CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE - PSYCHODRAMA

The world wasn't right, when she woke up. The moment Tanner's eyes moved from sleep to that restless closed-lid blinking that characterised the reluctant waker, she knew the world had gone a little wrong. And when her eyes finally opened, that shapeless unease crystallised, solidified, harmonised with all the irregular wavelengths of reality. None of the angles of the room seemed to add up properly. The ledgers seemed to have acquired a residue, something sticky and thick, between lacquer and sap. The light was pale and sickly, it seemed to leach colour from whatever it touched, and it fell on her skin like a patina of dust. It was light that drained, light that oozed, light that crawled under her fingernails and left a slight film over her skin and her hair. It was light that left a trail behind itself. The room was full of snail-light, and it made her want to move, to run, to do something. Shake herself like a buffalo removing snow from its fur. But... no. Remained still. Could feel all the aches and pains in her body. She glanced down, noticing the new bandages. Just stared at them for a few moments. Genuinely couldn't remember getting those things. Almost missed the black bands of cloth she'd used. More subtle. Almost fashionable. Might even wrap these white things up again, just... had to keep up appearances.

Needed to change her dress. Couldn't just wallow in filth, had to look presentable. She willed her legs to move... and immediately regretted it.

A squeak filled the room as Yan-Lam fell backwards. Been sleeping on the floor, head resting on Tanner's leg. The girl only acted surprised for a moment - then she was smoothing her red hair back, brushing down her apron, policing her face into a smooth mask of professionalism. Tanner immediately began to apologise, but her lips were... well, it turned out being out in the cold, having her lips freeze over, clawing the ice away, then letting them freeze again wasn't the best thing in the world. Lips were sore, almost stiff. Her words came out slurred, and she almost wanted to stretch her mouth to loosen it back up again, even if it meant damaging things, reopening wounds... no, no, restraint. Be restrained. Moving too much would reopen things, all that smoothness would be accompanied by injury. Parable in that, maybe. She tried to apologise to Yan-Lam, and Yan-Lam immediately silenced her.

"Would you like some tea or coffee, honoured judge?"

"...coffee, please. Sorry. Again."

"No, no, think nothing of it. I was just... ah, last night, I must've been examining your dress to see if anything could be salvaged, and I fear I overestimated my ability to stay awake."

Marana snorted lazily from her side of the room.

"Lie."

Yan-Lam shot her a look that... well, it screamed 'I was born and raised in the riverbed shantytown of Fidelizh, I have seen things I shouldn't have, and I will inflict all of them on you in various combinations'. Marana shot her a look that screamed 'and I was in Krodaw, I've seen things that will turn you into an unemployed artist, do your worst'. And Tanner looked at her own knees, a look that probably screamed 'I'm very tired and we're all going to die'.

That, and 'I would really like some coffee but I don't want to make anyone feel inconvenienced by getting it'. Her looks were multifaceted things.

...gods, she'd seen a woman lose her mind and be shot in the head yesterday. And she was thinking about coffee. Shouldn't she be throwing up, or... no, no, if she threw up, it'd be because of the decontamination pills. Might need to start rationing those. Gods, she... no, no, focus on what was directly in front of her. Don't act like a general, act like a soldier. Take her orders, eat her rations, swallow her pills, move on. Don't pretend to be in control of the situation. Once she relinquished even the delusion of control, then she could allow herself to be carried along by the tide. But... no, no, she wasn't totally devoid of control. She had one point of genuine authority over those around her. Information. She saw Yan-Lam leaving to fetch the coffee, and thought that she could easily tell Yan-Lam, here and now, the grim history of Rekida. At least, parts of it. The mutant horde that might well be coming over the horizon any minute now. There was control in that. But once she talked, once she expelled all the knowledge inside her, the control was gone again. Once outside of her body, information could fester and breed, spread from person to person. She was... hm. Rather like saying that the first person to have a disease had 'control' of that disease, control of who was going to be infected next.

