Ancillary Justice (Imperial Radch #1) - Ann Leckie Page 0,124

knew about the Garseddai gun.

The captain Anaander Mianaai had been speaking to recoiled, visibly startled by the sudden appearance of my armor. I raised my own gun, and a hammer-hard blow hit me from the side—someone else had shot at me. I fired, hit the person holding the gun. She fell, her own shot wild, hitting the temple façade behind me, shattering some god, bright-colored chips flying. Sudden, shocked silence from the already frightened citizens along the concourse. I turned, looked along the trajectory of the bullet that had hit me, saw panicked citizens and the sudden silver gleam of armor—this other shooter had seen me shoot the first, didn’t know armor wouldn’t help her. Half a meter from her another flash of silver as someone else armored herself. Citizens between me and my targets, moving unpredictably. But I was used to crowds of the frightened and the hostile. I fired, and fired again. The armor disappeared, both my targets fallen. Seivarden said, “Fuck, you are an ancillary!”

“We’d better get off the concourse,” said Anaander Mianaai. And to the nameless captain beside her, “Captain, get these people to safety.”

“But…” the captain began, but we were already moving away, Seivarden and Anaander Mianaai staying low, moving as speedily as they could.

I wondered briefly what was happening in other parts of the station. Omaugh Palace was huge. There were four other concourses, though all were smaller than this one, and level upon level of homes, workplaces, schools, public spaces, all of it full of citizens who would certainly be frightened and confused. If nothing else, anyone who lived here knew the necessity of following emergency procedures, wouldn’t stop to argue or wonder once the order to seek shelter had gone out. But of course, Station couldn’t give that order.

I couldn’t know, or help. “Who’s in the system?” I asked, as soon as we were out of earshot, climbing down an emergency access ladder well, my armor retracted.

“Near enough to matter, you mean?” Anaander Mianaai answered from above me. “Three Swords and four Mercies in easy shuttle distance.” Any order from Anaander Mianaai on the station would have to come by shuttle, because of the communications blackout. “I’m not worried about them at this very moment. There’s no possibility of giving them orders from here.” And the instant there would be, the instant that blackout was raised, the entire question would already be settled, the knowledge Anaander Mianaai was so desperate to hide from herself already speeding toward the gates that would take it through all of Radch space.

“Is anyone docked?” I asked. Right now, those would be the only ships that mattered.

“Only a shuttle from Mercy of Kalr,” said Anaander Mianaai, sounding half-amused. “It’s mine.”

“Are you certain?” And when she didn’t answer I said, “Captain Vel isn’t yours.”

“You got that impression too, did you?” Anaander Mianaai’s voice was definitely amused now. Above me, above Anaander Mianaai, Seivarden climbed, silent except for her shoes on the ladder rungs. I saw a door, halted, pulled the latch. Swung it open, and peered into the corridor beyond. I recognized the area behind the dock offices.

Once we’d all clambered into the corridor and shut the emergency door, Anaander Mianaai strode ahead, Seivarden and me following. “How do we know she’s the one she says she is?” Seivarden asked me, very quietly. Her voice still shook, and her jaw looked tight. I was surprised she hadn’t curled up in a corner somewhere, or fled.

“It doesn’t matter which one she is,” I said, not making any attempt to lower my voice. “I don’t trust any of her. If she tries to go anywhere near Mercy of Kalr’s shuttle you’re going to take this gun and shoot her.” All of what she’d said to me might easily be a ruse, intended to get me to help her to the docks, and to Mercy of Kalr, so she could destroy this station herself.

“You don’t need the Garseddai gun to shoot me,” Anaander Mianaai said, without looking behind her. “I’m not armored. Well, some of me is. But not me. Not most of me.” She turned her head briefly, to look at me. “That is troublesome, isn’t it.”

With my free hand I gestured my lack of concern or sympathy.

We turned a corner and stopped cold, confronted with Inspector Adjunct Ceit holding a stun stick, the sort of thing Station Security might use. She must have heard us talking in the corridor, because she evinced no surprise at our appearance, just a