“Have you been shot, miss?” asked the blue-and-gold-armored soldier, as the other two Omkem mechs turned and began lumbering back toward the Assembly Chambers. Or Ingray thought that was what she saw; she was having trouble concentrating on anything but the pain in her arm. “We need to get you to a doctor and get you looked at.”
“Don’t worry about me!” exclaimed Ingray, heart racing. “You should take care of Nicale Tai first! And the prolocutor.”
“No question, miss.” A medimech trundled up. “The prolocutor is fine, and Miss Tai’s already on a medimech and she’ll be with a doctor in just a few seconds. Here’s your ride.”
“I can walk!” Ingray insisted. Though she wasn’t actually sure she could.
“I’m sure you can,” agreed the soldier as Specialist Nakal lowered her to sit on the medimech. “The question is, should you. I’m thinking not.”
There was blood all over her sleeve, and her skirts. But the medimech would scan her and take her to a doctor. With a lurch it started into motion.
“Wait!” cried the soldier. “Don’t forget your shoes, miss.” And he bent to pick them up and ran to set them in her lap.
“They’re not my shoes!” she protested. But faintly, and the medimech had moved away, and if anyone answered she didn’t hear.
19
A neman in a lungi and a loose, long shirt met the medimech as it trundled into the Assembly corridor. “Miss Aughskold,” e said as e walked alongside. “Let’s get you checked out and get correctives on that knee and that arm.”
“Nicale?” asked Ingray. She sniffled, finding herself suddenly teary again, and wiped her eyes.
“She’s headed to surgery now. Lie back. I’ll bring the headrest up if you like.”
“Please,” said Ingray. A blue-and-gold-uniformed soldier came from somewhere ahead and set a cup of serbat in her good hand. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, miss,” said the soldier, and turned and left.
“Lean back, now,” said the doctor, and she did, and tried raising the cup to her mouth. Her hand shook, but she managed it. She caught the warm, spicy smell of the serbat. Took a sip and closed her eyes. “You’re a little dehydrated,” said the doctor. “Blood sugar’s low. The knee is sprained, which I’m sure you already know. The bullet didn’t hit anything vital, thank the almighty powers, it’s basically a graze, though I’m sure it hurts quite a lot. You’ll be up and around in no time.”
“And Prolocutor Dicat? Is e all right?” She opened her eyes. Took another sip of serbat. It was obviously instant, and it was the best serbat she’d ever tasted.
“Our prolocutor’s a tough old bird,” said the doctor, approvingly. “It’d take more than a few soldiers to ruffle em.”
“Yes,” agreed Ingray.
They exited into the wide station corridor outside the First Assembly Chambers. The space was full of people. Not visiting children or officials or representatives’ staff, but soldiers in the blue-and-gold uniform of Hwae System Defense, with here and there a few civilians. Or at least they wore civilian clothes.
“Ingray!” Netano, striding toward where Ingray lay on the medimech. Almost running, the closest to disarray that Ingray had ever seen her mother. Which was to say her jacket was slightly askew and her expression was one of clear distress. “Ingray, dear, are you all right?”
Ingray knew a performance when she saw one. But then, Netano lived a life that meant her every public move had to be carefully considered, sincere or not. Ingray had to some extent been living that life herself. And she couldn’t stop a fresh spate of tears. “I’m fine, Mama.” Someone died. People got shot because of me. But she couldn’t bring herself to say it. “I want to go home.”
“You’re going to the infirmary first,” said the doctor, brusquely but not unkindly. “And I suspect Over Captain Utury is eager to speak with you.” The doctor raised eir eyebrow as e said that but didn’t comment further. “Representative Aughskold, as far as I can see your daughter has a sprained knee, and her arm is injured but not badly. She could probably use some rest and quiet, though she likely won’t get it for a while yet. I’m going to set the medimech moving again; you’re welcome to walk alongside if you like.”
Netano took Ingray’s good elbow. “Yes. Yes, of course I’m coming along.”
A dark gray Omkem mech loomed up out of the crowd of soldiers, two beige cardboard rectangles in one appendage, a brush in another. “Wait! Miss, it’s me, Specialist Nakal.”
“I thought you couldn’t walk,” said Ingray. “Or your mech anyway.”
“It still can’t. I’m borrowing this one. If you don’t mind, miss, would it be too much trouble to ask you to sign an entry ticket for me?”
“Um,” said Ingray. She was already weeping again.
“Miss Aughskold has other things to worry about, Specialist,” the doctor said sternly.
“It’s all right,” said Ingray. “I don’t mind.” She handed the cup of serbat to Netano, who took one of the Assembly entry tickets and held it steady on top of one of the shoes on Ingray’s lap, and the mech handed her the brush.
She had only ever done this for the personal sort of vestige that was of no value to anyone but herself and maybe a few friends. This was like those, in a way. There was no vestige more trivial than the entry card from some famous tourist stop. But in another way it was very, very different.
Ingray Aughskold, she wrote. Surprisingly legibly, considering her hand was still shaking. And then, on reflection, thanks for the rescue. She handed the card and brush to the mech. “Now you.”
As the mech was signing its own entry card, the doctor said, scowling at the mech, “Thinking about your vestige collection, at a time like this.”
“Vestiges are important,” Netano said.
“Speaking of vestiges,” ventured Ingray. “What happened to the Assembly Bell? And the Rejection of Obligations?”
“That’s a good question, miss,” said the mech, as it handed her the signed entry card. “Thank you so much.” And it turned and lumbered away. Ingray looked at the card. It said, Nice work with that shoe, Mech-Pilot Specialist Char Nakal.
The medimech brought Ingray to the infirmary, and within ten minutes her knee and her arm were cased in the clear, hard shells of correctives.
“Can I leave now?” she asked the doctor who had applied the correctives, and who had also, like the doctor in front of the Assembly Chambers, looked her over and declared her otherwise uninjured.
“You can’t leave,” said this doctor. Bored and even. “Over Captain Utury has ordered you held here until she has a chance to talk to you.”
An hour later a mech woke Ingray from a doze as it tottered in with a box of noodles and a cup of serbat, set them on a table beside the medimech Ingray still lay on, and tottered out.
Ingray closed her eyes and tried to send a message to her mother, but found she couldn’t connect to the system’s communications. All she got was a message saying her account had been suspended for security reasons. She sighed, and started in on the noodles.