surrender.” Seivarden scoffed.

“If you don’t reinstitute the curfew,” put in Station Administrator Celar, before Seivarden could say something unfortunate, “and if work is going ahead on the Undergarden, there won’t be any need for
Sword of Gurat
’s assistance with security. In fact, as I believe was recently mentioned to you”—greatly daring, to bring that up—“and as recent events have shown,
Sword of Gurat
’s interference in local security matters is likely to cause far more problems than it solves.”

Silence. Anaander considered the station administrator. Then, finally, “All right. But the first line, the first
hint
of a work stoppage, let alone what we had on the concourse the other day, and
Sword of Gurat
takes over.”

“Talk to your own people about that,” Seivarden said. “Eminence Ifian is starting in on her second work stoppage in recent weeks. And there’s a line starting up even now over the backlog of funerals and contracts the eminence has caused.” Anaander said nothing. “I am assuming that Eminence Ifian was opposing the Undergarden refit on your orders? She is working for you, yes? This part of you, I mean.” Still nothing from Anaander. “We would also like assurances that you do not plan to replace Station with one of those AI cores behind you.”

“No,” Anaander replied, flatly. “I will not give any such assurance. I have you to thank for those, you know. I had no idea they were here. I thought I’d searched thoroughly before and kept a good-enough watch, but apparently I missed these.”

“Are they not yours, then?” Seivarden asked. “We had no idea they were here. I suppose Eminence Ifian did, though, she was quite determined to thwart the fleet captain’s refit of the Undergarden. When I saw the AI cores I assumed all her efforts were meant to keep us from stumbling across them.
But you say you didn’t know they were there. So, then, whose are they, I wonder?”

“Mine now.” Anaander, with a thin smile. “I will do with them what I wish. And if the ancillary didn’t know the cores were in the Undergarden, why did it involve itself there?”

“She saw a wrong that needed righting,” said Seivarden. Willing her voice not to shake. She had been running on adrenaline and sheer necessity so far, but was rapidly reaching the end of her resources. “It’s the sort of thing she does. One last thing—I think it’s a last thing, Station?” Station said nothing. Station Administrator Celar said nothing. “You will publicly take responsibility for the missile that’s about to hit the Gardens. And the terms of this agreement are to be sent out on all the official channels, and the reason for it. So that when you have removed Station as an obstacle to treating its residents however you like, and the shooting starts, they’ll know you for a treacherous shit, and so will everyone else in Radch space.” Almost losing control of her voice at that last. She swallowed hard.

The tyrant was silent for a full twenty seconds. Then she said, “After all this, this is what makes me angry. Do you think that I have done anything at all for the past three thousand years except for the benefit of citizens? Do you think that I do anything at all, now, except with the desperate hope that I can keep Radch space secure and its citizens safe? Including the citizens on this station?”

Seivarden wanted to say something biting, but swallowed it back. Knew that if she spoke, all pretense at composure would be lost. Began, instead, to carefully time and measure her breathing. Station said, from the office console, “When Fleet Captain Breq arrived here, she set about making things better for my residents. When you arrived, you set about
killing my residents. You continue to threaten to kill my residents.”

Anaander didn’t seem to have heard what Station had said. “I want your access codes.” That directed at Seivarden.

Who gestured lack of concern. The focus on her breathing had calmed her just a bit. Enough that she managed to say, more or less lightly, “I only have captain’s accesses to
Sword of Nathtas
. Considering it’s a thousand years dead, I don’t see what good they’ll do you, but you’re welcome to them.”

“Someone changed a lot of Station’s high-level accesses. Someone blocked the door to Station’s Central Access.”

“Wasn’t me,” said Seivarden. “I didn’t set foot on this station until a few days ago.”
Sword of Atagaris
’s two ancillaries had stood statue-still and silent all this time. It knew well enough who had changed Station’s accesses. But it said nothing.

Anaander considered this for a moment. “Let’s make this announcement, then. And since you are no longer outside my jurisdiction, Citizen Seivarden, you and I will board
Sword of Gurat
and discuss the question of Station’s accesses, and just who is controlling the
Justice of Toren
ancillary.”

This was, finally, too much for Seivarden. “You!” She pointed directly at Anaander Mianaai, a rude and angry gesture, to a Radchaai. “You should not dare even to
mention
her, let alone in such terms. Do you dare claim to be just, to be proper, to be acting for the benefit of citizens? How many citizens’ deaths have you caused, just this one of you, just in the last week? How many more will there be? Athoek Station, who you will not speak to, puts you to shame.
Justice of Toren
, what little is left of her, you will not acknowledge, but she is a better person than you. Oh, Aatr’s tits I wish she were here!” Nearly a cry, that. “
She
wouldn’t let you do this
to Station.
She
doesn’t toss people aside when they’re suddenly inconvenient, or to profit herself. Let alone call herself virtuous for doing it. Call her
the ancillary
again and I swear I’ll tear your tongue out of your head, or die trying.” Openly weeping, now, barely able to speak further. Took a ragged, sobbing breath. “I need to go to the gym. No. I need to go to Medical. Station, is that doctor on duty?”