CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT - FORMATION OF HORIZONTAL EYELIDS

Now, to her credit, she was able to get down the hill and into the buildings before she felt the need to sag against a wall and take quite a number of deep breaths. She wanted this on the record, she wanted it recorded in triplicate, quadruplicate, filed away in several archives and added to every reference book that was remotely salient. She made it to the colony, out of sight of the cold-house, accompanied by a very quiet Sersa Bayai, before she leant heavily against a wall and just... breathed. For a few moments, that was all. Breathing. The cold air flooded her lungs, sending little spears of numbness through her chest, tightening everything up, telling her body that... well, she was back in the conditions she'd almost died in. So stop worrying, decrease the heartbeat immediately, and calm down. Ignore the memories. Ignore... all of it. Coward, she hadn't even been tortured, just... had a cut opened along her arm, just felt terrified. Everyone was terrified at some point in their lives, she was no different. Coward. Stop thinking about those eyes of his. Hadn't even tortured her. And... the silence around her seemed to crush inwards like a lead blanket. The silence that had emanated from that shrivelled old man, with his half-paralysed face and his thin smile. His eyes. Something in them. Something that made her shiver uncontrollably for a small second. He was mocking her, he was... he could see right through to her, he'd seen her when she was terrified, he knew her. He thought of her... her as a tool, as someone who was part of his whole system, wrapped up in his petty dreams, his mad dreams.

She wasn't. She was a judge, she just wanted to be a judge. Leave her out of this, let her do her job, why couldn't everyone else do theirs? She clutched her notes to her side, as if the residual heat of the automatic quill's passage would somehow warm her back up. She knew exactly what these documents would do. Mr. Canima wouldn't accept them, he wouldn't accept the demands Vyuli made. She'd have to trot back with a polite refusal, and Vyuli would send her back with nothing. No amendments. If Canima lived to see the end of this crisis, he would destroy the cartel by any means necessary. For the cartel to live, he had to die. And if he died, then the cartel would rule this place, wipe out any and all opposition. Doubted they'd even... anyway.

Sersa Bayai was at her side, watching her cautiously.

He murmured quietly, once more doing it without moving his lips more than the tiniest possible amount.

"Any results?"

Tanner stiffened. Should she... oh, hell. She felt a dim sense of despair wash over her, and she wished Canima would dissipate it. That he'd be incisive and brilliant, would say to her 'this brute might think he can control the colony, but I have a cunning manoeuvre that'll obliteate him before the night is out, and you can finally have a nap'. No, no, even then she wouldn't nap, she'd have to keep solving the governor business, and... and how could she solve the governor business if she was in a doomed colony, a colony either about to die to a civil war, or about to die to a mutant tide? It wouldn't take much, this place was delicate. If there wasn't some kind of... of peace, she was... she'd be...

Oh, hell. Why not.

"He wants the colony."

"... he was that blunt? No haggling beforehand?"

"Not a scrap. Just... Canima goes to live in the tunnels as a hostage, signs over the colony, that's the end of it. No argument, no anything. Canima would probably die down there, and he'd have all winter to kill off anyone who might speak against him."

Sersa Bayai blinked, moustache twitching curiously.

"That's... bold."

"That's a word for it, yes."

"I'm guessing that means the two of us wouldn't live to see spring either, not like we're his friends, not like we'd play along for long."

"...I suppose we would be on the list."

Bayai snorted slightly.

"You think he has a list, honoured judge?"

"I have precisely zero doubt that in his jacket there's a list of every person he wants dead within the first day of taking over, the first week, the first month, and before spring. Old people don't sleep a great deal, I've heard. Hard to imagine what else he spends his time doing."

"Bet I'm dead in a week."

She smiled faintly, without any humour.

"Bet I'm dead in a month if I cooperate, a week if I don't."

