The mech brought her directly to the center of the lareum, a long, wide hall lined with vestiges of Hwae’s founding, paper or linen or groupings of clay tiles on the dark green walls, and between them, or dotted along the length of the hall, the sort of vestiges that did not hang well: cups, serbat decanters, a necklace or two, even a pair of sandals, all cased in glass and standing on plinths.
At the far end of the hall the Rejection of Further Obligations hung, suspended vertically in a clear case that rested on its own long, low diorite plinth. From this angle, walking down the length of the hall, Ingray could only see it edge-on but she could recite the words painted on it without even half a thought. Let this document certify that the Assembled Representatives of the People of Hwae … It was those words that mattered, wasn’t it? Even if Garal was right and this particular document was a fake.
Full of vestiges as it was, and signs and notices so that even children could understand what they were visiting, the long room seemed oddly empty without the overlays of text and images that Ingray would have seen if she were connected to Hwae’s communications network. She found herself blinking to summon them, but of course nothing happened. She’d cut off her own access before coming here, but she knew from the news service reports that there were no communications coming from the prisoners in the lareum. No doubt the Omkem had managed to prevent it somehow.
There were five mechs here, two like the ones Ingray had already seen, one at each entrance to the room, and a third in the center of the hall, standing over two people who sat on the buff-tiled floor, watching her approach. One of those people, a stout, gray-haired neman, Ingray recognized immediately as the Prolocutor of the First Assembly, Prolocutor Dicat. The other, much younger, not much older than Ingray in fact, thinner but obviously taller even sitting, was … it took Ingray a moment to place her. Yes, she was the appointed heir of the senior keeper of post-Tyr vestiges.
Near the end of the Rejection’s case stood two smaller mechs that looked more like humans than machines. They both turned toward Ingray as she approached. “Miss Aughskold,” said one. “Please stay where you are.” In Bantia.
She stopped. The smaller of the two more humanlike mechs walked toward her. It didn’t move like a mech at all, and she realized that it wasn’t, that neither of them was a mech. They were both humans in dark gray armor. Like a lot of Omkem they were much taller than Ingray was used to, and the armor gave them an intimidating bulk besides.
The second armored human said something Ingray couldn’t understand.
“Miss Aughskold,” said the first, still in Bantia, “would you please remove your hairpins?”
“Certainly,” Ingray replied. Her voice didn’t even shake the tiniest bit, she was glad to hear. She pulled out her hairpins and held them out to the armored person who’d spoken to her. “What should I do with them?”
The first armored person spoke again. She wasn’t sure what language it might be.
“Please set them on the floor, Miss Aughskold,” said the other, “and step away from them.”
She bent to lay the pins on the floor, then straightened. She had a little travel translation utility that supposedly functioned away from Hwae’s network. She’d used it a few times during her stay on Tyr Siilas. It wasn’t very good, and she hadn’t had a chance to load it with a dictionary, but maybe she could still use it. Maybe it would recognize this language. It would be better than nothing.
The first armored person stared at the small pile of hairpins, then spoke. “Floor them apart,” said a flat voice in Ingray’s ear.
The second bent and tried to scoop up the pins, but three of them tumbled out of their armored hand. “Fiddlesticks,” they said. According to the translation utility, anyway. The armor on their hands retracted, disappearing somewhere into the figure’s arms. Then they reached up and pulled off their head—no, pulled off a helmet. Revealing a pale-skinned man with thick dark hair and a genial expression. “I don’t know how these soldiers do this.” And, to a disapproving exclamation from the first armored figure, “Fie, Commander. Absence was your own mouth. I absent soldier.” He scooped up the hairpins in his bare hand, stood, and smiled at Ingray. “Excuse me a moment, Miss Aughskold. Please stay right there.” He went, then, over to one of the mechs at the nearer entrance, which popped open a wide panel in the side of its body, and the man dropped the hairpins inside and pushed the panel closed again. Came back over to Ingray. “Please don’t be afraid. There’s no reason this has to be unpleasant.”
“I wasn’t afraid, until you said that,” replied Ingray.
He made a small huh. Not a laugh, not quite. “The commander and I have a few things to discuss. But can I ask you a question? Do you think this”—he gestured to the Rejection of Obligations—“is genuine?”
“I … I’ve always thought it was.” Ingray supposed she should be glad to have such immediate confirmation of her guess that the Federacy troops, denied control of the First Assembly, had turned their attention to Hwae’s most important vestiges. Even after the things Garal had said, the Rejection of Obligations was still very nearly the most important vestige in the system.
He turned to the commander. “Perceive. As my own mouth.”
“In the ordinary remain,” said the commander. “The ordinary is not. The attention is, the argument is prolocutor. Doubt required and the level lowered. I theorize look elsewhere.”
“Remain,” said the man who had spoken to Ingray in Bantia. “Insufficiency the days before, insufficiency this moment.”
“Who are you?” she asked the man. “And why are you doing this?”
“My name is Chenns. I’m a … you would say I was an ethnographer. I specialize in Hwaean cultures. And that”—he gestured toward the other armored figure—“is Commander Hatqueban. And as for what we’re doing here, I’m surprised to hear you of all people ask that question, Miss Aughskold. I knew Excellency Zat. I can’t say I liked her much. She was quite arrogant, and contemptuous of those she considered her inferiors. She was absolutely convinced of the most ridiculous historical theories. Though to be frank, I wince at dignifying them with the word theory. She promoted these ridiculous ideas, and convinced others—or forced them—to invest time and valuable resources attempting to prove them. But she didn’t deserve to die.”