CHAPTER NINETY-TWO - MENAGERIE DOCTRINE

Well, considering that Tanner had anticipated not coming back at all from this little excursion, there was something to be said for coming back with more people than when she left. From two to... twenty five soldiers, one General, one malnourished young man, and six theurgists. Came up to thirty five of them, in total. That was... quite the increase. 1650% increase, to be exact. At this rate, if she popped back into the river, she'd have nearly six hundred people when she next emerged. Did it again, and she'd have nearly ten thousand. And at some stage she'd have enough people to actually create a red tide that could drown the land in bodies. Point was, if one were to set aside the moral qualms surrounding what she was doing, the doubts, the complications, the risks of catastrophe, she was an absolute magician with numbers. Part of her quite liked the idea that, by the end of this, she'd have actively increased the population of the colony. Well, given that they were mutants, the increase wouldn't last for long, but still. Not often one got into a fight with a whole slew of mad, genocidal abominations against nature and came out with more people. And if she set up a lucrative breeding programme among the rest of the colonists, she could easily get them to churn out some kids before next winter hit, and by the time she was being hauled back to the inner temple for suitable punishment, she could safely brag about how, numerically speaking, she was a total success.

She was going funny again.

The General stepped out into the pale yonder, and took a deep, basically pointless breath into his lungs, filling up his broad, unnaturally proportioned chest with frigid air. The others stood around him, blinking in the light. Taking in... gods, maybe the first gasps of fresh air they'd had in a while. Since the colony was founded, perhaps. All-Name reached for his mask and removed it smoothly, long-since accustomed to switching from underground to surface. Beneath... yes, Tanner recognised him a little better. Definitely the figure in the snow who'd saved her life. Odd-looking cove, though by comparison to his adopted parents (the many dozens of them), he was the most average person in existence. Red hair, much like the others, allowed to grow wild, as seemed to be a trend among the nobility. Distinctly gimlety eyes, protruding and piercing, not quite socialised into understanding it was rude to stare at people for too long, or with such penetrating intensity. It was odd, but the moment he entered the sunlight, his entire stance shifted. Became less... sure of itself, more inclined to scuttle, perpetually nervous of being too open. Needed cover, no matter what. And his skin...

Pale, yes. Sun-starved, yes. But what stood out were the scars. Innumerable and variform, some so tiny they could be confused for the cuts left by shaving, others large enough to suggest some awful past injury, one that was a challenge to survive. A curling crescent sat under his left eye, trailing down and curling upwards to seemingly hook his nostril, like he was a particularly unfortunate fish. Gave him a slightly clownish look, and the stiffness of the scars gave him a uniquely... well, it accentuated his intensity, made him forcibly stoic, forcibly unemotional. What emotion lived in him would be expressed through his eyes and his voice, as far as his face was concerned, he was never going to be especially exuberant.

There was a tiny mutation festering under his ear, something that vaguely resembled a strip of mobile leather, and... one of the soldiers, one of the females, who had wide, pale, seemingly sightless eyes like that of a deep-sea fish, legs that seemed almost too thin and delicate to support her body, and a gait that reminded Tanner of a nervous deer, slipped forwards and plucked it away with a single snip from nails the colour of old wine, designed to carve flesh without any resistance. The boy barely flinched at the motion, though he did raise his hand to wipe away some of the blood. The woman clicked her tongue at him - mute, her tongue long, prehensile, studded with innumerable stingers and suckers and even half-formed beaks. Ate the tiny piece of leather, and examined the young man closely, unwilling to let him go before... goodness. She was cleaning him. Removing contamination.

No wonder he was so scarred. Spent his whole life around mutants, spent the last... good long while in the wreck of an underground river. Whenever he mutated, they'd need to snip it away, clip it like she'd seen old fishermen do after encountering some unpleasantly malformed catch. Didn't even seem to feel it at this stage.