The two lingered in silence. Side with Canima, and live... until the civil war and the mutants killed them both. Side with the cartel, and die like a pair of deluded martyrs, convinced their sacrifice meant something. Help usher in a colony that might not last very long at all. Hell, wouldn't even do that, Canima wouldn't give in because they did, he'd fight to the last, might well do a lot of damage before he went down. He was Erlize, she was sure they had methods for inducing chaos. Spark a rebellion amongst the loyal soldiers, have the whole colony drown in blood. Mutants might be bemused once they arrived, wandering around, wondering what the hell happened here. Feeling almost guilty for trampling over the place, if the capacity still existed in them. Where was Marana on the list? Where was Yan-Lam? Yan-Lam dead in a day, didn't want to leave a snitch alive. Marana before spring at least, killed and dumped in the snow near a crashed carriage, make it seem like she died on the way up here, just a sad, lonely drunk sidling away to die alone in the far north. Beldol, dead as soon as they got to her tower. Maybe one of the soldiers there was already primed to do it. Tal-Sar, dead immediately. Snitches, she imagined, would receive the worst fates. If they didn't, someone would've spilled the beans on the cartel by now.

Gods... she could feel expectations lifting from her now that the ordeal was over, and with their weight gone, she realised how exhausted she was. No time to sleep. No time to eat. Just had to up and... stick her face in the threshing machine.

A part of her thought that her story might've ended in the snow fields. Finding shelter, but not warmth. Using primitive tools to write all her findings, maybe cutting them into her skin or something suitably grim, and then dying of exposure. Someone would find her, and the whole avalanche could start. Might take years and years and years. Instead, she lived on, and saw this.

Anyway.

"You can... go back to the mansion, if you like. I've written two copies of the demands, I can trust you to deliver it to Mr. Canima. I need to... have a small moment."

Bayai smiled understandingly, taking the papers she presented, folding them neatly and placing them inside his greatcoat.

"Fair enough. Been through a lot. Get yourself something warm to eat, that's my recommendation."

A pause.

"Need guards?"

"...no. No, I won't. I don't think he'd get bouncers to kill me. Not now. No point in starting a war before he needs to."

"That psychopath could, though. Lyur."

Tanner shivered, and forced her fear down into her stomach, where it could stay, thank you very much. Quite afraid of enough things right now without... letting him back in.

"I doubt he's even being allowed out of the tunnels, and even if... Vyuli dismissed my report, and he did, he's still not going to let him out and about. Too connected to things. I think..."

She paused. Why was she... no, she knew why she was trying to dismiss his concerns. Because she was tired. And she wanted to walk around a little, let the cold move through her, taste a second of that certain distinction between alive and dead. The same distinction she'd felt in the fields, chased by Lyur. Run and live, stay and die. Better than... than just sitting in another meeting, waiting for Canima to say what she knew he'd say, seeing the catastrophe unfold a little. Once more, she was being deifned and curtailed by the current of an uncontrollable river. Everything happening here had been set in motion a long, long time ago.

Years upon years of continuous policy in the shantytown, in the city, in the colonies... a war waged for unknown reasons by inhuman creatures... the events she witnessed where ephemera, little flickers of sudden light, and nothing more. Every event was just the spark of untold centuries of building friction, shifting trends, developing habits. And those were rooted in currents... beyond anyone's control. The underground rivers shaping all that happened above, the surface rivers flowing shallowly atop their greater, deeper brethren, inevitably shaped just as everything else was... and then her. A single eel wriggling her way against the current. And she could choose to go with it, or against it, but she couldn't... climb a mountain, burrow down miles into the earth, squiggle her way through the sky in an iridescent helix.

"Take a weapon."

She blinked, coming back to reality. Right. Should. Not a gun, she could only fire at dying horses with those, and they had the decency to not move, and there was a certain moral dimension. Still sometimes heard their screams. No, no, she was too cowardly for a gun. A big stick, though...

She could work with a big stick.

"I'd like a truncheon, if you-"

He already had one extended.

"Got the feeling you might appreciate a weapon you're familiar with."

Oh goodness. He'd remembered she liked big sticks. Not that she advertised it, but... he'd noticed her carrying one around, while adamantly avoiding guns or knives, or... she took the stick, weighing it up. Hm. Yes. Definitely a stick. Not a broken one, and not a very short one... yes, this stick was passable, when it came down to it.

"Thank you, Bayai. That's very kind of you."

He shrugged nonchalantly.

"Enjoy. I'll take these back. And... not for nothing, but it was a damn fine thing you did tonight. Can't imagine anyone else being allowed to see that... individual. Most of the people Mr. Canima would trust wouldn't be allowed in a mile of him, and most of the people he'd trust would be... damn traitors, wouldn't let them in a mile of Mr. Canima."

