The next door along the corridor opened. Prolocutor Budrakim strode out, tall and broad, his square face chiseled and even-featured, his hair meticulously braided and gathered to the back—doubtless he knew his good looks were a not inconsiderable part of his power, and he never appeared outside his home in anything less than perfectly groomed and ordered fashion. He was saying, “I’ll speak to the Planetary Head of Serious Crimes. I will litigate if I have to. This is …” He stopped suddenly, catching sight of Ingray standing there.
Ingray, trained since small to handle any interaction with Netano’s political opponents with aplomb, smiled quite automatically and said, with a small bow, “Prolocutor Budrakim. How good to see you.”
“Miss Aughskold,” said Deputy Chief Veret, coming out of eir office behind the prolocutor. “I’m glad to see you. It appears that Pahlad Budrakim has refused to speak to anyone without you being present. The prolocutor is here wanting to speak to em, and has been unable to.”
“Netano’s behind this,” said the prolocutor, to Ingray, ignoring the deputy chief. “You were the one who brought Pahlad here to begin with.”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Prolocutor,” Ingray responded, smile still fixed on her face. “I’m happy to assist right now.”
“Your assistance is not required. I demand to talk to Pahlad without anyone listening in or recording,” said Prolocutor Budrakim. “E is my child, after all.”
“Prolocutor,” said Deputy Chief Veret, “as I have already explained, no one in the custody of Planetary Safety is ever allowed to speak to visitors without observation.” Eir Lim District accent was at odds with the punctilious formality of eir words, to Ingray’s ear. Doubtless to the prolocutor’s as well. “Any exceptions that may have been made in the past”—a slight, very slight hesitation—“were not under my authority, and are not relevant to me. My job is to uphold the law.”
“I suspect you’ll be looking for a new job soon,” said the prolocutor, and Ingray realized that at least one of those exceptions the deputy chief had spoken of must have involved the prolocutor, and Pahlad emself. Which possibly explained Pahlad’s insistence on a witness now.
“With all due respect, Prolocutor,” said Ingray, “I don’t think it’s fair to blame the deputy chief if it’s Pahlad who’s refusing to speak to you.” Felt panic as she spoke—Netano had taught all her children to be exactly polite to Ethiat Budrakim, to say whatever courtesy dictated but absolutely no more. “But I’m happy to help.”
“Of course you are,” said Prolocutor Budrakim, only the barest trace of sarcasm in his voice. He turned to the deputy chief. “I told you not to call her.”
“E didn’t,” said Ingray. “I happened to arrive just now on my own business.” The prolocutor scoffed. Ingray turned to Taucris, who had been standing in her own doorway all this time, watching silently. “Taucris, I need to consult you about something. Can I see you when we’re done with Pahlad?”
“Of course,” said Taucris. “Come to my office when you’re ready.” And she stepped back and closed the door.
Ingray turned back to Ethiat Budrakim. “I’m at your service, Prolocutor.”
The same bare, dingy room, the same scuffed white bench. Pahlad apparently standing there, but of course e was only an image on the wall. Eir mouth quirked, just slightly, when e saw Ingray, but e otherwise stood silent, waiting.
“I’m hurt,” Ethiat said, at length. “My own child won’t speak to me.”
“I never said I wouldn’t speak to you,” said Pahlad. “I said I wouldn’t speak to you unless Ingray was here. Hello, Ingray, thank you for coming.”
“You’re welcome,” said Ingray.
“How did you get out of Compassionate Removal?” asked the prolocutor. “I’m sorry to say I found it beyond my means to keep you out, or get you out after.”
“Let’s dispense with the lies,” said Pahlad. Calmly and seriously. “You said you would keep me out, or get me out if I went, but you never intended to do any such thing. I believed you when you said it, or things would have gone very differently, but I don’t believe it now. I’ve made every sacrifice for the good of the family that it was possible to make, and I’m done.” No vehemence, no anger in eir voice. Just a calm, matter-of-fact statement. “I’m sure that at the first opportunity I’ll be asked—again—what I did with those vestiges. Some of the guards here have already mentioned it, as it happens. It’s what I’m famous for.”
“No,” said the prolocutor.
“You were willing to send your own child to Compassionate Removal for their theft. What wouldn’t you do to have them back again?” E turned to Ingray. “The truth is, I didn’t steal the vestiges. No one stole them. They’re right where they’ve always been.”
“But last night,” protested Ingray, “you said you were ready to talk about what you’d done with them.” And then as soon as she spoke, realized how ridiculous that was.
“I did say that,” Pahlad acknowledged. “And I would appreciate it if you would tell the news services that I buried the vestiges in Eswae. I recall hearing that Prolocutor Budrakim opposed the excavation of the parkland. Knowing the vestiges are buried there, though, well of course he’ll have to change his tune. He made such a show of wanting them found. Wanting them back. If the only way to get them back is to dig up the parkland, well, that’s what he’ll have to do.”
“The news services don’t know you’re here,” said the prolocutor. “And if any discover it, they won’t find it in their interest to report the fact.”
“I suppose we’ll discover who has more pull with the local news services,” Pahlad observed, still calmly. “You, or Representative Aughskold. I’m sure she’d jump at the chance to publicly embarrass you. It is coming up on elections, after all.”
“What is it you want?” asked Prolocutor Budrakim, harsh and blunt.
“I want your political career ended,” replied Pahlad. Calmly, evenly. “I want everyone to know what you did to me. The problem is, I don’t have any evidence. Or not any evidence I didn’t have at the time of my trial, and”—e waved a hand—“we know how that went. I’m well aware that I could tell the story of what you did to me to every news service reporter from here to Hwae Station and it likely wouldn’t change a thing. Or if it did, it wouldn’t be until after years of litigation, and you’d spend those years making life miserable for anyone who dared to help me. But you taught me to be pragmatic. I’ll settle for embarrassing you any way I can.” E turned to Ingray. “Away from this system, people laugh at us and our vestiges. Partly because they find the idea ridiculous, but partly because some of the most famous of them can’t possibly be what they’re supposed to be. You know the panel in the System Lareum? The one that’s supposedly part of the airlock of the first crewed explorer to arrive in the system? It’s from a ship type that didn’t exist until six or seven hundred years after the actual event.”