Tanner shivered. Didn't say anything. If things worked out, presumably his lot in life would improve. Even if the pinnacle of his ambitions was to hunt buffalo and die anonymously, mouth full of funeral herbs, skin anointed with funeral oils, the snowfall to serve as his gravedigger, at least he could do that without being continuously mutated and clipped. The female with the beak-clad tongue clucked again at him, sounding... oddly maternal, and she slapped him encouragingly on the back, a motion he received with a faintly embarrassed, exasperated look. The General spoke suddenly, his booming voice rolling over the snow-dunes - this was a voice meant to boom, anything quieter felt unnatural. His large mouth was split into a broad grin, and a loose string of chuckles erupted among the rest of the soldiery. And without further ado, they set off. The theurgists trailed behind, sniffling a little behind their masks. Tanner shot them an apologetic look. Mr. Mask met it with open hostility. The female with the bunches of blonde hair met it with... just a vague resignation. The others were a mixture of the two extremes. A strange sound filled the air - the mutants were moving more freely, actually picking up great handfuls of snow and crushing them inside their unnaturally powerful hands, one of them actually dipping his entire head into a snowdrift before removing it and allowing the snow to fall from his shaggy red hair. A bleary grin plastered over his face.

Tanner blinked.

One of them, the strange creature with translucent skin and organs shaped like leeches, had gathered up a little quantity of snow, packed it as tight as possible, and... threw it at the enormous mutant, the one with a back weighed down with innumerable twisting horns.

Mr. Leech, a mutant from the Great War, had thrown a snowball at Mr. Horn, who was absolutely bloody massive.

Mr. Horn froze.

Turned slowly.

And without removing his eyes from Mr. Leech, reached down and started to gather a snowball of his own. Mr. Leech initially backed off, ready to get more snow, but... Mr. Horn's pile swiftly went from 'rather big' to 'possibly fatal' to 'actual boulder'. At which point, Mr. Leech scuttled away with all the speed he could muster, and a faint, smile split open Mr. Horn's thuggish face.

The General barked at the two of them, and the snow immediately fell to the ground, breaking apart and vanishing.

Tanner had.. uh...

Well, it was nice to see there was some humanity left in them. Clipping mutations from their sole human companion with oddly maternal snips and clicks, throwing snowballs, smiling, enjoying themselves in the great frigid expanse... enjoying their near-immunity to the cold. Indeed, they moved through the snow with unnatural ease, not just born of their odd shapes, but born of experience. Knew how to avoid the patches where the snow was too deep, knew how to walk in such a way that they produced almost no sound, knew how to spread their weight properly, even had a strange gait which swept snow behind them as they walked, covering their tracks. In the tunnels, they'd been silent, openly inhuman, nervous of even being around one another for fear of the spreading madness and hunger for contamination. Now... now it seemed like humanity had flowed into them a little more, like they were incomplete without the snow, without the rolling dunes, without the great pale sun that produced almost no light.

Tanner hesitated.

Closed her eyes. Removed her gas mask as she walked, and placed a pair of dark spectacles over the closed lids. Keeping out the glare.

The shock of cold was... purifying, in a way. Cautiously, she removed a glove, then ran one large hand over her face, keeping her eyes closed as she did so...

Felt the cold flesh of her forehead. The hard contours of her skull, that held some mystical significance for all the people around her. Chapped lips, dry from her nervousness and exertion. Nose turning rapidly numb in the interminable cold. The soft skin around her eyes, thin as gossamer. Felt exactly the same. Maybe a little more tense.

Despite everything, she was still herself. The features were still her own. Her hand was already numb, and she gladly slipped the glove back on.

And without another word, she opened her eyes, stared into the pale, and walked off with the others. Towards the colony.

* * *

Didn't take especially long. The primary limiters were actually the theurgists, who had to walk like... well, humans. They weren't giant, they weren't terribly experienced with the snow, they weren't specially adapted. Tanner realised just how quickly she'd been walking until now, how unrestrained she'd been able to be in her exertions when surrounded by mutants - even All-Name, who wasn't particularly unnatural, was content to let the others assist him, and he had a pair of snow-shoes that allowed him to practically glide over the snow, the strange motions the footwear demanded coming easily to him. The theurgists... well... they were scholars. Engineers, at best. At no stage did their jobs demand intense physical fitness, and Tanner could tell. Fought down the occasional pulse of irritation as she glanced over her shoulder and forced herself to stop, allowing them to catch up with ragged pants of breath emerging from their masks. Oddly, they didn't seem pained by the cold - ought to make their masks downright unbearable, but somehow... hm. Well, theurgists. If anyone could manage to make metal masks that could be worn in frigid temperatures, it'd be them.