Tanner's mood fell just a little.

"...I imagine it's because..."

She paused, putting her words together.

"...well... he..."

No. Couldn't do it.

Because he'd seen her beg for her life. He knew her measure, and maybe he thought he knew how to predict her. To Canima, she was a loyal monkey who jumped around however the organ grinder dictated. To Vyuli, she was the same terrified woman who'd begged him not to hurt her, and had barely escaped from his labyrinth. Doubted that anyone who'd gone through that would willingly sacrifice herself to assassinate him - she'd just fought and struggled to get her life back, why on earth would she throw it away so quickly?

...come to think of it, she might. Not assassinate him, just... she expected to die here, but...

...if Mr. Canima asked her to kill Mr. Vyuli, would she? Would she sneak a weapon in, maybe some kind of poison, get him alone, kill him? She'd die in the process, but... would that be a sacrifice she was willing to make?

Didn't know.

She expected to die here. But more... dying as a judge. Not as a murderer, not as an assassin who betrayed everything her order stood for. Dying as someone worth remembering fondly, not with morbid curiosity. That was it - did she want that shadowy thing the sun had birthed to be... be a murderer? An iron-breathed murderer, creeping around, tinging every remembrance of her from the day she died until the day she was forgotten?

"Anyway. I'll just have a small walk. I'll see you later."

"Of course. I'll deliver these, understand not wanting to sit through more bloody talks. Almost want the mutants to arrive just so there's some action."

"...speaking of them. How are you... intending on defending everything?"

Sersa Bayai sagged a little at the question, and she felt a flush of shame build up in her. Gods, was that a poor question, or an insecure question, or, oh gods, she'd asked in the middle of a dark, silent, deserted street, anyone could be listening.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't-"

"No, no, it's a fair question. Mutant procedure's simple - believe it or not, we're not total idiots, we have provisions in case there's a large-scale mutant attack. It's always possible, and after the war... well, no-one wants to be caught with their... ah, trousers down, if you'll pardon the expression."

He coughed, a tiny embarrassed flush pricking his cheeks. Oh, kindred spirits. Still remembered how he'd immediately altered the phrase 'freeze the balls off a brass monkey' to make her feel less embarrassed, made her feel... well, considered. And not in a way that made her feel like other people were inconveniencing themselves. Just... nice to know someone was aware of her, and considered her before speaking.

That was it. Just nice.

"So... plan's simple, if we can manage it. Civilians are brought to designated sites throughout the city and the colony, they're reinforced, can be stocked with a large amount of food, and have filters built in to keep contamination out. There's tests ready to make sure we're not taking in anyone too contaminated, who might cause problems later. Rarely is a problem, if we get people inside quickly. The buildings are designed to be inconvenience. Mutants just don't bother with something if they know it'll be more effort than it's worth. Still, they're reinforced, and we'll be arming people just in case."

Tanner could see problems already, but she allowed him to continue.

"Then, there's soldiers. Similar method to mutant-hunters. Bleed them first - volleys of bullets, fields of caltrops, anything we can muster. If it bleeds, it's good. That drives the others into a frenzy, then we mop up with flames."

"...but if these are..."

"If these are abnormal mutants, which seems to be the case, we go for fire first. No playing around. Great War tactics - which means keep the civilians far, far away from combat, don't assume the mutants will behave normally, check all food supplies and water supplies for deliberate poisoning... and for soldiers, it means hurting them wherever possible. Maybe the chained towers - stay there, create little centres that are just impassable, big kill zones. They have to be bled by a hundred little places before they can get to the centre. Mutant-hunting, the bigger the horde in front of you, the better - you're killing off as many as possible, after all. Great War, you want to split them up, force them to attack piece by piece by piece, never concentrate too much. Concentrate too much, you're asking for death by contamination."

He spoke rapidly and without pause, like he was reciting this from some old manual, one of the many produced to get generals and soldiers used to the idea of treating mutants as more than animals. Treating them as existential enemies, more so than any enemy nation could ever be.

Tanner hummed.

"...I see."

"Any questions?"

Tanner bit the inside of her cheek, making sure to keep it invisible from the outside world.