Talk, and lose that last fragment of agency. Stay silent, and preserve the illusion. But if the only way to retain agency was to say nothing, do nothing, did she have agency at all?

She hated thinking.

Definitely needed... coffee, which would make her think faster. Maybe she should've asked for tea. Or alcohol, that shut down thinking with Marana, might work for herself. No, no, she was a terrible drinker, she'd never actually been drunk once in her life, her tolerance was much, much too high. Speaking of alcohol, Marana was already pouring herself a tiny glass of something thick and clear. Tanner said nothing as she knocked it back, smacking her lips exaggeratedly even as the rest of her face contorted in slight discomfort.

Silence for a few long moments.

Slowly, Tanner rose. Had to get dressed in something vaguely respectable. Needed to talk with Mr. Canima, ideally immediately. She almost fell down immediately, legs shivering uncertainly beneath her, complaining at the sudden strain after...

After everything.

Keep moving. Think about things later.

Marana eased herself up as well, hissing as the wound in her side made itself unpleasantly known.

The two of them both stood, wheezing a little, wincing at innumerable aches and pains... gods, she was twenty-three, shouldn't have so much trouble standing up, even after the ordeal. Still had more ordeal to get through. Her mind became smooth, she moved automatically, focusing on all the minutiae of dressing. Not many dresses left at this point.

The message from Mr. Canima came while she was buttoning up her skirt - a soldier telling her that Canima wanted to meet within the hour. In his own office. A place Tanner had never yet been. Just by looking at the soldier, she knew he knew nothing. He was too conventionally nervous. Nervous of Mr. Canima, nervous of the general situation... Tanner had seen how Bayai and Canima had reacted to the news of the mutants, there was a kind of existential dread that made the face change. And this man's face hadn't. Marana moved over the moment the man left, and did her best to hug Tanner, even as her own wound strained against the motion.

Tanner hugged her back, very, very gently. Barely touching her at all. Didn't want to hurt her. Didn't want to cling too tightly, not sure if she'd let go if she did.

"Now, young lady, you're going to go and... well, do whatever it is you need to do. Then, you can come back here and rest. Hm? Seems to me like you're in the endgame now, you've done your work, collected your evidence, had confirmation on all major points. And... once things are over, you can rest, and be aware of a job well done."

She paused.

"...who did kill the governor, out of interest? I presume you met the guilty party."

Tanner hummed.

"No idea who did it."

Marana blinked.

"...but you did meet some sort of... guilty party?"

"Guilty of corruption, murder, assault, intimidation... yes, all of that. But not the governor's death. I don't think so, at least."

"...who on earth did it, then?"

"I don't know. I really don't."

Marana's mouth twitched into a small frown, and her eyes narrowed.

"Feels rather like going out to pick up some milk, and coming back with a bottle of vintage port. Of course, I'm happy to get the vintage port, but it's really not going to help with... whatever you use milk for. Baking?"

Tanner smiled faintly.

"Yes. You can use milk for baking."

"Ah, splendid. Knew milk was involved at some stage."

"Have you... ever bought milk before?"

Marana flushed very slightly, and tilted her head back in mock haughtiness.

"No, as a governor's daughter, I exclusively obtain my milk from a stable of buxom wet-nurses, good nobles are only weaned from the tit when they're seventy, until then we're suckling away."

Tanner's nose wrinkled, and Marana's flush deepened.

"I went too far with that one.

"Quite."

"Well. Go on, then. And tell me all the horrible news when you get back."

Tanner desperately didn't want to. The knowledge clawed at her throat, trying to crawl out of her stomach where she was keeping it suppressed. Give up this last hint of authority. Give it up, let Marana deal with the information, let Canima do all the decisions...

For now, though, she held onto this scrap of agency.

For now.