The General loped casually at her side, his face locked into a kind of dreamlike contentment - happy to be back in the snow, happy to have purpose, happy... well, presumably to be doing something other than hiding away and preparing for a final doomed war. Maybe even happy to not be totally in charge, able to surrender some responsibility to others. Tanner knew she'd be happy in his position, having the survival of the last Rekidan nobility no longer her sole purview.

He rumbled at her, voice light and easy, and All-Name translated for him.

"The General says it's... impressive how you keep the lost one with you."

Tanner glanced.

Right. The girl.

"...honestly, I think she just realises I'm a good source of food."

A bark of laughter as the boy finished translating.

"The General notes that this isn't uncommon for cats, either. He'll be happy to take the lost one off your hands, once things are over and done with. We have... means of containing the mad ones, keeping them content. If you feed them, they don't particularly want for anything else - content to stay put, content to stay placid."

"Until you stop feeding them."

"...this is true. And also why we don't... really talk to them at the moment. Supplies of good godsblood are scarce. The forest plants unsalvageable madness in them, denies any kind of truce."

"I see."

Silence for a moment, and the General spoke again after a minute or two.

"The General wishes to know of your city. You do not speak with the accent of the other foreigners."

"...oh. Mahar Jovan. Well, it's... nice enough, I suppose. Good fishing. Lots of eels."

"Are you a noble of this city?"

"Oh, definitely not. Father's a fisherman."

The General stared at her for a moment, and an odd smile spread over his face like the steady movement of the tide inland. He spoke for a little while, then ceased, and nodded to his translator.

"The General finds this to be endearing. He doesn't consider you lesser for being a commoner - you're a foreigner, even a noble foreigner is still lower than a Rekidan commoner. In fact, if you survive, he would like to invite you ice-fishing. He enjoys it, and once owned a chained tower near some wonderful spots. If he has time to restore it, he'd be glad to entertain you, dig out some liquor from the cellar. Should be quite well-aged by now. Or, at least, he'd like to show you the good spots before he goes mad and needs to be euthanised."

Neither of them were particularly... passionate when they talked about that last thing. The General had sounded light and airy, the translator absolutely neutral, his face flat and gleaming with scars. Tanner shivered again, and forced a small smile.

"I'd be honoured, sir."

"...the General also wishes to ask how the axe is."

Tanner blinked.

"Oh. It's... lovely. Very lovely."

"Is the handle slipping? He recalls that being an issue."

"A... little. It's fine, I'll find something to wrap it in when I get back."

"The General also wishes to know if you're married or not."

Tanner blinked rapidly.

"No, I am not married."

What was he getting at? Oh, gods, was she going to get invited to join their noble lines like All-Name, or-

"Ah. The General was just curious. I believe that... he was wondering if you'd met someone with your height. And if so, if you were considering-"

"No."

"The General understands this stance, and respects whatever choice you make."

Did everyone have to point out her height? A decent, respectable judge would tolerate this sort of silliness, would look over the insults like she could look over just about everyone she met who wasn't heavily mutated. Now, though... maybe she should start being more assertive. Make it clear that she disliked having this pointed out. The General didn't look malicious or mocking, and his tone never went beyond the conversational. Imagined he was just being... chummy, or treating her as a comrade-in-arms who could be joked around. Disliked it either way. Yes, she was tall. Yes, she was strong. Yes, she had to hold back from hurting anyone she made physical contact with, and had to treat the world as if it was made of cardboard, everything liable to tear and break if she pushed too had. Yes, this was all true. Didn't see her pointing out other people's oddities.