She could see the flaws. Not in terms of... military strategy, it sounded like he was moderately confident there. Though she was terrified of the fact that... that of all the soldiers here, she doubted many were Great War veterans. Doubted any were, to be perfectly blunt. And... could they really adapt, if that was the case? Could the manuals serve them well when they were possibly outnumbered, outgunned, surrounded, in an environment the mutants could sit around in all day, but that would kill any human exposed for long enough? No, no, don't... ask that, there was nothing she could do about that, nothing anyone could do. But the bunkers... that worried her. That worried her significantly. The cartel was brutal, Canima wasn't squeamish, people were scared... people would be shoved together in close quarters with murderers and brigands, with a cartel eager to cut down their opposition. Maybe the colony would go into the bunkers, but how many would come out? How many would the cartel just kill to make their lives easier?

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Instead of bunkers, they'd just become ovens for the simmering conflict in the colony to concentrate, to refine, to burst into flame.

If... gods, if things weren't sorted out, if the colony wasn't fully under control... instead of a civil war being followed up by a mutant slaughter, the two might well happen simultaneously. She had no doubt that both sides would give it a go, if only just to pre-empt the other.

"No questions."

He smiled sadly.

"Have a good night, Tanner."

"You too, Bayai."

And with that... they were gone. Drifting away into the dark, both with papers screaming an ultimatum against the colony. Tanner tried to stop thinking as she stumbled along through the snow, welcoming the clarity it brought to her... no, not clarity, just a rearrangement of priorities. Long-term thought declined to nil, and all that mattered was the next few steps she took. The exhaustion of the last few days hung heavy on her shoulders, making each step a little more sluggish. She'd seen the bouncers, seen their habits. If they were stuffed into bunkers with regular civilians... with civilians that were a threat to the cartel, the violence would be immediate. Depending on how long the siege went on for... and that was still getting ahead of herself, what about food? Oh, yes, food - the thing the cartel had a near-monopoly over. If they wanted to, they could literally just say 'if you pledge loyalty, you get to stay in our bunkers and remain fed', and that would be it. Who'd resist them, if they managed to angle things correctly, prevent immediate reprisals? If... gods, she hoped the soldiers would secure the bunkers as soon as possible, just to stop them being taken over.

It was like... like seeing two rabid wolves being pushed by a river into the same rock. In other circumstances, they might avoid each other, stay at a safe distance. But now... now the river was crushing them together, denying all retreat, only offering more and more proximity until...

Until one of them floated away dead, and the other either lived, or died of its wounds.

And the rock would endure. The river would endure.

She stumbled through the streets, and did her best to stop. Thinking. She couldn't change the river, she wasn't a wolf wrangler, she was a judge. She judged, and occasionally mediated. Mr. Canima's job was the colony. Mr. Vyuli's job was the cartel. Everyone had a role in life, and yet... yet it felt... Mr. Canima was obstructive at best, ignorant about many crucial details. Vyuli was insane and monstrous, and he terrified her. The governor had wrapped himself up in so many chains that he'd failed to act against the biggest human threat to his colony. Two of the military commanders were in the cartel's pocket.

She'd... been trying, at least. She'd investigated, checked leads, interrogated, almost been tortured to death, almost died in the cold, had led Lantha back to the colony to tell her story before she went mad, had done her damn job.

Why couldn't everyone else do theirs?

It felt like of everyone in the colony, only herself, Yan-Lam, and Sersa Bayai were doing their jobs. Everyone else was just... lost in their own psycho-drama where nothing made sense, they were doing the classic criminal act of constructing a hyper-personalised legal code around themselves, where they were tyrants, exempt from the laws they imposed on others. And unlike with criminals, she couldn't just... call them criminals and send them to prison, she had to work for them, or work around them, or...

Gah!

She stopped.

Looked around.

...sod it. Sod it!

Wanted to know, at least.

She pushed the door of an inn open, and soldiered in. The first time she'd been in a proper civilian environment for... a while. It'd just been mortuaries, tunnels, snow, mansions, offices, cold-houses, snow, towers, and snow. First time she'd been into an inn since before the Tyer incident, if she didn't count a tiny poke while looking for Marana. And... wow. A place without ledgers or violence or evidence. Just... a place. For humans.

