Still in the bath, on Mercy of Kalr, Seivarden crossed her arms. Uncrossed them again. A gesture I recognized from months ago. It surprised the Amaat attending her, though the only outward sign of that surprise was a quick two blinks. The words You were very worried appeared in the Amaat’s vision. “You were very worried,” she said, for Ship.
In the lift, in the Undergarden on Athoek Station, Tisarwat’s pride at showing me how much had been accomplished was suddenly drowned in a surge of the anxiety and self-loathing that had been hovering in the background the whole time.
“I see it, Fleet Captain,” Ship said to me, before I could say anything. “It’s mostly under control. I think your return is putting some stress on her. She’s worried you won’t approve.”
On Mercy of Kalr, Seivarden didn’t answer Ship right away. She’d recognized the arm-crossing gesture she’d just made, was ashamed of what it might say about her current state of mind. “Of course I was worried,” she said, finally. “Someone tried to blow up my captain.” The Amaat poured a measure of water over Seivarden’s head, and she sputtered a bit, keeping it out of her mouth and her nose.
In the lift in the Undergarden, Tisarwat said to me, “There’s been some complaining outside the Undergarden the past few days, about residential assignments.” Ostensibly calm, only the barest trace of her feelings in her voice. “There are those who think that it’s not fair the Ychana are going to suddenly have luxury quarters, and so much space, when they don’t deserve it.”
“Such wisdom,” I observed dryly, “to know what everyone deserves.”
“Sir,” agreed Lieutenant Tisarwat, with a fresh pang of guilt. Considered saying more, but decided not to.
“Forgive me for bringing this up,” said Ship to Seivarden, with the Amaat’s voice, on Mercy of Kalr. “I understand being alarmed by the attempt on the fleet captain’s life. I was alarmed, myself. But you are a soldier, Lieutenant. The fleet captain is as well. There is a certain amount of risk involved. I would think you’d be used to that. I’m sure the fleet captain is.”
Anxiety, from Seivarden, feeling doubly vulnerable because she was in the bath, uncovered. Uncovered by Ship’s question. “She’s not supposed to be at risk sitting in a garden drinking tea, Ship.” And silently, her fingers twitching just the slightest bit, You don’t want to lose her, either. Not wanting to say that aloud, in the hearing of her Amaat.
“Nowhere is completely safe, Lieutenant,” said Ship, through the Amaat, and then, words in Seivarden’s vision, All respect, Lieutenant, perhaps you should consult Medic.
Panic, from Seivarden, for just an instant. The Amaat, puzzled, saw Seivarden freeze. Saw Ship’s words in her own vision, It’s all right, Amaat. Continue.
Seivarden closed her eyes and took a deep, steadying breath. She hadn’t told Ship, or Medic, about her past difficulty with kef. Had been, I knew, confident that it would no longer be a problem for her.
Ship spoke aloud—or, rather, Ship showed the Amaat what it wanted to say, and Amaat said it. “You can’t be worried about taking command if something were to happen. You had your own ship, once.” Seivarden didn’t answer, just stood motionless on the grate while her Amaat did what was needful. The question was meant as much for Amaat’s ears as for Seivarden’s.
“No, Ship, that doesn’t trouble me.” Seivarden’s answer was also meant mainly for her Amaat. Silently, she said, She told you then.
She didn’t need to, replied Ship, in Seivarden’s vision. I do have some experience of the world, Lieutenant, and I see you very thoroughly. Aloud it said, “You were right. When the fleet captain stirs up trouble it’s not the ordinary sort. Surely you’re used to that by now.”
“It’s not an easy thing to get used to,” Seivarden replied, trying very hard to sound light and amused. And did not say, silently or aloud, that she would speak to Medic.
In the lift, in the Undergarden, on Athoek Station, I said to Lieutenant Tisarwat, “I need to speak to Governor Giarod as soon as possible. If I go to the governor’s residence to invite her to supper, will she be available to accept my invitation?” My rank and my ostensible social status gave me some amount of freedom from the strictest propriety, and an excuse to be arrogantly peremptory even to the system governor, but what I wanted to discuss with her was going to require some delicacy. And while I could have just messaged the question to Five, whose job it was to take care of such things for me, I knew that there were even now three citizens (one of them Skaaiat Awer’s cousin) lounging in my sitting room, drinking tea and waiting for Tisarwat. It was not intended to be an entirely social meeting.
Lieutenant Tisarwat blinked. Took a breath. “I’ll find out, sir.” Another breath, a frown suppressed with some effort. “Do you mean to dine at home, sir? I’m not sure if there’s anything there worthy of the system governor.”
“You mean,” I said, my voice calm, “that you’ve promised supper to your friends and you’re hoping I don’t kick you out of our dining room.” Tisarwat wanted to look down, to look away from me, but held herself still, her face heating. “Take them out somewhere.” Disappointment. She’d wanted to dine in for the same reason I did—wanted to have a conversation with these particular people, in private. Or as close to private as she could get, attended only by Mercy of Kalrs, with only Ship and possibly me watching. “Make me out to be as tyrannical as you like. They won’t blame you.” The lift door opened on level four, a few meters beyond the lift brightly lit, light panels still leaning against walls beyond that.
Home, for now.
“I admit, Fleet Captain,” said Governor Giarod at supper, later, “that I generally don’t much like Ychana food. When it’s not bland, it’s sour and rancid.” She took another taste of the food in front of her, fish and mushrooms in a fermented sauce that was the source of that “sour and rancid” complaint. On this occasion it had been carefully sweetened and spiced to suit Radchaai taste. “But this is very good.”
“I’m glad you like it. I had it brought in from a place on level one.”
Governor Giarod frowned. “Where do the mushrooms come from?”
“They grow them somewhere in the Undergarden.”
“I’ll have to mention them to Horticulture.”
I swallowed my own bite of fish and mushroom, took a swallow of tea. “Perhaps it might be best to let the people who have become experts continue to profit from their expertise. They stand to lose if it becomes something Horticulture produces, wouldn’t you think? But imagine how pleased the growers might be, if the governor’s residence started buying mushrooms from them.”
Governor Giarod set down her utensil, leaned back in her seat. “So Lieutenant Tisarwat is acting with your direction.” It wasn’t the non sequitur it seemed. Tisarwat had spent the last week encouraging maintenance workers to try food in the Undergarden, and the new plumbing on level one had made work easier for the people who had been providing that food. The aim was obvious to someone like Governor Giarod. “Is that what you brought me here to talk about?”
“Lieutenant Tisarwat hasn’t been acting under any orders from me, though I approve of what she’s done. I’m sure you realize that continuing to isolate the Undergarden from the rest of the station would be just as disastrous as trying to force the residents here to live like everyone else.” Balancing that would be… interesting. “I would be very unhappy to see this end with anything valuable here taken away from the Undergarden so that others can profit by it elsewhere. Let the houses here profit from what they’ve built.” I took another swallow of tea. “I’d say they’ve earned it.” The governor drew breath, ready to argue about that what they’ve built, I suspected. “But I invited you this evening because I wanted to ask you about Valskaayan transportees.” I could have asked earlier, from downwell, but attending to business during full mourning would have been entirely improper.