And no, she was not going to create a race of giants that could rule over the frigid north. She was already carrying around an axe like a villain from the Annals of Tenk, she was already forsaking half her vows in order to do what she found necessary, she was already working with the subterranean remnants of long-dead aristocracy, if she decided to create giant progeny, she might as well wear nothing but furs and refer to herself as 'Tan-Nar, Warlorderess of the Pale Wastes'. Might as well declare herself queen of the colony, declaring independence from Fidelizh and following Tan-Nar's leadership towards blood, conquest, plunder, and endless piles of buffalo.

...come to think of it, she was getting a buffalo-fur cloak tanned for her, wasn't she?

No, that was for unrelated reasons. Not because she wanted to become a barbarian queen. She didn't.

Feh.

The colony walls approached, and her thoughts grew still. Had to navigate around, just like before. The mutants slipped easily into the distance, steering clear of any sentries who might get ideas. The theurgists shivered, and hurried a little, eager for some kind of humanity, maybe even sources of authority to appeal to in order to get Tanner politely shot.

Not likely.

Within a few hours of walking, they were back at the gates, and mutant girl refused to leave this time. Surrounded by a pack that was showing her some degree of restraint - surrounded by a group that she very much wanted to stay associated with, so she could gnaw at their bones when they died. Still, Tanner could see her hackles rising, her frame tautening, ready and willing to run for the hills if the massacre started here and now. The gate came closer and closer... and Tanner advanced to the front. Staring up boldly at the soldiers who were utterly frozen atop the heap of rock and metal.

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

No sound from them.

Tanner called out.

"Hello!"

One of the soldiers jerked into a state of alertness. Peered, his face almost totally invisible behind layers of scarves and dark glasses, anything to make it easier to guard this place. All he could see was Tanner and a gaggle of five theurgists, maybe some elusive shadows near the dunes. Good.

"...bloody hell, how do you keep surviving out there?"

Tanner grumbled.

"I had protection."

"Who're the new ones?"

"Theurgists. Got some others with me, too. Allies. Need you to find Sersa Bayai, send him out here."

"Right away, honoured judge."

Twitched at the use of the title. Didn't say anything, though. The axe lowered, and the head was allowed to rest in the snow. The other soldier stared at her with open curiosity, and the theurgists nearby were shivering and stamping their feet to keep out the cold. Silence. Didn't take long for Sersa Bayai to get dragged out... looked haggard. Deeply haggard. Hadn't slept in a while, and a cigarette hung from his mouth. He stared at the theurgists as he emerged, a muscle in his cheek twitching slightly. His eyes flicked from them to Tanner, then back again, then resting finally on the giantess. Shoes weren't polished to a mirror sheen, uniform was slightly dishevelled. Moustache had a few errant strands. In short, basically on the verge of collapsing.

Nonetheless. He saluted smartly, and spoke in a gruff, businesslike tone, suppressing everything else beneath calm professionalism.

"Honoured judge. See things went well."

"Quite. Found some assistance for the war effort."

The theurgists glanced at her... and Mr. Mask coughed imperiously.

"Soldier, our services have been press-ganged, our contract with your governor has been violated, and-"

Tanner raised the axe and rested it on her shoulder again. Mr. Mask fell silent. And Bayai got the picture.

"Governor's dead, theurgist. Appreciate the help against the mutants, of course. Won't ask anything else, no interest in violating your secrecy."

A low growl from the leader, and nothing else. Defeat evident in the stances of the theurgists - aware that Bayai was willing to take Tanner's side, not theirs. And if a soldier was willing to do so... what chance did they have? Thing about being press-ganged - it worked best when you couldn't desert, when the only escape was jumping overboard, or running into a hostile wasteland. Either they worked, or they died. No more options. And finally, finally, they truly accepted that fact. Bayai sniffed, ignoring them with cool detachment.

"My man said you'd brought some other allies with you."

"...in a sense."

She swallowed down her trepidation.

"I've made... an executive decision on certain matters. I'd like to talk to Mr. Canima. Immediately. For now, just handle these ones, get them set up with all the space they'll need to work. And keep everyone inside - I don't want any patrols heading out here, no-one leaving, nothing. Stay very clear."

A twitch of the eyebrow, and nothing more.

"...well, if you think that's best. I'll give the orders."

