No one was surprised at the order to depart. Four other Justices already had in the last year, to destinations meant to be final. But neither I nor any of my officers had expected Valskaay, six gates away.
Valskaay, that I had been sorry to leave. One hundred years ago, in the city of Vestris Cor, on Valskaay itself, One Esk had discovered volume upon volume of elaborate, multi-voiced choral music, all intended for the rites of Valskaay’s troublesome religion, some of it dating from before humans had ever reached space. Downloaded everything it found so that it hardly regretted being sent away from such a treasure out to the countryside, hard work prying rebels from a reserve, forest and caverns and springs, that we couldn’t just blast because it was a watershed for half the continent. A region of small rivers and bluffs, and farms. Grazing sheep and peach orchards. And music—even the rebels, trapped at last, had sung, either in defiance against us or as consolation for themselves, their voices reaching my appreciative ears as I stood at the mouth of the cave where they hid.
Death will overtake us
In whatever manner already fated
Everyone falls to it
And so long as I’m ready
I don’t fear it
No matter what form it takes.
When I thought of Valskaay, I thought of sunshine and the sweet, bright taste of peaches. Thought of music. But I was sure I wouldn’t be sent down to the planet this time—there would be no orchards for One Esk, no visits (unofficial, as unobtrusive as possible) to choral society meetings.
Traveling to Valskaay I would not, it turned out, take the gates, but generate my own, moving more directly. The gates most travelers used had been generated millennia ago, were held constantly open, stable, surrounded by beacons broadcasting warnings, notifications, information about local regulations and navigation hazards. Not only ships, but messages and information streamed constantly through them.
In the two thousand years I had been alive, I had used them once. Like all Radchaai warships, I was capable of making my own shortcut. It was more dangerous than using the established gates—an error in my calculations could send me anywhere, or nowhere, never to be heard from again. And since I left no structures behind to hold my gate open, I traveled in a bubble of normal space, isolated from everyone and everywhere until I exited at my destination. I didn’t make such errors, and in the course of arranging an annexation the isolation could be an advantage. Now, though, the prospect of months alone, with Anaander Mianaai secretly occupying my Var deck, made me nervous.
Before I gated out, a message came from Lieutenant Skaaiat for Lieutenant Awn. Brief. I said keep in touch. I meant it.
Lieutenant Dariet said, “See, I told you.” But Lieutenant Awn didn’t answer.
15
At some point I opened my eyes again, thinking I had heard voices. All around me, blue. I tried to blink, found I could only close my eyes and leave them closed.
Sometime later I opened my eyes again, turned my head to the right, and saw Seivarden and the girl squatting on either side of a Tiktik board. So I was dreaming, or hallucinating. At least I no longer hurt, which on consideration was a bad sign, but I couldn’t bring myself to care much. I closed my eyes again.
I woke, finally, actual wakefulness, and found myself in a small blue-walled room. I lay in a bed, and on a bench beside it Seivarden sat, leaning against the wall, looking as though she hadn’t slept recently. Or, that is to say, even more as though she hadn’t slept recently than she usually did.
I lifted my head. My arms and legs were immobilized by correctives.
“You’re awake,” said Seivarden.
I set my head back down. “Where’s my pack?”
“Right here.” She bent, lifted it into my line of sight.
“We’re at the medical center in Therrod,” I guessed, and closed my eyes.
“Yes. Do you think you can talk to the doctor? Because I can’t understand anything she says.”
I remembered my dream. “You learned to play Tiktik.”
“That’s different.” So, not a dream.
“You sold the flier.” No answer. “You bought kef.”
“No, I didn’t,” she protested. “I was going to. But when I woke up and you were gone…” I heard her shift uncomfortably on the bench. “I was going to find a dealer, but it bothered me that you were gone and I didn’t know where you were. I started to think maybe you’d left me behind.”
“You wouldn’t have cared once you took the kef.”
“But I didn’t have the kef,” she said, voice surprisingly reasonable. “And then I went to the front and found you’d checked out.”
“And you decided to find me, and not the kef,” I said. “I don’t believe you.”
“I don’t blame you.” She was silent for five seconds. “I’ve been sitting here, thinking. I accused you of hating me because I was better than you.”