Kameron Hurley - God's War

“Nasheen was… closer,” Rhys said carefully. Nyx saw him start to play with his hands. Such a good liar, until he had to lie about himself.

“Anyhow, Tirhan split from Chenja two hundred years ago,” Nyx said. “The split isn’t exactly new. Don’t they speak some southern dialect?”

“They know Chenjan,” Solome said. “Chenja allows them passes to visit their martyr’s grave each year.”

Nyx had heard something about that at some bug party back in bel dame training. Rhys was still playing with his hands.

“Tell me,” Solome said, leaning in slightly now, suddenly a bit more animated. “This sixth prayer of yours, what is its purpose? No other followers of your book have a midnight prayer.”

“The midnight prayer—” Rhys began, but Nyx had had enough talk of religion.

“Tell me more about Nikodem and her love of violence,” Nyx said.

Solome settled back into her chair again.

“I wouldn’t call it a love,” Danika said, picking up for Solome. “Perhaps a peculiar obsession. In our country, on New Kinaan, we are born into our classes. Nikodem was born to a scholarly class, organic sciences. She wished she had been born one of God’s soldiers.”

“It’s overrated,” Nyx said.

Danika knit her brows.

“Never mind,” Nyx said. “You say she wanted to see the boxers?”

“Nikodem asked the court’s lead magician, Yah Hadeel, to arrange for her to see a fight before we departed. The only one that fit into our schedule was the fight in Faleen. It was a dull thing.”

“I was at that fight,” Nyx said. “I heard she talked to the boxers.”

Solome made a noise of distress.

Danika shushed her. “I let her speak to them.”

Solome snapped something in their language, and Nyx rearranged the women’s hierarchy in her mind.

“She spoke to both boxers before the fight,” Danika said. “She was very interested in why they would choose to get hit in the face.”

“There’s good money in boxing,” Nyx said.

“In our country,” Keran piped up, tugging at the fingers of her gloves, cutting off all the ends of her words with rolling “shhhh” sounds, “the State ensures that all are employed and cared for. One need not resort to violence.”

“Uh-huh,” Nyx said. The sand was always cleaner just over the next dune. These women were reminding her more and more of First Family matrons. “So if your world’s so sweet, what are the lot of you doing out here collecting bug tech?”

All three women stilled. There was an uncomfortable moment of silence. Then Danika looked at Solome, and Keran reached for her cold tea with her gloved hands.

“We have an interest in all of God’s worlds,” Solome said. “Nikodem more than most. Surely you trust the judgment of your queen—God’s appointed leader of your world?”

“I wouldn’t take her purported divine right to the title that far,” Rhys said.

“What about the magicians you met up with here at the palace?” Nyx said, before Rhys started derailing them again. “You sure Nikodem ran and wasn’t kidnapped? Not every magician on the Queen’s payroll is clean.”

Altruism. Shared resources. Catshit. It wasn’t only their intentions they were lying about. Some of the fact-by-fact reporting may have been because Danika had told the story so often, but Nyx wasn’t betting on it, not with some of the other answers they’d given her. Nikodem just “disappeared”? Went rogue? What kind of society trained and employed people based on genetics, had their own interstellar diplomacy school, and then “accidentally” lost one of their diplomats? Umayma was a long way to come for a couple of bugs and a boxing match.

But that’s none of your concern, she thought, and grimaced. She only needed the note. She needed Nikodem. It wasn’t her job to figure the intentions. That was for the queen and her security techs.

I hate this note already, Nyx thought.

“It’s true that the magicians understand the importance of our work,” Danika said. “It’s possible that one of them could have approached her once she left Mushtallah, but I don’t believe a magician would take such a risk. Those who were aware of her talents would understand her importance to your country and the disastrous consequences if she was acquired by your rivals.”

“So she disappeared from here, not from Faleen?”

“Oh yes,” Danika said. “Queen Zaynab’s security bugs recorded her departure.”

“Footage can be doctored,” Nyx said, turning to Rhys. “Right?”

“It can,” Rhys said. He looked back at Kasbah. “Can we view it?”

“I’ve had that footage uploaded to your globe,” Kasbah said from her place near the door, but she looked at Rhys as she said it, which was odd for a Nasheenian security tech. When you wanted to put black boys in their place, you talked to their owners—or employers—not to them.

“I would need to see the originals,” Rhys said.

“Can we do that?” Nyx asked.

“I can authorize that,” Kasbah said.

“Great,” Nyx said. She stood and nodded to the aliens. “Thanks. I can contact you here if I have any other questions?”

“Certainly,” Danika said. “A contact pattern has been designated for us and uploaded to your globe. Kasbah says the call is routed through palace security.”

All three women stood, and pressed their hands together and bowed.

Nyx made a quick, sloppy mirror of the gesture and watched Rhys make a far more elegant bow alongside her. Nyx had never bowed to anybody in her life. It was the sort of thing people only did in cheap historical dramas. Who ran all these other worlds? Where did all the people come from? Motes of stardust, just like Nasheenians and Chenjans? Refugees from dying worlds like the Ras Tiegans or asylum seekers from planets that hated the people of the Book, like the Mhorians? But then, where did the people who hated the people of the Book come from?

Theology looked a lot better the more questions you started to pile up. Saying it was all just God’s plan gave you neat answers for everything.

Give it a fucking rest, she thought, and turned to Kasbah. “Let’s go,” she said.

Kasbah took Nyx and Rhys into the belly of the palace. The way grew darker as they descended. The floors were still brightly colored tile, but the doors were no longer made of intricately carved wood. These were solid, made of twisted metal and bug secretions. Nyx wondered what kind of fallout shelter they had down here. She knew the main bug bank for Mushtallah’s filter was on Palace Hill, which required a lot of security.

“Who else was on this job?” Nyx asked Kasbah. “I’ll need to know how they fucked up, when they gave up, what they found out. If you don’t have that information, I need to go to them directly. I don’t want to reinvent their work.”

“We’ve hired only one bounty hunter who’s still on the note, but the list of mercenaries is somewhat classified,” Kasbah said. “We already find it politically distasteful to work with bounty hunters. Admitting publicly that we’ve hired foreign mercenaries as well may be disastrous.”

“Then at least give me the list of bel dames you’ve hired,” Nyx said. She was still having trouble with the idea that they’d cut out the bel dames.

“We cannot involve the bel dame council in a note such as this. You, of all people, should know this.”

“I know what the line is, Kasbah. I also know this is Palace Hill.”

“You do perhaps overestimate the power of the queen or, perhaps, overestimate her interest in agitating the bel dame council over a matter even such as this.”

“Seems a little funny. This note is so important, but she won’t piss off a couple old ladies on the council to get them to put some women on it?”