A pause. A tiny movement of the lip into something resembling a smile.

"Good to have you back. Damn impressive work."

She smiled back, faintly.

"Thank you, Sersa."

Nowt more to say. The mutants would remain in the snow for a little while, and she could... well. She needed to get something. Something urgent. The colony felt like a ghost town, no-one going into the open, soldiers sticking to places they knew they controlled, unwilling to risk a confrontation that might spark conflict. Tanner only made a single stop - the garrison, to remove her protective gear. Likely need to have it all burned, there was only so much one could do to cleanse contamination. The dark corridors seemed deserted, the air was so thick with tension she practically had to swim through it all. The feeling of trepidation sharpened each time she saw someone looking at her, at her new axe, at her... demeanour. But then she'd school her thoughts, shove the doubt down into her stomach, and focus on the gut feeling that she had - the feeling that she was doing the right thing. Finally acting for herself, not aspiring to become a machine. The sin on her back which murmured of broken vows and shattered faith became more of a jockey, driving her onwards no matter what. She'd set precedent. The Tanner of the future was irrelevant - the meaningful choices had been made by the Tanner of the past, and her work couldn't be undone or revoked.

Here she was, here she remained, here she continued.

What else mattered?

Ms. Blue was waiting for her in the armoury, scribbling into a massive ledger full to the brim with ammunition counts, equipment condition records, any surplus, any deficiencies, and the solemn look on her face was... disconcerting. What was more disconcerting was how quickly it switched to near-ecstasy as she looked up and met Tanner's eyes.

"Honoured judge! Ma'am!"

She leapt up, freezing as she clicked her heels smartly, snapped off a quick salute, and sprinted over to stare up loyally.

Tanner had walked in an orchard of living bones, and somehow this was almost as disturbing.

"How was the equipment, ma'am? How was the expedition? Do you require anything else? Oh, I like your axe, honoured judge!"

She leaned closer.

"Still happy to help with anything you might need, most of us are, just say the word."

Tanner ought to be happier at that. Well, it was useful, that was the salient point. Ms. Blue was useful. Even if Tanner still didn't know her name, and at this stage just... couldn't ask. Would have to look her up in some enormous ledger at some point. Later.

"The equipment was excellent. Thank you for tailoring it."

The woman vibrated, and smiled broadly. Tanner soldiered on, just to stop her from cringing and grovelling over and over.

"Right now, I just need two things. First, could you take care of the equipment? Make sure it's either clean or destroyed, if it's too contaminated. Had some heavy wear. Second, is the buffalo cloak ready?"

Ms. Blue hummed.

"More or less, though I was looking into a nicer lining, the one at the moment is rather plain, ma'am, and-"

"It'll do."

Ms. Blue actually sized her up, top to bottom, and... took a small step back, eyes widening. Tanner followed her gaze. Ah. Right. The gear had... well, it had some wear and tear going on. A little dried blood. A great assortment of eerily anonymous matter that, not too long ago, had been trying to gnaw its way through. Maybe some smaller forms of life growing from the contamination spilled on her.

"...where did you go, ma'am? If I could... ask?"

"Underground river."

Ms. Blue stared.

A strange sound emerged from her mouth.

Then a tiny, almost hysterical giggle.

And her eyes filled with the sort of emotion that Tanner never wanted to see ever again.

"Ma'am...?"

"It was emptied during the war. Not full."

Another hysterical giggle, louder this time, and quickly suppressed by a nervous hand that she practically shoved between her teeth and bit down on. Tanner shivered, but her face remained utterly flat. The woman staggered away in a strange sort of daze, and when she returned, she had an enormous shaggy pile of black fur in her hands. A shake, and it unfolded - a cloak, lined with smooth dark cloth, with a small tie hold it together at the front. A proper cape - but one that seemed somehow more suitable. Resembling the cape of a judge, but very clearly different. By wearing it, she didn't disgrace the order any further. Set herself apart, just a little. The removal of equipment was swift, and she swallowed a few decontamination pills absent-mindedly, while a suitably masked Ms. Blue took everything in her straining arms, even as her knees seemed ready to buckle from both the weight and her general... condition.