* * *

Mr. Canima's office was upstairs. Not a very... appealing place, Tanner thought. It lacked the openness of the governor's chambers, the sense of being a place where more than one person was meant to exist. The door was narrow, placed strangely in the wall. As if the builders had only been told to construct the room at the very last stage, to make sure no-one could... do something, presumably. To make sure even the architect didn't know this office was in the building. She knocked smartly at the door, wincing at the sudden sound which echoed through the tomb-like corridors of the mansion. Nothing here felt real any more. Nothing felt right. The corridor seemed to waver before her eyes... even straight lines were starting to become peculiar. Structure was arrogance in the face of catastrophe. What was all of this in the face of the storm? Tunnels everywhere, even in the mansion. Tunnels underground. Tunnels in the city. How many secret passages had been built? How many could the land take? Almost like they were trying to erode everything before the mutants could demolish it. So much felt... petty. She felt petty.

The world hadn't changed. But she could see the tunnels. Could see figures like Lyur. Forces like the mutants. The leering, enormous form of Lantha, right before her death. If the mutants came and wiped out every human here, the snow would eat their bodies, and that would be all. Smoothed over and made as it once was.

For the first time in her life, she felt how many ages of the world had come before her. How many would come after.

For once, she thought she could actually see the death-date of the shadowy other Tanner, the one made of ink and paper, the one that lived in the perceptions of others. Could clearly and perfectly visualise the day it would die. The colony would be erased. She would die here. Her records would be erased by the elements. She'd be a name on a casualty list, a name to slot into the template of a condolence letter. A shadowy flickering in the corner of memory. The lodge would arrange her in the ranks of the identical honoured dead, her mother would die of old age, and bit by bit...

She saw the day people forgot her for good. And she became just a name. Just a data point, with no real feeling behind it all.

The door opened, and her face remained completely flat. The twisting corridor was left behind. And she entered Mr. Canima's den.

It was... as austere as she imagined. No window. No paintings. A single, tiny, wooden desk with a rolling cover that could be locked up for security. A few books with metal covers that could be locked shut as well. The walls were the only extravagant thing here - wallpapered richly, the colour bright and almost sickly. Sheets of pure orange, that made her think of some sort of strange forest fungus, with long thin lines of brown going up and down, forming razor-thin columns. The lines weren't perfectly straight, though. Sometimes they wavered a little, sometimes they had tiny bulges along them... maybe the idea was a forest at sunset, the sky orange, the trees sharply silhouetted against it. But that wasn't the impression Tanner got. With the erratic strings... almost looked like she was inside a mouth, seeing strings of saliva going from floor to roof. Hm. Come to think of it... why did mouths have roofs and floors? Certainly, this room seemed to be exploring that question. There was another door at the far end of the room, which was slightly open - through it, she could see a tiny cot, and a tiny basin. Made her think of her own cell in the inner temple, but... this was harsher, lacked warmth. Mr. Canima didn't say anything, just let her enter while he returned to his desk, sitting on a small leather-topped stool which seemed distinctly uncomfortable.

There was an ashtray on the desk. Inside were the remnants of... several dozen cigarillos. Tanner didn't think she'd ever seen the man smoke before, but... no, probably just stealthy about it. As she watched, he lit up another, tilting it in such a way that the manufacturer's logo burned away first. An idle habit, maybe, something that the secret police drilled into their new recruits. Or just an accident. Who could say.

There was no chair for her. She stood awkwardly, hands behind her back, almost wishing for the buffalo-fur cape.

Mr. Canima's voice emerged very suddenly from lips that seemed never to move, no matter what he said.

"Thank you for attending on short notice. I've been considering the information you relayed to me. The... business with the cartel, as you described them. The story from Ms. Lantha. I'll cut to the heart of the matter. You understand that nothing is to be revealed at this stage, not without proper reasoning. Absolute informational quarantine. At no point are you to relay anything you heard yesterday to anyone in the general public. Myself, Sersa Bayai, and you, should remain the chief custodians. If the knowledge is to be distributed, it will be done so at a regulated pace, with severe limits upon those privy to it."

