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That young Anaander didn’t reply, but seated herself behind the desk. The two ancillaries stationed themselves in front of it, so that Governor Giarod and Eminence Ifian found themselves at some distance from where the tyrant sat. “And you yourself, Eminence, have no influence with the residents of this station?”

The eminence opened her mouth, and for an instant I wondered if she would admit that not long ago she had staged her own sit-down on the concourse, so that she could hardly speak convincingly in condemnation of this one. But she closed her mouth again. “I had thought, my lord, that I did have some influence here. If my lord wishes, I will try to speak to them.”

“
Try
?” asked Anaander, with obvious contempt.

Governor Giarod spoke up. “My lord, they aren’t doing any harm where they are. Perhaps we could just… let them sit.”

“Not doing any harm
yet
.” The tyrant’s voice was acid. “Did you just let the ancillary walk onto the station and upend everything? Agitate the station’s dregs, suborn the AI?”

“We did question her… it, my lord,” Governor Giarod insisted. “But she always had such reasonable answers, and events nearly always seemed to bear her out. And she had orders direct from you, my lord. And your name as well.” Behind the desk, Anaander Mianaai did not respond. Did not move. “My lord, perhaps we could… perhaps we could use Fl… the ancillary’s methods. Send the soldiers away, let the
people sit on the concourse if they like. So long as they’re peaceable.”

“Do you not understand,” Anaander said, “the purpose behind the ancillary’s methods? What’s happening down there”—she gestured toward the wide window, still covered by that heavy silk hanging—“is a threat. It is this station—and an alarming number of this station’s residents—refusing to accept my authority. If I allow them to do
this
, then what will they do next?”

“My lord,” offered Governor Giarod, “what if you were to treat this as though it were a refusal of
my
authority? You could say that
I
gave the order for the curfew, and the soldiers, and even—though it
was
Celar’s fault—even the transportation orders. And I would resign, and then, my lord, you would be the one responsible for restoring propriety.”

Anaander laughed, tense and bitter, and Giarod and Ifian flinched. “I’m glad to see, Governor, that after all your brain isn’t a
complete
waste of organic material. Believe me, if I thought that would do the least bit of good I’d have done it by now. And maybe if you hadn’t let a half-crazed ancillary run you in circles for a month, maybe if you hadn’t let that ancillary
escape
, and somehow manage to destroy
two
of the ships I brought with me, including a fucking
troop carrier
that would have been
very helpful
right now, and maybe if your gods-cursed passenger shuttles would
run on time
like they do everywhere else in Radch space, and maybe if your station was not obviously in the power of an
enemy of the Radch
, then yes, maybe it would do some good.”

Two ships. Destroyed. No wonder this Anaander was frightened. And, at a guess, exhausted. Angry and frustrated, not used to being in just one body, cut off from Tstur Palace.

Anaander continued. “No, what I need is to regain control of Station.” She stopped. Blinked. “Tisarwat?” Looked at Governor Giarod and Eminence Ifian. “That’s a familiar name. You said the ancillary brought a Lieutenant Tisarwat to the station.”

“Yes, my lord.” Giarod and Ifian, more or less in unison.

“A Lieutenant Tisarwat was just caught trying to plant explosive charges on
Sword of Gurat
’s hull. None of which were armed. She was captured immediately. And she is…” Anaander blinked at something in her vision. “Not exactly the sharpest knife in the set, is she.”

It was Giarod and Ifian’s turn to blink, trying, I supposed, to reconcile that description with the Tisarwat they themselves had met. I thought for a moment Ifian would say something, but she didn’t. More to the point, and very interestingly,
Sword of Atagaris
said nothing. “Oh, get out of here,” Anaander said, irritably.

Governor Giarod and Eminence Ifian bowed, deeply, and left so quickly as to be barely proper. When they were gone, Anaander put her head on her wrists, hands outstretched, her elbows on the desk. “I need to sleep,” she said, to no one in particular, it seemed. Maybe to the two
Sword of Atagaris
ancillaries. “I need to sleep, and I need to eat, and I need…” She trailed off. “Why can’t I just get a couple hours’ sleep without some kind of crisis appearing?” If she was talking to
Sword of Atagaris
, it didn’t answer.