Hadn't said a word yet. Just stared and breathed rapidly through her nose, lips sealed tightly shut.

Yan-Lam was showing signs of odd behaviour, and Tanner intended to talk with her about that. Ms. Blue was showing many signs of odd behaviour, and Tanner was never, ever, ever going to talk to her about it. In fact, she'd rather not talk to her again. Not until this strange little woman had settled down slightly. Had a very cold bath and some tea, something to shock, something to soothe, nothing to agitate or energise.

The cape...

The cape was lovely. Warm. Modest. Enclosing. Definitely matched the axe.

"Thank you for putting this together."

Another peculiar vibration, and a strangled:

"Oh, not a concern, please, anytime, honoured judge, ma'am, madam."

Oh, gods, she was adding madam to the repertoire. Tanner hummed in acknowledgement, stood still for a moment out of discomfort... then turned on her heel and left, axe over her shoulder, buffalo cape blowing behind her.

Swore she could hear the woman vibrating from halfway down the hall.

Well.

Nothing else to do.

* * *

The mansion was deathly silent when she entered. The soldiers at the front were quiet, and shied away from the sight of the giantess wrapped in fur, with an enormous, antique axe carried with a single powerful arm. Stumped over the carpet, stumped up the stairs, feeling somehow both clumsy and refined, the sort of casual, wide-ranging brutishness that came with doing something physically exhausting. And with that brutishness came a swaggering confidence, at least in her gait, in her way of ignoring most of her steps, focusing on the destination above all else. No sign of Yan-Lam, no sign of Marana. Didn't necessarily mean anything. Marana could be somewhere else, Yan-Lam could be in her room... and Tanner wasn't going to see them. Not yet. Not until she'd committed fully, and could take no steps backwards, couldn't be tempted to stop. She ignored the study, ignored the dining room. Ascended swiftly and smoothly. Paused, though. Listening. And... there. Light snoring from the dining room. Marana, still napping in the drowsy dark. And the study... well, it was locked. From the inside. Yan-Lam must be in there, sheltering from the cartel, from Canima, from the whole world.

Later.

She climbed up the stairs, thump-thump-thump, timing her steps to the beating of her heart...

Before she knew it, she stood before Canima's door.

Didn't bother knocking

Pushed it open with one large hand.

There he sat. Might as well never have moved. Maybe he hadn't. He looked up, his eyes bleary with weariness, his frame hunched and incredibly still. Like an animal preserving body heat by never moving more than it had to. He looked small. Frail. Her axe gleamed in the pale heat-starved sunlight. His eyes flicked to it, then to her face.

He said nothing. At first she thought it was cowardice, but... no, no. He was still preserving his innocence, making sure he could still say that he'd told her nothing about the theurgists, never hinted of their existence. Seemed like such a petty thing, now. So incredibly petty. Doubtless she'd have a different opinion when the theurgists were bending their wills towards ruining her career. Well, if she ruined it first, they'd have nothing to touch.

So there.

"I found the theurgists."

"...oh?"

The innocence in his voice was almost comical with its exaggeration. Bad actor.

"Press-ganged them. They're working for the colony, now. Building weapons for dealing with the mutants."

"...the cartel will doubtless want them, you know. For maintaining the cold-houses. They may see their presence here as an act of war, a way of gaining an advantage."

Tanner growled deep in her throat... but her size was such, and her tension was such, that it didn't even escape her lips.

"Small business. I'll talk with Vyuli after this."

Her heart beat a little faster at the thought. Not sure if it was fear, anger, or eagerness. Maybe a mixture of all three, liberally spiced with adrenaline.

"I see. I presume you're here for a... brief, then? Points to negotiate over? I would be happy to consult on-"

Tanner let the axe come down. The head thumped into the ground, barely audible on the thick carpet, but with enough force to make the desk rattle, to make Canima stiffen imperceptibly. His eyes sharpened, like he was taking her in for the first time, detecting something he hadn't before. Tanner could feel a little blood starting to accumulate in her nose - decontamination pills at work. Nuts. Didn't wipe it away, didn't want to break the stillness.

