“Look into it,” BZ said.
“Yes, BZ,” Vhanu murmured. “But I doubt there’s any truth to—”
“Look into it immediately, Commander.”
Vhanu’s eyes flickered. “Yes, sir,” he said. He turned away, abruptly colliding with the Queen. Moon made a small guttural sound, not of surprise, but pain.
“Forgive me…. Did I hurt you, Lady?” Vhanu asked, with just enough solicitude, just enough surprise. He laid a hand on her arm, as if reaching out to support her. Jerusha saw her wince involuntarily. “Do you have an injury?”
Moon moved away from his hand. “I strained my arm lifting crates, Commander Vhanu.”
“Lifting crates?” he said incredulously.
“I like to work alongside my own people sometimes, when I can, to remind myself of who I am and where I came from, Commander. And what their problems really are.” She touched her arm briefly with her good hand. “Perhaps you should try it some time.”
His mouth pulled taut. “It sounds too dangerous for my taste.” He turned away again, without any kind of farewell, and left the room.
Moon watched him go, and then moved quietly to close the door. She came back to the bed and settled carefully onto it, her good hand touching BZ’s face, his hair, with infinite tenderness. His own hand rose unsteadily to cover hers, as she leaned to kiss the hollows of his temples and murmured something that Jerusha couldn’t hear.
Moon straightened up again, shrugging back her cloak with an awkward motion, her uninjured hand still closed inside his. “Now you know,” she said, looking at Jerusha.
Jerusha nodded, seeing the same light, the same darkness in both their faces Slowly she got to her feet, stood looking down at them with an odd longing. “And now I’ve forgotten it,” she said, with a fleeting smile. “Rest well, my friends.” She shook her head, looking away from them as they began to smile. She crossed the room, and went out without looking back.
TIAMAT: Carbuncle
Ariele Dawntreader stopped in the hallway, looking toward the hospital room door where uniformed offworlders stood guard; feeling herself pushed forward by anger, held back by doubt. At Police headquarters they had told her she would find Jerusha PalaThion here, with the Chief Justice, who had barely survived an assassination attempt. Some part of her mind tried to tell her that she wished Capella Goodventure had been successful. She found that the thought sickened her.
She pushed it out of her mind, feeling guilty, as if the guards standing watch down the hall from her could hear her thoughts. The Chief Justice was alive; then let him listen to what she had come to say to Jerusha PalaThion. She started to walk again, seeing the Police turn their heads like twins to watch her approach. Their wariness decreased slightly as they recognized her.
“I need to speak with Commander PalaThion,” she said.
One of the guards murmured something half-audible, as if he were talking to himself. He hesitated a moment, and nodded at her. “You can go in.”
She moved past them, trying to enter the room as though she were perfectly confident of what she would do next.
Jerusha stood waiting for her in the middle of the room, in the stranger’s gray-blue uniform that Ariele had finally come to accept as a normal part of the other woman’s appearance. Behind her, sitting up in the hospital bed, was the Chief Justice. It was the first time she could remember that she had not seen him in uniform.
She looked at him for a long moment, feeling as if she saw his face for the first time; seeing a human being, and not an arrogant Kharemoughi martinet. She thought of her brother suddenly, as she looked into his eyes; suddenly imagining the face of a much younger man, who was passionately in love with her mother, willing to give up his career, even his life, for her mother’s sake. She remembered the look he had given her once, meeting her in the Street, and how she had responded.
“Ariele,” Jerusha said, and there was something in her voice that was both surprise and wariness. “What is it?”
“I came to…” She broke off. “I came to wish the Chief Justice a swift recovery,” she said, glancing down.
“Thank you, Ariele Dawntreader,” Gundhalinu said. “Please tell your mother that I’m doing well—”
“My mother didn’t send me here, Justice,” she said sharply. “I haven’t even spoken to her in over a week. I moved out of the palace months ago.”
“In that case, thank you for coming at all.” He smiled, uncertainly.
“Actually,” she said, her hands rubbing the silken cloth of her shirtsleeves, “actually I came here because I wanted to talk to—Aunt Jerusha about something. But it has to do with you too, Justice. Your people. And … what happened to you.” She glanced up at him again, trying to read his reaction. “Do you blame the Summers for what happened?” she asked, baldly. “And … do you believe what Capella Goodventure said your hunters did?”
“No, I don’t blame your people,” he said, and she was surprised to find that she believed him. “And no. I don’t believe what she said.”
“Ariele,” Jerusha said, “she must have heard distorted rumors. There’s no evidence.”
Ariele closed her mouth over the angry response lying ready on her tongue. “Capella Goodventure was right about what happened with the Summer ships. I saw it.” She had spent two days waiting for a summons, for the Blues to come after her, as Reede had sworn they would. But it hadn’t happened, until finally she had been forced to come here herself like this. And now, suddenly, she knew why.
“You saw it?” Jerusha repeated. Her face changed. “How?”
Ariele looked down again, watching the memory replay across the polished surface of the floor. “I was there. I tracked Silky up the coast—”
“Silky?” Jerusha interrupted. “Is she all right?”
Ariele nodded, seeing relief in the other woman’s eyes; seeing the woman she had always known, the woman she had loved once like her own kin, suddenly looking back at her. She told that woman everything, calling up every detail; but editing every word in her mind before she spoke it, to keep from mentioning Reede.
“What was Silky doing, so far from the colony’s territory? Were any of the others with her?” Jerusha asked, half frowning.
Ariele nodded. “There were hundreds of mers on the beach. It was as if they’re all gathering for something.”
Jerusha shook her head, glancing at Gundhalinu. “What the hell could make them do that—after all the time Miroe and I spent trying to show them that they had to stay clear of humans. Was it all useless?”
“I think maybe they’re coming to a kind of Festival—”
Jerusha looked back at her, and for a moment she saw the other woman’s mind try to dismiss the idea. But then Jerusha’s face changed. She looked at Gundhalinu again. “What do you think, BZ? Would there be any record of something like this ever happening before?”
He shrugged, his eyes thoughtful. “If it only happens during Summer, probably not, unless it was preserved somewhere in their folk tradition.”
“Maybe it is…” Jerusha murmured. “Maybe that’s exactly what the Festival is.”
“Then they’re coming to Carbuncle,” Gundhalinu said, and his voice was as sure as if he suddenly knew, the way that Reede seemed to know things about the mers.
Jerusha looked at him oddly, but she did not question him either. “Ye gods, BZ—if that’s true, they’ll be sitting targets for the hunters.”
“If it’s true, then the hunts will stop,” he said, and his hand made a fist on the bedding. “I want observation data on the mers’ movements.”
Jerusha nodded, turning to Ariele. “And you saw the hunters attack the Summers who were trying to interfere?”