No humans in it, though. None beyond herself and the innkeeper. It was... yes, she knew this one, the Gasping-Crane. Good beers in terms of taste, good pies, but Marana hated it. Said the beer was too weak, there weren't enough spirits, and if she wasn't drunk enough she didn't particularly appreciate the pies. Tanner had rather liked it. Not like she could get drunk anyway. The innkeeper had a distinctly mole-like look to him - small round glasses, a heavy, soft, black coat that looked almost like fur, and a general attitude which inclined towards the hunched, the mild, the shy, the squinting. He was a person who seemed to have been rather perplexed by the journey out of his mother's womb, and in the years to come never quite got over the confusion of going from darkness to light, warmth to cold, closed to open. The inn certainly had... personal touches, mostly of the thick and wooly variety, be it heavy curtains to hide the small windows, delicate cloths to cover any unused surface, and even a lovingly crafted unique cosy for every teapot in the building. And, she was interested to see, another cast-iron decoration. Dusty, yes. But there.

The man looked up, startled in a bewildered, resigned sort of way, like he was used to being startled and considered it basically his due course.

Tanner found herself immediately liking him. She sympathised with his plight. Had to restrain the instinct for a second. Had questions.

She sat down quietly.

He stared up at her, cleaning a tankard nervously. Cast-iron. Obviously. Nalser apparently had a damn adoration for that variety of iron. What was wrong with pig iron, or wrought iron? Wrought iron was purer, pig iron was perfectly decent, could make steel out of it, but cast iron? Cast iron was for... for frying pans that made slightly peculiar eggs, cast iron was for pans. Wrought iron was for decorations.

...no, no, there was probably a good reason. No idea what it was.

"Can I help you, honoured judge?"

The innkeeper smiled vaguely up at her, not quite sure whether to meet her eyes (nerve-wracking), her nose (slightly rude), her mouth (oddly intimate) or her neck (simply indecent). He settled on her ears. Which worked. She stared at his chin, personally, less chance of eye contact.

"Could I have some..."

Tea?

"May I have a beer, please? I'd like one beer."

"One... beer. Coming up."

As he got to work, Tanner leant forwards, sighed internally.. and bit the bullet.

"I know about the group that brought you here."

The man froze for a second. Then went for the beer again. Silent until he figured out his story, and-

"Vyuli tried to torture me, Lyur tried to kill me, and I just spoke to Vyuli a minute ago. I know Tom-Tom is really called Pyulmila, and that she's Vyuli's daughter. I know he works by bringing people up here in forgiveness for debts and other things."

The innkeeper was very pale indeed.

"I just want to know how much you knew. How much... I don't know, people were hiding from me all this time."

A second.

A tankard of foaming beer clunked down beside her. Not usual, beer. Not up here. Not possible to brew it with the crops they farmed, and too bulky to ship up very profitably. For once, spirits were the basic preference, and beer was the fancy luxury. This was one of the fancier inns, simply because it stocked it in large quantities.

The mole-man retreated slightly. Hm. Oh, she'd forgotten to ask his name.

Again.

Mr. Mole it was. Curse her and her brain.

Mr. Mole shifted about, licked his lips...

"You're not accused of anything. I just want to know... I don't know, how much you knew. Did you come up here because you were in debt?"

He hesitated. Swallowed, the apple of his throat bobbing pendulously...

"Yes, honoured judge. Nothing... irregular, you understand. Nothing nasty. I was just... well, shantytown, you know how it is. You pay protection money to one group, then another group comes along, need to pay them... always getting things skimmed, having things broken, it's... a business. And good luck having regulars, Erlize don't like pubs with regulars..."

He shrugged.

"You get into debt. A few bad seasons, and it's hard to get out of it again. Then, rough lad, part of the Nalseri crew, told me I could pay it all off by coming up here for a handful of seasons. Stressful as it is... till the governor died, thought I'd stick around. Profitable, quiet, decent... governor's gone, though. Might well leave."

He let out a long breath.

"Hoo. Held that in for some time. Feels odd, having it all out. Not so sure I like it. Hm, sorry, honoured judge. Was there... anything else? Assuming I'm not being charged with anything?"

Tanner blinked.

"Why not go to the governor with it?"

Mr. Mole snorted good-naturedly.

"What, one innkeeper? Nah, figured it was... just not worth the hassle."

"Why not talk with others?"

The man blinked.

"Why'd I do that?"

