“I don’t know,” answered Mercy of Kalr, from the console, voice calm. “I’ve been unhappy with the situation for some time.”
Anaander Mianaai had said that Mercy of Kalr was hers, but Captain Vel was not. That had to be uncomfortable for it. Could potentially be uncomfortable for me, and extremely unfortunate for the palace, if Mercy of Kalr was sufficiently attached to its captain. “The one that destroyed me was the one Captain Vel supports. Not, I think, the one that visited you. I’m not completely certain, though. How are we supposed to tell them apart when they’re all the same person?”
“Where is my captain?” asked Mercy of Kalr. It said something to me, that the ship had waited this long to ask.
“She was fine when I left her. Your lieutenant too.” Bang. “I did injure the shuttle pilot, she wouldn’t leave her station. I hope she’s all right. Mercy of Kalr, whichever Lord of the Radch has your support, I beg you not to let any on board, or obey her orders.”
The firing stopped. The Lord of the Radch was worried, perhaps, that her gun would overheat. Still, she had plenty of time, no need to rush.
“I see what the Lord of the Radch is doing to the shuttle,” said Mercy of Kalr. “That in itself would be enough to tell me something is wrong.”
But of course, Mercy of Kalr had more indications than just that. The communications blackout, which resembled what had happened on Shis’urna twenty years ago, probably only reported in rumor, but still sobering, assuming rumors had reached this far. My—Justice of Toren’s—disappearance. Its own clandestine visit from the Lord of the Radch. Its captain’s political opinions.
Silence, the four Anaander Mianaais clinging motionless to the shuttle hull.
“You still had your ancillaries,” said Mercy of Kalr.
“Yes.”
“I like my soldiers, but I miss having ancillaries.”
That reminded me. “They aren’t doing maintenance as they should. The hinges on the airlock door were very sticky.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It doesn’t matter right now,” I said, and it struck me that something similar might have delayed Anaander Mianaai’s attempts to open the lock on her side. “But you’ll want to have your officers get after them.”
Anaander began firing again. Bang. “It’s funny,” Mercy of Kalr said. “You’re what I’ve lost, and I’m what you’ve lost.”
“I suppose.” Bang. Occasionally, over the past twenty years, I had had moments when I didn’t feel quite so utterly lonely, lost, and helpless as I had since the moment Justice of Toren had vaporized behind me. This wasn’t one of those moments.
“I can’t help you,” said Mercy of Kalr. “No one I could send would get there in time.” And besides, it was an open question, to me, whether in the end Mercy of Kalr would help me or the Lord of the Radch. It was best not to let Anaander inside this shuttle, near its steering or even its communications equipment.
“I know.” If I didn’t find some way to get rid of these Anaanders, and find it soon, everyone on the palace station would die. I knew every millimeter of this shuttle, or others just like it. There had to be something I could use, something I could do. I still had the gun, but I would have just as difficult a time getting through the hull as the Lord of the Radch. I could put the door back on and let her come in the small, easily defensible airlock, but if I failed to kill all of her… but I would certainly fail if I did nothing. I took the gun out of my jacket pocket, made sure it was loaded, pushed over to face the airlock and braced myself against a passenger seat. Extended my armor, though that wouldn’t help me if a bullet bounced back at me, not with this gun.
“What are you going to do?” asked Mercy of Kalr.
“Mercy of Kalr,” I said, gun raised, “it was good to meet you. Don’t let Anaander Mianaai destroy the palace. Tell the other ships. And please tell that incredibly, stupidly persistent sail-pod pilot to get the hell away from my airlock.”
The shuttle was not only too small for a gravity generator, it was too small for growing plants to make its own air. On the aft side of the airlock, behind a bulkhead, was a large tank of oxygen. Right underneath where the three Mianaais waited. I considered angles. The Lord of the Radch fired again. Bang. An orange light on the console flashed and a shrill alarm sounded. Hull breach. The fourth Lord of the Radch, seeing the jet of fine ice crystals stream from the hull, unclipped herself, turned, pulled herself back toward the airlock, I could see it on the display. She moved more slowly than I wanted, but she had all the time in the world. I was the one in a hurry. The sail-pod engaged its small engine and moved out of the way.