"I'm here to formally request more authority."

Silence.

Canima steepled his fingers.

Watched her. Oh, she knew this trick. Using the silence to draw her out, to make her elaborate, to force her to advance with no idea of what he was thinking, what she ought to target. She waited. He waited too. The droplet of blood in her nose slowly seeped out, kissing the top of her lip, a hint of copper reaching her tongue. Didn't wipe it away. Just stared. Waited. Strange, to think how she'd been so terrified of him. Of his secrets, his powers. Had none, in the end. He'd always just been a bureaucrat, a spider perched atop a web of paperwork, spinning strands of ink wherever he went. The cartel had existed without his knowledge. The nobles had, too. The governor had always been the true driving force of their operation, and he'd failed as well. Every scheme this man built had failed. Every plan had crumbled. Every conspiracy he helped sustain had only worked to create a catastrophe. She looked at one of the architects of the current mess. If you could blame a warmonger for the deaths of a horrific war, you could blame Canima for all of this.

And she did. For once, she did, and she felt no flicker of shame. He was incompetent. Rather, he was... bound by parameters that had failed. Much like herself. The Erlize couldn't thrive out here, his methods couldn't thrive, yet he hadn't adapted, hadn't broken the sequence of commands he'd spent his whole life following.

She had.

It took almost a minute before he broke the quiet.

She'd won. Had to resist the smile that wanted to flicker over her bloodstained lips.

"How much authority are you... angling for, Ms. Magg?"

"Yours."

"...mine?"

"The authority to command the troops. The authority to manage the colony."

"You wish to become... acting governor?"

"For the duration of the crisis. Once the cartel is gone, the colony is stable, the mutants have been beaten back, and spring has arrived with enough of us alive and well, then I'll relinquish it."

He stared.

Genuine surprise written on his face.

"Why?"

Tanner glared.

"I've met the theurgists. I know how you covered up the governor's death to stop them being discovered. You didn't know about the cartel, you refused to contact the theurgists when we needed their help, you delayed a vital investigation, you knew nothing about the city you were meant to reoccupy or the people who'd lived in it. And you didn't know something else."

She leaned a little closer.

"The nobles survived."

Silence.

"They survived, and they've agreed to help us."

When Canima spoke, his voice was low. Creaking at the edges like old parchment.

"...did they kill him?"

Tanner didn't reply.

"Give me the authority to manage the colony."

"I would... perhaps it ought to go to Sersa Bayai, he-"

"He's busy managing the troops, the other two Sersas are likely corrupt. He's content with me taking on this burden."

Lie. Complete lie. She had no idea if he was willing. But the soldiers, apparently, weren't unfond of her. And she'd... brought the theurgists to this place, hadn't she? She'd found out the cartel? And she'd have a scapegoat for the governor's death soon enough.

"What is your plan for dealing with the cartel, with-"

"Mr. Canima, you don't have any plans. My plans are irrelevant, but I'm willing to go further than you. I've already gotten the theurgists on our side, the nobles, mutated as they are, are ready to fight on our behalf. I have the support of the soldiers. I'm disconnected from your way of doing things, I'm fairly new, I'm still considered distinct. The cartel will never work with you, and you can never defeat them, and if you can't do that, then you can't beat the mutants."

She paused, getting her temper under control, fighting down the catharsis that ached for expression.

"I told the theurgists you didn't show me how to find them. They think I just got there on my own, with enough research and luck. They think the governor appointed me to carry out his last affairs, and that I had every right to find them and talk with them. If they decide to ruin anyone's life, it'll be mine."

Not that he had much life left to ruin. But... she had limits. Even now, she had some basic courtesy, some sense of propriety.

Slowly, carefully, Canima let his hands fall and rest palm-down on the table, like he was a prisoner being held in place by manacles. He remained quite still indeed, rather like he was trying to conjure some air of profound calm... but it was hollow. She'd seen him. She thought, in a way, that she knew him. And once she pierced all the illusions and mannerisms... all she had was an old man, a veteran of the Great War, and a bureaucrat placed in a situation where all his rules, and all his regulations, and all his notions of how the world ought to work simply broke down.