Tanner shivered.

"I'd... quite like to tell Ms. Marana and... Ms. Yan-Lam. If at all possible. They've helped me this far."

She expected an immediate refusal... instead, there was a low, low sigh. Mr. Canima looked tired.

"If you must. But restrict it to them, ensure they do not leave and spread this information further. Now."

He paused, and seemed confused for a moment, trying to get his thoughts in order. Tanner was more scared of him than ever. He was acting human. Sighing. Hesitating. Chain-smoking. Losing track of his thoughts. He must've been alive in the Great War, but what... what exactly had he done? Tanner interjected gently, flinching as his eyes snapped into focus the moment she opened her mouth.

"If possible, sir, I'd like to know... what the plan is."

He blinked.

And a smile crossed his lips. Thin. And very cold.

"Plans will proceed as necessary. Until then, it's need-to-know."

Tanner's face became terrifically flat. Her voice, too, subsided to a dull monotone which meant she was very bloody annoyed.

"I think... I don't want to be a nuisance, and I don't wish to be rude, but given the importance of the situation, I'd very much appreciate... some kind of insight, sir. For my own peace of mind."

"The business of the colony's military is within the purview of the relevant commanders, and myself. As a judge, you're not entitled to request information on the topic."

Tanner felt like she was about to explode.

"But... if it happens, sir, I... please, I just need to know, just..."

Mr. Canima leaned back in his chair. He didn't look smug. Superior. Haughty. He looked absolutely weary. She wondered if he'd slept at all last night. It'd taken almost dying and hiking through the snow for hours and hours to tire herself out to the point where she could fall asleep at all - wondered if she'd manage it tonight.

"I understand. You want certainty. I'm afraid I cannot provide it. As a judge, you're outside of our military and intelligence hierarchies, you are a consultant, hired by the governor to advise on legal matters. You are not part of the establishments responsible for defence. Don't go beyond your remit."

What?!

"Sir, I discovered the cartel, I found Lantha, I think... sir, the colony is a closed system, everything affects everyone in some way, nothing is totally isolated, I don't want to be insubordinate, but I do think I need to know."

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Mr. Canima snapped.

He snapped.

"You are a judge. Your loyalty is not to the city, not to the colony, not to anything but your own masters. Do not presume to interfere in things you don't understand."

Tanner could snap this man in half with her bare hands. She'd learned that she could. She'd beaten multiple grown men in a fight, and Canima was old and frail. Even if he had a gun, she was too close, could rip it out of his thin, weak hands. She could hurt him. She could. They were all alone up here. Her breathing intensified. In the tunnels, her law hadn't mattered, her training as a judge, her 'loyalty' to the Golden Door, none of it. Those things had gotten her down there, but her strength ad gotten her out. No amount of legalese would've stopped that knife from carving her to pieces, draining her of every last atom of information she could manage to scream out. Mr. Canima was hiding behind bureaucracy for no reason. Legally speaking, she should shut up, turn around and leave. Illegally speaking...

Her muscles itched to be used.

Her voice ached to rise to a bellow.

And it took several moments before horror at her own thoughts set in, and she managed to calm herself down just enough to talk without gritting her teeth.

"Mr. Canima. May I be blunt?"

"If you must."

"I don't know why you're being obstructive on this issue. Right now, I want to stay alive, that's what I'm loyal to. I understand if the laws of your organisation forbid me from knowing anything, but this is not an ordinary situation. I would hope you could understand the necessity of..."

Breaking the law? Even now, the notion stuck in her throat, resistant to emerge - a judge's voice crossing a judge's lips, advising breaking the law. Practically had an allergic reaction to the idea. Mr. Canima stared at her for a few moments, expressionless. Two stone walls glaring dispassionately at one another.

"I want you to imagine something for me, honoured judge."

Oh gods...

