Kameron Hurley - God's War

“I sometimes wonder what he has left to say to God,” Nyx interrupted, nodding toward Rhys.

“There is always something left to say to God,” the woman said. She gestured to the table. “Join us. I am Danika Chaba.”

The other two introduced themselves. The other black woman was Solome Hadar, and the white one was Keran Yarkona. The white one’s Nasheenian was so bad that Nyx could barely understand her.

“You’re the tenth mercenary to talk to us,” Danika said.

“I’m a bounty hunter,” Nyx said.

“Oh? Is there a difference?”

“Yeah,” Nyx said. She could hear Rhys reciting, not in Chenjan or Nasheenian but the ancient language of prayer:

“In the name of God, the infinitely Compassionate and Merciful. Praise be to God, Lord of all the worlds.”

“Were you all with Nikodem the last time she was in Nasheen?” Nyx asked. She was hungry, and they had a lot to go over.

Keran and Solome exchanged looks, but Danika did not blink as she replied, “I was. Solome stayed aship, as she had not yet been inoculated against your contagions. Keran had not yet graduated.”

“Graduated?”

“Off-world studies, diplomacy. She has done some work for us in-system.”

“In-system?”

Danika clucked her tongue. In Nasheen, that was a reproach, but Nyx suspected she meant it differently.

“We have two viable worlds in our star’s system, and a colonized moon. We have some experience in negotiating with others who are not as we are.”

“It was smart to send women to Nasheen, then.”

Danika gave a tight smile. “It was not all politics. We have sent skilled technicians before us, but most were unable to adapt to the peculiar contagions of your world, and perished. Nikodem and I are now the top technicians in our field.”

“And what field is that?” Nyx asked.

“Organic sciences.”

Rhys finished the prayer with his feet tucked under his thighs, his palms splayed on either knee.

“Peace and blessings of God be upon you,” he murmured, turning to look over his right shoulder, where one of God’s angels was supposed to be recording all your good deeds. He then looked over his left shoulder, to the angel making note of all his wrongs.

What wrongs had Rhys ever committed, Nyx wondered? Again, he murmured, “Peace and blessings of God be upon you.” He began to roll up his prayer rug.

She noted that he had added no personal prayers to the beginning or end of his salaat.

Angels and demons and a great man in the sky who took the time to listen to a whole world abase itself. There had been no angels at the front. Chenjans were the only demons, and sacrificing herself to God had proved nothing, saved no one.

What bugged her was that Rhys hadn’t figured that out yet.

She heard him get up and turned to watch him walk over. Kasbah brought another chair from the back of the room, and Rhys joined them at the now crowded table. The white woman, Keran, flinched away from him as he sat next to her. What did she have to be afraid of from another believer? Maybe they all had something against aliens. Nyx wondered how often these people had dealt with other worlds. If they had whole schools for “off-world diplomacy,” they must do it a lot. Nyx had a long moment of vertigo. How many worlds were out there?

Lord of all the worlds…

“Competitive field on your world?” Nyx asked. “Organic sciences?”

“In our country, yes. But you did not come here to talk of science,” Danika said.

Nyx leaned back in the chair and thought: You did though, didn’t you? But that wasn’t the note Nyx had accepted.

“Can you think of anyone Nikodem met last time who would give her harbor?” Nyx asked. “Any place she’d want to go?”

A black woman in Nasheen might stick out even if she holed herself up in the Chenjan quarters with the refugees. Though her color would match, her foreign look and accent would give her away as something other than Chenjan, especially if she went out unveiled or looked too many men in the face. These women had no problem looking Rhys in the face—only Keran seemed to actively dislike him—but that may have been them bowing to Nasheenian custom. In any case, the other hunters this group had spoken to would have started in the Chenjan district. If so many had already given up the hunt, it was likely Nikodem wasn’t there.

“We have a more detailed itinerary on the globe the queen issued you,” Danika said. “We spent a good deal of time here in the palace meeting with bel dames and dignitaries.”

“Which bel dames did you meet?”

“Do you remember their names?” Danika asked Solome.

Solome’s voice was deep, sultry. Nyx was impressed to hear that voice come out of such a small woman.

“I believe we spent time with Dahab so Batir and Fatima Kosan. Who were the others? Inan so Khada, and someone called Blake, a half-breed from Ras Tieg.”

“Blake’s not a bel dame, she’s a bounty hunter like me,” Nyx said. “Half-breeds can’t be bel dames.” Ah, Blake. So the young upstart was still around. Nyx knew Inan too. They had gone through bel dame training together.

“There were magicians, also,” Danika said. “We met with a great deal of magicians over the course of our stay. The nature of our work demanded it. That list is in your file also.”

“I heard you saw a boxing match in Faleen,” Nyx said, casually. She suspected that little detail wasn’t on the queen’s globe.

Danika grimaced. “Boxing, yes. A bit of parting vulgarity for Nikodem during her last visit. She has a peculiar obsession with violence.”

“Does she?” Nyx said, interested.

“Why is it you are not taking notes?” Solome asked.

“I was trained as a bel dame,” Nyx said. “We don’t take notes.” What she didn’t say was that she learned everything by rote because she was dead dumb with books. It was why she could still recite the Kitab by heart nearly two decades after she’d last picked one up.

“Then this man is not your assistant? Is he a magician?” Solome asked, and Nyx watched her eyes. It was a hungry look, but not one of physical desire. She hadn’t looked at him much until now.

“I have some training with bugs,” Rhys said, “My practicing license is provisional.”

“On what?” Solome asked.

“On my being employed with a local hunter or bel dame,” Rhys said.

“I find this ability to manipulate organisms through will alone fascinating,” Solome said. “We have tried to replicate it in our system, but… The ability to alter pheromones, to… effectively reprogram insects at the cellular level, seems to be something innate, peculiar to this world.”

“It’s inherited,” Nyx said, “like shape shifting.”

“It was not something we carried with us from the moons,” Rhys said.

Nyx, startled, looked at him. “Where’d you hear that?”

He shrugged. “My father was a hobby historian.”

Solome said something in a bizarre syrupy language to Danika. Danika nodded and replied in the same language.

Solome said, “Perhaps you could tell us of your father. We’re much interested in those with knowledge of this world. Most Nasheenian libraries and records were burned or culled during one of your many wars.”

“My father is dead,” Rhys said.

“Ah,” Solome said, “a small tragedy, but not unexpected. How is it you tolerate living in the country of your enemies?”

Nyx watched him.

Rhys did not look at her but met Solome’s steady gaze. “I am a political refugee. Nasheen tolerates my presence because I am a magician.”

“Tirhan cherishes magicians and shifters alike, does it not?” Solome asked. “Surely that country, being one only recently estranged from Chenja, would have been a better fit for one such as you.”