"Because... they, too, might be up here with debt, and-"

"Young lady, you don't go around talking to patrons about old debt, nor them with you. Damn rude topic."

He flushed suddenly, realising how scolding he sounded, towards someone twice his height and many times his strength. Tanner sipped her beer. Hm. Yes. That was a beer. No buzz from it, of course. Never was. But the taste was... acceptable? Yes, yes, acceptable.

"But surely you must've heard that other people were in debt..."

Mr. Mole blinked up, once again, eyes vague behind his glasses. He adjusted them clumsily, thinking to himself.

"...well, I mean... I work late, and people talk to each other, not really to me, given that I'm... busy, and whatnot. People are tired, they come to drink until they're sleepy enough to go home and rest, eat a bit to supplement the canteens, and... that's about it. Then, morning, well, I'm tired, I wake up late, my food is delivered to me when I order it, it's..."

Tanner understood.

At what time was there a good moment to bring up debt? Or the criminal group that brought one here? Talk about it, maybe the Erlize are around, they hear, they report it... wasn't too long ago there were debtors' prisons in Fidelizh and other cities, big ugly structures for people who had failed to manage their money properly, in the eyes of the Golden Parliament. Closed down now, but... she could occasionally see the derelicts when she walked around certain neighbourhoods. Fly-infested and rotten. So...

"So... you don't talk about the criminal group."

"No, dangerous talk. Get you interrogated."

"And you don't talk about your debts."

"No, rude talk."

"And you... don't talk with many people generally, beyond asking them for drinks."

"...well, miss, I don't quite appreciate being called antisocial. Chat a lot, I do. Just... ah... well..."

He smiled apologetically.

"I live here alone, most everyone does, not many wives, damn near no children... might as well talk about... ah... well, like talking about your marital problems with your co-workers, you know? Just odd. Damn odd."

No-one knew each other. No-one could, philosophically, etcetera etcetera, but... no-one here knew anybody. The governor's policy of splitting up groups to stop rebellion or dissent fomenting, the bouncers aligned with the cartels watching every inn like hawks, everyone working, no... families, no wives, no husbands, just people doing their jobs and enjoying the comparative peace, keeping their shame hidden from the others out of instinct, not aware that shame was shared... no-one here knew one another. No wonder she... honestly didn't feel like she'd truly met many people, not beyond vague snapshots. They didn't want to be known. She didn't know how to know them, how to slowly peel them out of their shells to find... something. If she was more sociable, maybe she'd have solved chunks of this mystery through good conversation. Marana had feigned that, but... anyway. Anyway.

"Sorry you have to know about that bunch. Rotten lot, aren't they?"

"A little, yes."

"Sorry you had such a nasty run-in, too. That beer's on the house. But... small thing, is... are things about to get worse? Because I have things I'd like to hide away if that's the case. Got to look out for my own, you know?"

"I... am currently trying to avoid conflict."

The man let out a small sigh.

"Well. That's good. Hate for things to get... violent around here. Sorry, again. Not nice work for a young lady, this criminal stuff. But, ah, you're... keeping it all under your hat, hm?"

"A little."

"Fantastic. Don't want any trouble. None of us do. Hm. So, they're all in debt?"

"Some."

"Ain't that something and a half."

Tanner hummed a little.

"...I still find it odd. Everyone staying so quiet. Everyone just... not talking about it."

"Every family's got secrets."

"But a colony? A whole colony, everyone just... staying completely taciturn? The whole system, the whole arrangemen, completely hidden?"

Mr. Mole smiled nervously.

"It is what it is, I suppose. Sorry, again. Would've told you, promise I would've. Just... well... not like judges made it better in the shantytown, suppose it'd just be... why bother dropping an anvil on your own foot, you know? Just seems like being mean to myself. Mean to you, too. No idea the others were... in on it. Talk to too many, someone listens in, you get in trouble. Talk alone... well, I'm just one fella. And what's one fella? Sorry, again. Mighty rotten, the situation you've got. Hope it works out. Just, ah... don't... tell them anything, will you? Like to keep my place as quiet as possible. Can't afford much trouble."

