“Yes,” Taucris acknowledged. “So it’s obvious the mech was used to murder Zat. And it couldn’t have been anyone but Hevom. We already knew no one else could have controlled it—it was manufactured in the Federacy. It’s like we said earlier, even if anyone else had known the accesses, it likely wouldn’t have been compatible with their implants. We’ll check that to be sure, of course, and we’re in the process of checking Pahlad, but I doubt anyone else within kilometers of the parkland that day had compatible wiring. And if that’s the case, no one but Zat or Hevom could have put the knife into the storage compartment. So there’s really no question that Hevom did it, we just don’t know why. But that’s not the problem. Or, it is a problem, because the Federacy is essentially asking us to declare a murderer innocent and send him home. But the problem I meant is, the Omkem Chancery is also demanding that Pahlad be turned over to them, to be tried for the murder of Excellency Zat.”
Ingray thought she felt the bag twitch, and pressed her arm against it, squeezing it more tightly to her side, as a warning. “But Pahlad couldn’t have done it!” And then, realizing, “And how do they know e’s even here? Wait. Hevom.” Hevom had been in the room when the deputy chief had named Pahlad. And when the knife had been found.
“Something’s wrong, Ingray. It just doesn’t make sense. Zat was rich and influential. She had lots of friends and supporters.”
“And Hevom was the poor relation,” Ingray agreed. “So why are they protecting him? And why”—she found herself suddenly nauseated—“are they trying to pin the murder on Pahlad?”
“Maybe they feel like they have to punish someone, and it’s easier to think one of us did it than one of their own,” Taucris suggested. “Even so, it just feels wrong. I feel like there’s something else going on and I can’t figure out what it is. Pahlad definitely didn’t murder Zat, and we can prove it. And the deputy chief has said that to the consul, but they’re still going ahead with the litigation. And calling in representatives to support their claim, and I’m afraid Prolocutor Budrakim would be only too happy to get rid of em. It won’t matter if e can get the news services to believe the thing about the Budrakim vestiges if e’s hauled off to the Omkem Federacy and executed for a murder Excellency Hevom committed.”
Realization struck Ingray. “You were listening in.”
“I was,” Taucris admitted. More abashed than necessary, Ingray thought, given that doing so was no doubt part of her job. “Pahlad is your friend, isn’t e? E trusted you to be there when e had to talk to eir father, and if that’s what happened, if the prolocutor sold em out to protect the reputation of fake family vestiges, then I don’t blame em for not wanting to talk to him alone.”
“Yes,” said Ingray. “Yes, e’s my friend.”
Taucris nodded, as though Ingray had said something more that had needed her agreement. “And I don’t think there’s anything I can do. I don’t know if there’s anything anyone can do. Pahlad is still legally dead, but e’s here and not dead, and I don’t think that’s ever happened before.”
“I’m beginning to wonder if it has, and we just don’t know about it.” Ingray frowned. Suddenly the reason she’d come to see Taucris seemed out of place, even trivial. Though it wasn’t. The presence of an alien ambassador on the planet—even if she was just a piloted mech—was possibly even worse news than the danger Pahlad was in. But there was quite possibly nothing Planetary Safety could do about it. The Geck ambassador would do whatever she wanted to do, but she couldn’t stay indefinitely, and at least Tic and his ship were safely out of her way. “Taucris,” she said, and saw a fleeting expression on Taucris’s face. Embarrassment? Pleasure? Just at Ingray saying her name? Taucris had always been shy, but … and suddenly it became clear to Ingray why Taucris might have confided in her earlier, why she was so concerned about someone who might be Ingray’s friend. “Taucris,” she said again, and yes, there was that expression again, and she found she didn’t mind the implications of that at all, but this was not the moment to stop and explore that. “The Geck ambassador is on the planet.” She explained about the ambassador holding up the ship at Tyr Siilas, and the accusation that Captain Uisine had stolen his ship, and the ambassador confronting Ingray at home that morning.
“But,” Taucris protested, when Ingray had finished, “how did the ambassador get off the station? And I thought the Geck needed to be near water all the time? I remember hearing that.”
“It’s not really the ambassador. She’s piloting a mech. And it’s … it’s a weird mech. It’s kind of like a spider, but kind of not, and it can change its shape quite a lot.” She was suddenly acutely aware of the bag hanging from her shoulder.
Which was a mech almost exactly like the one the ambassador was piloting.
“I don’t think there’s anything Planetary Safety can do,” Taucris was saying. “I mean, if she injures you, that’s probably a treaty violation. And they have to leave eventually. But I think that even if you report it, you’ll be told there’s nothing we can do. We’d probably do whatever she asked, actually, so long as it didn’t hurt anybody. I bet if Captain Uisine hadn’t left so quickly the Assembly would be arguing over whether to give him up to them, even if it would make problems with Tyr. He’s not Hwaean, after all, and nobody wants trouble with the treaty.”
“Right,” agreed Ingray. She had that free-fall feeling again, and it was terrifying, but almost familiar by now. “But I can report it, right? I can make sure there’s an official record of the fact that she’s here, and bothering me, and trying to find Pahlad? Who do I report that to?”
In the groundcar, Ingray set the bag on the floor—she didn’t want it to become a spidery thing again while she was touching it—and waited.
After a few minutes a stalked eye poked out of the bag’s side and turned toward Ingray. “So it took more than five or ten minutes,” the mech whispered. “But I was right otherwise. You have a plan. So tell me, how are we getting Pahlad out of there?”
“Have you known who e is the whole time?” asked Ingray.
Two seconds. Then, “I have difficulty believing you haven’t known who e was the whole time. Gold Orchid doesn’t make that sort of mistake. E’s an impressively good liar, I’ll grant you that, and that’s only to be expected, given eir upbringing. You do fairly well yourself on that score, and I doubt you have anything like a natural ability for it. But Gold Orchid would never have delivered em to you if they weren’t absolutely certain e was Pahlad. It was pretty obvious that e didn’t know what you were up to and didn’t want to be pulled into whatever it was. Once e had some idea of the situation, well, then e changed eir mind. And before you ask, e’s right about how people away from Hwae think of vestiges. And e’s right about the Budrakim Garseddai vestiges—from everything I’ve been able to find, they were obvious fakes from the start. Are you going to tell me you thought all those bits of trash displayed on the station were real, or important?”
“They’re important to us!” Ingray insisted, stung.
“It doesn’t matter,” said the mech. “This is a distraction. What’s your plan?”
“It’s …” Suddenly the idea that had seemed so brilliant and obvious back in Taucris’s office looked incomplete and ridiculous. “So, the mech you’re using. It looks exactly like the ambassador’s.” Stopped. Afraid to go on and say more, because the entire idea was utterly foolish.
“Ingray,” whispered the mech, “what is it you do for that nuncle of yours? Please tell me e consults you whenever e needs an outrageous and brilliant strategy. So you want me to impersonate the ambassador and demand Pahlad’s release into her custody. My custody. Our custody.”