I had time to think. After all this time, after all this effort, here I was. I had hardly dared hope that I could revenge myself so thoroughly, hardly hoped that I could shoot even one Anaander Mianaai, and I had shot four. And more Anaander Mianaais were almost certainly killing each other back there in the palace as she battled herself for control of the station, and ultimately of the Radch itself, the result of my message.
None of it would bring back Lieutenant Awn. Or me. I was all but dead, had been for twenty years, just a last, tiny fragment of myself that had managed to exist a bit longer than the rest, each action I took a very good candidate for the last thing I’d ever do. A song bubbled up into my memory. Oh, have you gone to the battlefield, armored and well-armed, and shall dreadful events force you to drop your weapons? And that led, inexplicably, to the memory of the children in the temple plaza in Ors. One, two, my aunt told me, three, four, the corpse soldier. I had very little to do now besides sing to myself, and no one to disturb, no worries I might choose some tune that would lead someone to recognize or suspect me, or that anyone would complain about the quality of my voice.
I opened my mouth to sing out, in a way I hadn’t for years, when I was checked mid-breath by the sound of something banging against the airlock.
This sort of shuttle had two airlocks. One would only open when docked with a ship or a station. The other was a smaller emergency hatch along the side. It was just the sort of hatch I’d used to board the shuttle I’d taken when I’d left Justice of Toren so long ago.
The sound came one more time and then stopped. It occurred to me that it might only have been some debris knocking into the hull as I passed. Then again, if I were in Anaander Mianaai’s place, I’d try anything I could think of to achieve my aims. And I couldn’t see the outside of the shuttle with communications blocked, only those two narrow views fore and aft. I might well be bringing Anaander Mianaai to Mercy of Kalr myself.
If someone was out there, if it wasn’t just debris, it was Anaander Mianaai. How many of her? The airlock was small, and easily defensible, but it would be easiest not to have to defend it at all. It would be best to keep her from opening the airlock. Surely the communications blackout didn’t reach much farther away from the palace. I quickly made the changes in heading that would steer me away from Mercy of Kalr but still, I hoped, toward the outer edges of the communications block. I could speak to Mercy of Kalr and never go any closer to it. That done, I turned my attention to the airlock.
Both doors of the lock were built to swing inward, so that any pressure difference would force them shut. And I knew how to remove the inner door, had cleaned and maintained shuttles just like this one for decades. For centuries. Once I removed the inner door it would be nearly impossible to open the outer one so long as there was air in the shuttle.
It took me twelve minutes to remove the hinges and maneuver the door to a place where I could secure it. It should have taken ten, but the pins were dirty and didn’t slide as smoothly as they should have, once I’d released their catches. Human troops shirking, I was sure—I’d never have allowed such a thing on any of my own shuttles.
Just as I finished, the shuttle’s console began to speak, in a flat, even voice I knew belonged to a ship. “Shuttle, respond. Shuttle, respond.”
“Mercy of Kalr,” I said, kicking myself forward. “This is Justice of Toren piloting your shuttle.” No immediate answer—I didn’t doubt what I’d said had been enough to shock Mercy of Kalr into silent surprise. “Do not let anyone aboard you. In particular do not let any version of Anaander Mianaai anywhere near you. If she’s already there keep her away from your engines.” Now I could access the cameras that weren’t physically wired, I hit the switch that would show me a panoramic view of what was outside the shuttle—I wanted more than just that forward camera view. Hit the buttons that would broadcast my words to anyone listening. “All ships.” Whether they would listen—or obey—I couldn’t predict, but that wasn’t something I could realistically control anyway. “Do not let anyone aboard you. Do not let Anaander Mianaai aboard you under any circumstances. Your lives depend on it. The lives of everyone on the station depend on it.”
As I spoke the gray bulkheads seemed to dissolve away. The main console, the seats, the two airlock hatches remained, but otherwise I might have been floating unprotected in vacuum. Three vacuum-suited figures clung to handholds around the airlock I’d disabled. One had turned her head to look at a sail-pod that had swung dangerously close. A fourth was pulling herself forward along the hull.
“She’s not aboard me,” said Mercy of Kalr’s voice through the console. “But she’s on your hull and ordering my officers to assist her. Ordering me to order you to allow her into the shuttle. How can you be Justice of Toren?” Not What do you mean don’t let the Lord of the Radch aboard, I noticed.