Seivarden, behind the hanging, heard this with a sudden dismaying, disorienting sense of wrongness. She had known all this time what we had been doing here at Athoek, had defied Anaander herself, when we had been at Omaugh Palace. But Anaander Mianaai was still the only ruler of the
Radch Seivarden had ever known, and neither she nor any other Radchaai had ever expected even the possibility that things might be different. And on top of that, here this Anaander was, alone and tired and frustrated. As though she were just an ordinary person. But Seivarden had enough experience to know that stopping to think too long about it would be fatal. She signaled her Amaats to move.

Amaat Two and Amaat Four, armor up, guns leveled, came out from behind the hanging first, one to each side of where Anaander sat behind the desk. Instantly each
Sword of Atagaris
ancillary drew its weapon and turned to fire at an Amaat, and two more ancillaries came swiftly into the room, guns raised.

Seivarden had positioned herself opposite Anaander, so that when the ancillaries were distracted, she might have a clear shot at the tyrant. But Seivarden was not ancillary-fast, and lifting the hanging slowed her even more, just the smallest bit, but enough for one of
Sword of Atagaris
to put itself between Seivarden and Anaander, just as Seivarden fired. It dropped, and before Seivarden could fire again, the other ancillary charged into her, shoving her backward so that they both fell against the hanging.

Behind the hanging was that wide window overlooking the concourse. Of course it was not easily breakable, but
Sword of Atagaris
’s impact had been fast and forceful. When Seivarden and
Sword of Atagaris
fell against it, the window popped free of its housing and fell toward the floor of the concourse, some six meters below. Seivarden and
Sword of Atagaris
followed.

The citizens below scrambled back out of the way, some shouting in alarm. The glass slammed into the ground, a loud
and sharp report, and Seivarden hit the glass, on her back,
Sword of Atagaris
on top of her, the Presger gun in its grip that it had wrested from Seivarden on the way down.

The pop of gunfire, and more screams, and then, painfully loud, an alarm sounded. Bright-red stripes suddenly glowed to life on the scuffed white of the concourse floor, each of them four meters from the next. “Hull breach,” announced Station. “Clear all section doors immediately.”

At the sound of that alarm, every single person on the concourse—including
Sword of Atagaris
, and Seivarden, who hadn’t had even an instant to recover from her six-meter drop—immediately, unthinkingly, rolled or stepped or crawled away from those glowing red lines, and the concourse section doors came flashing down, crunching into the rectangle of window glass where it was in the way.

For a moment everyone in that section of the concourse was silent, stunned. Then someone began to whimper. “Who’s hurt?” asked Seivarden. On her hands and knees, quite possibly not aware of how she’d gotten there, the back of her armor still warm from absorbing the force of hitting the floor.

“Don’t move, Lieutenant.”
Sword of Atagaris
, the Presger gun aimed at Seivarden.

“Someone might be hurt,” Seivarden said, looking up at the ancillary. She dropped her armor. “Do you have a medkit this time, or are you still a miserable excuse for a soldier?” Raised her voice. “Is anybody hurt?” And then to
Sword of Atagaris
, who had not moved, “Come on, Ship, you know I’m not going anywhere with the section doors down like this.”

“I have a medkit,” replied
Sword of Atagaris
.

“So do I. Give me yours.” And as
Sword of Atagaris
tossed
the medkit to the ground in front of her, “Aatr’s tits, what’s wrong with you?” She took both kits and went to see to the injured.

Fortunately there appeared to be only one severe injury, a person whose leg had been caught by the falling slab of glass. Seivarden medkitted her, and when she found only bruises and sprains among the other nine people trapped in the section, she tossed the remaining medkit at
Sword of Atagaris
’s feet. “I know you have to do what the Lord of the Radch tells you to.” Seivarden didn’t know that Tisarwat had made
Sword of Atagaris
as much of a free agent as possible. “But didn’t the fleet captain give you back your precious officers? That ought to count for something.”

“It would,” said
Sword of Atagaris
, voice flat. “If it hadn’t taken me an entire day to get my ancillaries thawed and bring my engines back online.
Sword of Gurat
got to them before me, and the Lord of the Radch decided they would be more useful to her in suspension.”