He was a summer animal in a winter country. Like that vagrant crane who sheltered by the steam vents - only sustained up here by random chance, little happy accidents. The crane would endure as long as the steam did.

And his steam had long-since run out. Run out the moment the governor died.

He spoke very softly indeed.

"Why not take authority by force?"

Tanner blinked.

"Because... that would be illegal. Sign a document for me, and it becomes legal."

And she wouldn't be executed at the end of this. Wouldn't start this enterprise with a murder, either. Not ready to become that, and she could never take power forcefully without killing Canima. Too dangerous, too... likely to interfere.

"And you will return authority, when this is done?"

"When it's done."

He looked exceptionally weary. Didn't rise from his chair.

"Will you send me to the cartel? As they requested?"

Oh. Right. The ultimatum.

"I'll try not do. Think I might be able to avoid it."

"Take c-"

He paused, swallowing down his words. Take... care?

Take care of who?

"Could you fetch me some paper, and ink? I find myself... loath to move."

Tanner complied, wiping her bloody nose as she went, feeling copper march up her throat as her body purged yet more inner contamination. Canima wrote quickly on the blank pages she provided, his hand neat, cramped, and deeply regular. Practically a human typewriter. He wrote. A formal note, nothing more. That he henceforth signed over the duties of acting governor to the Judge Tanner Magg of the Golden Door, and granted temporary honorary status as a member of the Erlize for the sake of security clearances, 'until such a time as the present crisis concludes, and rightful processes may be resumed by the Golden Parliament of Fidelizh, at which stage the authority granted is revoked in its entirety.'

Tanner hummed.

"Include... that things I do aren't automatically retroactively reversed."

Canima blinked.

"...very well."

Didn't want the nobles to suddenly become enemies of the colony because she was hauled off. Felt like the honourable thing to do, given how much trust they'd placed in her.

His signature swirled over the page... and stopped. The tail of the last 'a' in Canima continued to hold the point of his pen, and he seemed paralysed for a second. The blot of ink spread, gleaming in the dim light of the sun, moving like a web through the little imperfections in the paper. Tanner did nothing.

And after a minute, he removed the pen. Replaced the lid. Blotted the page. Placed a wax seal next to his signature, removed one cufflink, and pressed it into the soft green liquid, just before it hardened.

That was all.

Tanner's nose dripped a little blood as she leaned down to pick up the paper, and it landed right at the bottom - her own personal seal, next to the ornate crest of the Erlize.

"Thank you."

The old man said nothing for a second. She should leave, just... she had all she needed, why stay? Why torment him further?

His voice creaked out a final few words, as he stared sightlessly at the desk.

"I didn't... mean to fail. You... understand why I did?"

"I do."

"The governor would've known what to do. I have no doubt of that. I was always a poor substitute."

No response from Tanner.

"I... wish you the best in the struggle to come."

"Thank you, sir."

Suddenly, his voice strengthened, a little power returning to his eyes.

"If you allow for a massacre, if you lead to the abandonment of this colony, if you by some miracle survive your errors, I will, whether in person or through a proxy, find you and kill you. If I die here, there will be provisions made for your execution in the event of failure. If you fail here, I will burn every record of you, I will drown your memory and leave you a nameless figure in an anonymous footnote. This will happen to me as well, for my own failures, and the demands of my career. You will be forgotten, completely and utterly."

Tanner stared.

Almost wanted to thank him.

That was... precisely what she'd want in the event of failure.

But there was no point saying anything. Something had gone out of him with that threat, that promise. A naked expression of hostility from a man who'd always been a locked chest, never revealing more than he needed to. And with the hostility, went everything else. His eyes were strangely empty, reminded her of a clear grey sky on a lukewarm day, where no wind blew, and nothing seemed to change, the sun turned to an invisible vague glow that didn't move or vary. A tiny drop of spittle lingered at one corner of his mouth, a tiny peal formed by this final outburst of emotion. And it remained there. Unmoving.

And he stared continuously at the desk as she turned and left.

Clicking the door shut behind her, and sealing him away.