The entrance gave onto the rocky ledge overlooking the lake. Off to my right, the waterfall gushed and foamed its way down the rocks. The path led to my left, down to the water, past a thick stand of ornamental grass nearly two meters tall. I would not walk past that without a great deal of caution.
Ahead, a waist-high railing guarded the drop to the water, rocks jutting up just below and here and there in the lake. On the tiny island with its fluted stone, Captain Hetnys stood, her hand tight on Basnaaid’s arm, a knife held to her throat, the sort of thing you might use to bone a fish. Small enough, but sufficient for the purpose. Also on the island, at the head of the bridge, stood Sword of Atagaris—one of it—armored, gun drawn. “Oh, Station,” I said, quietly. It didn’t answer. I could easily imagine its reasons for not warning me, or calling for help. Doubtless it valued Basnaaid’s life more than mine. This was suppertime for many on the station, and so there were no bystanders. Possibly Station had been turning people away on some pretext.
On the ledge, the grass trembled. Unthinking, I pulled my gun out of my jacket, raised my armor. The bang of a gun firing, a blow to my body—whoever was in that stand of grass had taken aim at precisely that part of me that was covered first. I was entirely enclosed before any second shot could be fired.
A silver-armored ancillary rushed out of the grass, inhumanly quick, reached to grapple with me, thinking, no doubt, that the gun I held was no threat, armored as it was. We ought to have been equally matched hand to hand, but my back was to empty air and it had momentum on its side. I fired, just as it shoved me over the rail.
Radchaai armor is essentially impenetrable. The energy of the bullet Sword of Atagaris had fired at me had been bled off, mostly as heat. Not all of it, of course, I’d still felt its impact. So when my shoulder hit the jagged stone at the foot of that seven-and-a-half-meter-high rock wall, the actual impact wasn’t particularly painful. However, the top of the stone was narrow, and while my shoulder stopped, the rest of me kept going. My shoulder bent backward, painfully, definitely not in any way it was meant to, and then I slid off the stone into the water. Which fortunately was only a little over a meter deep where I was, about four meters from the island.
I got to my feet in the waist-deep water, the pain of my left shoulder making me catch my breath. Something had happened during my fall, I didn’t have time to ask Mercy of Kalr exactly what, but Lieutenant Tisarwat had apparently followed me, and I had been too absorbed in my own thoughts to notice. She stood at the shore end of the bridge, armor up, gun raised. Sword of Atagaris faced her, its gun also raised. Why hadn’t Ship warned me that Tisarwat had followed me?
Captain Hetnys faced me, also now silver-armored. She likely knew the ancillary on the ledge was injured or even dead but didn’t realize, I was sure, that her armor would do her no good against my gun. Though perhaps the Presger hadn’t bothered to make the gun waterproof.
“Well, Fleet Captain,” said Captain Hetnys, voice distorted by her armor, “you do have human feelings after all.”
“You fish-witted fuck,” cried Lieutenant Tisarwat, vehemence clear in her voice even through the warping of her armor. “If you weren’t such an easily manipulated ass you’d never have been given a ship.”
“Hush, Tisarwat,” I said. If Lieutenant Tisarwat was here, depend on it, so was Bo Nine. If my shoulder didn’t hurt so much I’d be able to think clearly enough to know where she was.
“But, sir! She has no fucking idea…”
“Lieutenant!” I didn’t need Tisarwat thinking in those terms. Didn’t need her here. Mercy of Kalr wasn’t telling me what was wrong with my shoulder, whether it was dislocated or broken. Mercy of Kalr wasn’t telling me what Tisarwat was feeling, or where Bo Nine was. I reached, but could not find Seivarden, whom I had last seen in Command, who had said, to Sword of Atagaris’s Amaat lieutenant, days and days ago, the next time you threaten this ship you’d best be able to make good on it. Sword of Atagaris must have made its move when I fell off the rock wall. At least Ship would not have been caught entirely by surprise. But Swords were faster, and better armed, and if Mercy of Kalr was gone, I would make Seivarden’s warning good, if I possibly could.
Captain Hetnys stood facing me on the island, still gripping Basnaaid, who stood rigid, eyes wide. “Who did you sell them to, Captain?” I asked. “Who did you sell the transportees to?” Captain Hetnys didn’t answer. She was a fool, or desperate, or both, to threaten Basnaaid. “That is what precipitated this rather hasty action, is it not?” Governor Giarod had let something slip, or outright told Captain Hetnys. I had never told the governor who I suspected, or perhaps she would have been more cautious. “You had a confederate at the storage facility, you loaded up Sword of Atagaris with suspension pods, and you took them through the Ghost Gate. Who did you sell them to?” She had sold them. That Notai tea set. And Sirix had never heard the story of how Captain Hetnys had sold it to Fosyf. She hadn’t been able to make that connection. But Captain Hetnys had realized that I had made it. Had needed to know where I might be vulnerable, and after two weeks in the same house, even never speaking to her, she had known what Sirix would respond to best. Or perhaps Sword of Atagaris had suggested such an approach to its captain.
“I did what I did out of loyalty,” asserted Captain Hetnys. “Which is apparently something you know little of.” If my shoulder hadn’t hurt so badly, if this situation hadn’t been so serious, I might have laughed. Oblivious, Captain Hetnys continued. “The real Lord of the Radch would never strip her ships of ancillaries, would never dismantle the fleet that protects the Radch.”
“The Lord of the Radch,” I pointed out, “would never be stupid enough to give you a tea set like that as a payment supposedly more discreet than cash.” A plashing, bubbling sound came from the middle of the lake, where, I assumed, the water was deeper. For an instant I thought someone had thrown something in, or a fish had surfaced. I stood there in the water, gun aimed at Captain Hetnys, my other shoulder hurting ferociously, and then on the edges of my vision, it happened again—a bubble rising and collapsing on the surface of the water. It took me a fraction of a second to realize what it was I had seen.
I could see by the increased panic on Basnaaid’s face that she had realized it, too. Realized that air bubbling up from the bottom of the lake could really only be coming from one place—from the Undergarden itself. And if air was coming up, water was surely going down.
The game was over. Captain Hetnys just hadn’t realized it yet. Station would remain silent to save Basnaaid’s life, and even block calls to Security from here. But it would not do so at the cost of the entire Undergarden. The only question remaining was whether Basnaaid—or anyone else here—would come out of this alive.
“Station,” I said, aloud. “Evacuate the Undergarden immediately.” Level one was in the most immediate danger, and only some of the consoles there had been repaired by now. But I didn’t have time to worry how many residents would hear an evacuation order, or would be able to spread the message. “And tell my household the Undergarden is about to be flooded, and they’re to help evacuate.” Mercy of Kalr ought to have told them by now, but Mercy of Kalr was gone. Oh, Captain Hetnys would regret that, and so would Sword of Atagaris. Once I got Basnaaid clear of that knife at her throat.