“Hah!” Seivarden was bitterly amused. “I don’t doubt it. I’m sure Hetnys is a much better tea table than she ever was a captain.”

“I can’t imagine why I don’t feel more friendly toward you,” said
Sword of Atagaris
, retrieving the medkit without for a moment losing its focus on Seivarden.

“Sorry.” Seivarden sat down on the glass. Crossed her legs. “I’m sorry, Ship. That was uncalled for.”

“What?” Impassive, but, I thought, taken aback.

“I shouldn’t’ve… that wasn’t right. I don’t like Captain Hetnys, and you know that, but there’s no reason for me to be insulting her. At a time like this. Especially to you.” Silence.
Sword of Atagaris
still pointing the Presger gun at Seivarden,
sitting cross-legged on the ground. “I have to admit, I don’t understand why the Lord of Mianaai wouldn’t give you back your captain.”

“She doesn’t trust me,”
Sword of Atagaris
said. “I was too easily and too completely controlled by
Justice of Toren
. Seeing that, the Lord of Mianaai decided to keep the same control herself—I am told that if anything at all happens to the Lord of the Radch, all of my officers will be killed. She has them aboard
Sword of Gurat
. For safekeeping, she says. A
Sword of Gurat
lieutenant is in temporary command of me for the moment.”

“I’m sorry,” said Seivarden. And then, realizing, “Wait, what is she so afraid of? She trusts
Sword of Gurat
to kill Captain Hetnys if something happens to her, but she doesn’t trust it to guard her?”

“I neither know nor care,” said
Sword of Atagaris
. “But I am not going to see Captain Hetnys killed.”

“No,” said Seivarden. “No, of course not.”

Above, in the governor’s office, Amaat Two and Amaat Four lay facedown, still armored but disarmed, terrified, hands bound behind their backs. Before
Sword of Atagaris
had pinned them, they had seen the ancillary Seivarden had shot lying in the middle of the room. Amaat Two had managed to fire once at Anaander, but had not seen the results of her shot. Both Amaats had heard the section doors come down, closing the room off until Station canceled the hull breach alert. Or until someone managed to cut through the section doors, not an easy thing to do.

“You’re wounded, my lord.” An unfamiliar voice, in the ears of Seivarden’s two Amaats, but obviously an ancillary’s.
Sword of Atagaris
.

“It’s nothing. The bullet went right through my arm.”
Anaander Mianaai, her voice tense with pain. “How the fuck did that happen,
Sword of Atagaris
?”

“I would guess, my lord…,” began
Sword of Atagaris
.

“No, let
me
guess. You’d never seen that door opened. Couldn’t open it even when you asked Station to unlock it. The entrances to that back access are all themselves locked. By Station. I myself foolishly trusted what I thought was my control over Station.”

A tearing sound. “If you would be so good as to let me remove your jacket, my lord.”

Despite—perhaps because of—her terror, the beginning of a laugh escaped Amaat Four as she recognized the sound of a medkit being opened. Two said, very softly, “Oh, you’re carrying medkits
now
.”

“There are several ways I could kill you.” The voice of another ancillary, closer to the two Amaats than the one talking to the Lord of the Radch. Very quiet. “Armored or not.”

“Station!” Anaander, either ignoring the exchange or not hearing it. “No more games. Do you hear me?”

Silence, for three seconds, and then Station said, “I was happy enough to go along, until you threatened my residents.”

Down on the concourse, standing on the remaining section of office window,
Sword of Atagaris
said, gun still pointed at Seivarden, “Station is done playing stupid, it seems.”

“I wasn’t the one making a threat, Station!” Anaander’s voice was incredulous, and angry. “I was trying to keep your residents safe. Trying to keep things calm and under control here, after the ancillary had stirred up so much trouble. And then.” A pause. Probably she gestured, but all the Amaats could see was the brown, gold-flecked tiles of the floor. “All this. What do you expect me to do, just let a mob take over the concourse?”

“It’s not a mob,” replied Station. “It’s a complaint. Citizens do have the right to complain to Administration.” Silence. Then Station said, “Fleet Captain Breq would have understood.”