Mrs. Petrel's ashen expression did not improve. Her hands were trembling. "But you could have used the thing yourself…Loving God, what the Company could have done with…We'd never have to lift a finger again! The Emperor's favor alone would -"
"Mean nothing," Gretchen said, shaking her head slowly. "I understand how the Company will feel about this. I particularly understand what the Empire's reaction would be if they ever knew what actually happened in the House of Reeds. But, Mrs. Petrel, I also know such artifacts must never be allowed to fall into human hands. Never! The danger is too great!"
"What danger!" Mrs. Petrel snapped, surging up out of her chair. "There's certainly no danger now! The only danger is allowing such a thing to remain in Jehanan hands! Even the debris will need to be seized and analyzed…" She turned around, staring angrily at Gretchen. "Fool! You've cast aside both our futures! My god, I daren't even make a report…"
Gretchen's voice was very calm. "Just say there was nothing in the monastery, the initial report was only a rumor, unsubstantiated, a false lead. I'll say the same." She smiled grimly. "Don't worry – no one will ask questions – the nauallis will make sure of that."
"The -" Petrel stepped back, suspicion flickering in her eyes. She looked Gretchen up and down and her lip curled back in disgust. "You've been playing a double-game – you're an agent of the Judges!" Her hand made a sharp slashing motion. "Don't think I won't report that to the Company!"
"I'm not…" Gretchen paused, jaw tight, and thought: She's right, even if I refused Hummingbird's offer two years ago. I've done just as he would have.
"I am not a naualli," she continued. "Nor am I their 'agent.' But I have worked with them in the past. Some artifacts simply cannot be used. There are traps laid for the unwary – and the kalpataru was one of them. We have escaped – I hope we have escaped! – terrible calamity by only the thinnest claw-tip."
Mrs. Petrel said nothing. Anderssen gained the impression of fulminating, terrible anger roiling in the older woman – but then she raised her hands and let out a bitter sigh. "There is nothing to be done about this now," Greta said in a thin, leached voice. "Get out. Just get out."
Nodding, Anderssen stood up – almost stumbling, her legs weak with tension – and reached the door before Mrs. Petrel's voice echoed in the ruined room.
"I know what the Judges told you." Cold, clear anger permeated Greta's voice. "But you should know they lie. They lie constantly – even when the truth would serve – and they care nothing for any human alive."
Gretchen turned in the doorway and saw Petrel clutching Yoshitaki's book tightly to her chest. "Who did you -"
"That doesn't matter," Petrel said, her face filled with anguish. "Just remember, they will sacrifice you and anyone else – anyone! – to gain their ends. They are like sharks – without emotion, without remorse."
"And if those ends mean the survival of humanity?" Gretchen said softly, feeling the woman's pain as a hot pressure on her face. "Isn't our sacrifice necessary for our children to live? For the race to continue? How do you weigh that balance, Petrel-tzin?"
Greta put a hand on the back of the chair to steady herself and then she turned away, saying nothing.
Anderssen went out, quietly, and found the sky clearing. Hot, bright sunlight streamed down through the clouds, gilding the ruins of the Legation. Plumes of smoke were rising over the city, but the worst of the fires had died down. Her boots – worn and dirty, as always – crunched through drifts of broken glass.
Yi birds were fluting in the trees, Jehanan workers were picking through the debris, Marine guards were on every rooftop, keeping a wary eye on the surroundings. Everything seemed blessedly normal.
I'm alive, Gretchen thought, and her heart lifted to be out of the ruined house. The prospect of Petrel telling the Company what she'd done and their inevitable termination of her employment made her feel giddy. We're all alive – my little pack of troublemakers – and now I am going home. And my babies will be waiting, and my mother and even that feckless husband of mine. Even penniless, they will be glad to see me!
Anderssen smiled cheerfully at the guards in the Legation gateway and turned out onto the street, hands in the pockets of her field jacket. Around her, the city was beginning to stir to life again, citizens out chattering in the streets, aerocars droning overhead, the distant lonely sound of a steam-whistle hooting from the rail-yard.
Aboard the Starliner Asuka Preparing to Leave Orbit Over Jagan
A first-class cabin door hissed open and Tezozуmoc stepped into a clean, sparkling room filled with inviting furniture. Soft music wafted on the cool, climate-controlled air. The young man stared around, drinking in every gram of luxury and his face brightened, looking into an adjoining bedroom.
"Oh, gods of my fathers and blessed Mother, look at the size of that bed! Four or five girls would fit easily!" The prince dropped a battered, grimy Army jacket on the floor and – before Colmuir or Dawd could say anything – stripped off his Jehanan cloak and discarded his skinsuit in an ugly, blood-and-oil-stained pile. Entirely naked, Tezozуmoc padded into the bathroom adjoining the main room of the suite and began to laugh hysterically.
"A shower and a tub! And towels, look at these towels!" The prince's head appeared in the doorway for a moment, one brown hand waving a plushy, gleaming white bath-towel and then vanished again. The sound of water running followed, and a yelp of mingled pain and delight as Tezozуmoc turned the taps on full hot.
Colmuir stared at the clothing discarded on the floor, dully noted the mess the boy had made of the carpet and wearily set down his duffel and gunrig on the couch. "This is a nice room," he said, on the verge of collapse himself. The Army medical staff had worked him over enough to get him aboard ship, but the master sergeant was in a bad way. He hurt from head to toe and even the resilience of his combatskin and the constant attentions of his medband couldn't overcome the bone-deep bruising and internal injuries he'd suffered. Worse, Colmuir felt unaccountably nervous and he didn't know why.
M' hackles are up, he realized, like we're still in th' thick of it…
Dawd let the door close behind him and stowed his own baggage. "We've the other bedroom, then? Better than the floor, I suppose."
The younger Skawtsman's face was bandaged and his combat goggles were still on. The lenses were dull black, as though he were standing outside in full sun. With a groan, Dawd slumped into a hugely overstuffed chair opposite Colmuir. In the bathroom, Tezozуmoc had begun to sing lustily, voice muffled by the rush of water. Clouds of steam drifted through the doorway.
The master sergeant managed a smile. "Well, our lad seems happy at last."
"You're not?" Dawd asked, letting his head fall back on the chair. "We're alive, he's alive. We'll be home on AnГЎhuac soon. A great victory all around, I think."
"Truth." Colmuir considered the prospect. "You're right. The boy didn't embarrass himself when the shooting started or get one of us killed. The Emperor might even be pleased by how things turned out…"
Dawd tried to laugh, producing a croaking sound. "I'm sure someone will decide the prince saved the day, crushed the rebellion and saved more than one fainting maiden by the time news gets back home."