Tanner sighed, and drank her beer in a single, cavernous gulp. Still no buzz. And she didn't want one. Never been drunk before, didn't want to start now. Unhealthy habit. Still... anyway. Anyway. There was something oddly... not funny, definitely not funny, about the fact that people just... acting like normal, reserved people, behaving in a fashion considered totally rational, had allowed this sort of thing to flourish. Not criminals, just... normal people. Not sure if she found it funny or alarming or just depressing. No idea. A clunk echoed from behind her, and she turned slowly, hand drifting to her truncheon. So, who wanted to try going for her, who-

"T- Pyulmila?"

The woman shifted uncomfortably, shivering like a leaf. No coat. Gods, she... Tanner's eyes narrowed.

"Did you escape from-"

"Hey-ho, Tanner, yes, I departed for a brief bit of fresh air, and then felt like a drink. How are you."

Tanner didn't reply. The woman came closer, brushing snowflakes from her peat-coloured hair, before sitting down heavily and gesturing vaguely. Tanner studied her. Weak, by any metric. Damn criminal, and indisputably so. Tanner disliked her for what she'd done. But she was so... incompetent, according to Lyur, that... well... by comparison to Lyur's heartless, irrational cruelty, there was something strangely innocent about the incompetent who'd been dragged in and exploited, used to incite chaos. Still. It was easy to dislike her for not seeing through it all. A meritocrat's irritation at those who couldn't achieve as much.

Poor instinct. Should clamp down on it.

"So..."

Tom-Tom drummed her fingers on the table.

"...holding up?"

Tanner still didn't reply. Didn't gesture for another beer either. Just sat, tense as a steel wire, and stared straight ahead.

"Sorry about all of that... stuff. Really am, you need to understand, it was-"

"Lyur. He got you to do everything, and you didn't see through it. You didn't know what you were doing, and he exploited that, covered for you, did everything he needed so you could make the worst mitsakes."

Tom-Tom instinctually bristled... then slumped, realising her position.

"More or less. More or less. Just... thought I'd apologise. Sorry about my father."

Tanner said nothing. Didn't want to talk. And too tired to be polite. Tom-Tom made an odd gesture, and Mr. Mole immediately left, heading upstairs and shutting the door. Tanner's rigidity became infused with energy in less than a second. What was Tom-Tom doing. Who was coming. Was she about to die? Her hand wrapped firmly around her truncheon... then she actually looked at the woman below her, and saw how... much she was shivering, how eagerly she drained her beer, how she hunched into herself and stared into odd directions for long seconds until she could tear her gaze away. Tanner couldn't ask any of this. Would be too rude, too... direct.

Two dead sisters. And Tom-Tom wasn't too old. Could've been born... well, once her father was out of the woods. Meaning, for all she knew... she was the runt. The one that was fought for the least, and thus had less value. The youngest and the feeblest. Raised by a father hardened by the loss of two others. Compared to them, compared to the mothers which produced them.

Incompetent by her father's own admission. Taking a new name to seem more convincing as a Rekidan, really putting effort into the act... even when it didn't matter. When no-one else was trying as hard as she was.

Like her father, Tanner couldn't help but see what she'd likely gone through. And whlie it didn't make her like the woman, it made her... more understandable. And unreserved hate was best reserved for those who were poorly understood, who seemed to warp and shift, like great seas of mist. Taking whatever shape she desired, be it god or nightmare.

But the more she understood, or thought she understood, the more the sea of fog receded, and she could see... the shades of an ordinary, small human in the middle. And nothing more.

"And... I have to ask-"

"Can you make people leave by gesturing at them?"

Tom-Tom blinked.

"Hm?"

"I... heard about this sort of thing from theatrophone plays. Is there a specific gesture for 'leave' or 'get me a drink' or 'kill this woman'?"

Another blink. Then several more.

"...no, I just... sort of... waved."

Hm. Interesting.

"...and I... sorry, lost my train of thought. I just had to ask. The... mutant story."

Her voice dropped to a whisper.

"Is it true?"

Tanner stared.

"Yes. Completely."

"...you're sure?"

"Sure."

"...gods."

"Did Nalser have gods?"

"Father says it doesn't, but... hell, I want to say the word. Just let me. I'm not a good daughter, not a good Nalseri, not a good servant. Lucky he hasn't had me killed. I mean, three people dead in one night, and... and I'm to blame, I tell Father it was Lyur, he ignores me, because of course I'd try and pin it on someone else. And until then, I just... don't mention him, don't want to share the praise, because that always happens, and…"

She trailed off. Oh, thank the gods, Tanner was starting to grow intensely uncomfortable with the... the family business. Always made her skin crawl. Tom-Tom knocked back the rest of the beer, looking sadly into the empty tankard.

"...just... anyway. I'm sorry. I am. Haven't slept properly since... that night. And I just... are you... going to accept the deal? The one he gave?"

"Not my choice."

"You should."

"It's really not my choice."

"But you can advise. Just... I know we don't know each other, and I'm sorry for measuring your head, I was just... grabbing tools from a junk shop, polishing them up, then just started improvising using the astrology pages in the newspaper. That and... making things up. Sorry for being a cunt, sorry for getting three people killed, sorry for leading you along. But you... actually did follow through, right? I mean, you investigated, you did everything, I was the idiot, you were the competent one, and I'm just saying..."

Another pause, and Tanner saw just how... nervous she was beneath the layers of acting. Almost felt like being Tom-Tom was more an exercise in being a confident, debonair, slightly vulgar young lady. And underneath, something significantly more twitchy. No wonder she liked fishing - solitary, no speaking. Not good for a vulgar creature like Tom-Tom who liked measuring skulls, but... Pyulmila, as poorly as Tanner knew her, seemed like more of a fishing type. Another 'clue' she should've picked up on.

"I'm just saying, Tanner, honoured judge... I'm just saying, you should get people to accept. Father's big, he's in charge of everything, he practically ran this place while the governor was alive, he has connections, he-"

Tanner snapped a little. Even so, her voice remained low, calm, and steady.

"He's a criminal."

"...well, out here..."

"It's not just a moral matter. He's a criminal. His group, his cartel, are criminals. They're violent and self-centred. Criminals create legal codes around them, and then become tyrants within those codes. Other criminals do it too. Your father has a number of people following his, for now. But once he's dead, if just of old age, they'll go back to their own codes, and everything falls apart."

Tom-Tom opened her mouth to reort, but Tanner soldiered on.

"This is a debtors' prison. If people are given a chance, if this place ever becomes stable, he'll be the first person people want gone."

"I... well, he's such a fixture, why..."

"One way of getting out of debt with him is to sign him over to the police for arrest, and likely execution. Debts owed to a criminal, especially an executed one, aren't considered binding in a court of law."

She paused, realising what she'd said.

"...I'm sorry. But...you must see that... even if he wins, he'll lose. And he has a gang of criminals. Not soldiers. If the mutants come, the best thing he can do is hide with every other civilian and police them into compliance. The soldiers will still do the dying. The Fidelizhi soldiers he wants to rule over."

Another pause.

Tanner stood sharply, her temper still rising. Catharsis hadn't soothed it, just... made her want to expel more. Gods, she hoped this beer wasn't affecting her so strongly, she was sure she was good at handling alcohol... Tom-Tom stared up at her, white as a sheet.

"I'm sorry. I need to leave."

"You think it's all coming down."

"I'm certain."

"Mutants are coming, and father can't stop them."

"No. Not in my opinion. But I'm neutral, officially. Please, do not report this, it would... there'd be no good outcome. But I don't... think a colony he runs will last long."

"Mutants are coming, father can't stop them, and he wouldn't do anything worthwhile anyway."

She said this softly. Almost like a mantra. Didn't seem to be focusing on anything in front of her, and her hand was... shaking, just very slightly.

Tanner stared at her. Was she... gods, she almost hoped some sense was sinking into her. If she defected over, if she helped, if she gave information, it... no, Canima's business. Not Tanner's. Tanner wasn't here to... do any of this, she was here to do what she was ordered to do. Not subvert on her own time. Had to leave. Had to leave before... not sure what, but she just wanted to go.

And as she left, Tom-Tom was still staring vacantly into a corner, mouthing out Tanner's little proclamation. Had anyone criticised her father so openly before? Most civilians wouldn't talk about him. Those that would were loyal to him, or feared him. Raised the third child, with two dead sisters, always proving herself. When was the last time her father had... seemed weak to her? Lyur had shown him up, a little. Then the mutants. Then the collapse of the colony. Now Tanner was calling him blind.

Left regardless. Not getting involved. Just do her damn job. Report back. Lose herself in labour.

And even so... Tanner wondered who she'd left behind in that inn.