"Imagine my situation. Maybe nothing happens. Maybe something happens. If we survive, we survive. Wonderful. And then I have to pick up the pieces, deal with the consequences, count the dead. Four possibilities stand before me, three combinations - something happens and we survive, something happens and we don't. Or nothing happens, and we're fine either way. Three possibilities. And only in one of them are there no consequences for me, no aftermath for me to sift through. I have to consider, then, that I will have to deal with the consequences. And if I talk to you... if I bring you into our every secret, give you information privileges equivalent to an Erlize officer, I will be dead."

Tanner blinked.

"My colleagues would kill me. I would be taken behind a building and quietly shot. My body would be burned. You, too, would either be shot, imprisoned, or exiled, depending on what you knew. You would live your life perpetually scrutinised. Your companions would be interrogated and possibly imprisoned. My men are, according to you, likely in the employ of the cartel. I cannot guarantee that they will stay silent if we engage in any... activities forbidden by our regulations. Three cases. In one of them, we all die. In two of them, we live, and if I allowed you into the highest echelons of decision-making, as you clearly desire, then we both very well might die. You might. I will. The next governor will be coming here without support from myself. The cartel might revive itself, no matter how thoroughly we brutalise it before spring comes, if the new governor isn't experienced with this colony. Do you understand?"

Tanner nodded quietly.

She did. She hated it, but she did. They were all going die, and... and he was still holding himself to those standards. Still restraining himself. For a second, a flash of kinship. How... limited was he, really? How much weight had settled on those bony shoulders, and how much more could they bear? What were his actual capacities? Hadn't known about the cartel, both of his assistants seemed in cahoots with them, the secret passages in the mansion had been compromised, the governor had died on his watch, and now... now this. And he was still acting like an Erlize officer. Not sure if she was impressed or infuriated.

Realistically, a combination of the two.

"I... see."

A pause. The man kept staring at her for a few moments... and she felt an odd spasm run through her intestines. And with it came a thought.

You're an old, frail man, how much life do you get to live if you survive here? How many years are left? Do Erlize officers even retire? I'm twenty-three, I've got years left, sacrifice is expected from me, why shouldn't it be expected from you? How much longer do you even have?

No, gods, no, that was an awful thought. Shame rushed through her like ice-cold water. That was a monstrous line of thinking. Monstrous. Unsupported by the law, too. She resisted the urge to pinch the flesh around her wrist, almost as a kind of punishment, some kind of expression for the cringing guilt that echoed through her entire body. Do not think that way again. Think reasonably. He... he was sacrificing himself, he wanted to stay around for the next governor, to keep the work going, to... had he been friends with the old governor? Or was this just a professional obligation? Didn't know him. Never would, if he had his way.

She nodded again, firmer this time.

"I understand, sir. I apologise for..."

He waved her off.

"Don't apologise. Entirely understandable point to make. You can't know about our strategies, our movements, the things which, by law, are reserved for myself and individuals who need to know. I'm sorry that I can't include you in that number. I could never justify it to my superiors. And... your career ought to proceed unencumbered. You've done very well."

Tanner forced herself to smile a little.

"Thank you."

Mr. Canima was silent, and ran a hand down the front of his face, as if exhausted - again, more movement from him than she'd ever seen, more emotion. His voice came out in a long mutter, more intended for himself. For once, she saw each and every one of the years he bore with him.

"I hope there's nothing. I truly do. Wise, to keep thinking of the future. If you refuse to contemplate a life after a crisis, then you're already dead. Like in the war."

He paused, seeming to retreat into himself a little.

"...were you in the Great War, sir?"

His mutter continued, dry as dust.

"Erlize were morale enforcement. Keeping people from deserting, running back home to be with their families. Sacrifices had to be made, you understand. Units had to be expected to lay down their lives without hesitation. No... no, that was the easy part, the hard part was getting a unit to remain cohesive after they'd heard of their loved ones being assigned a suicidal duty. Sometimes you'd meet people who seemed to be ideal soldiers, tough as nails and twice as sharp, no emotions in their head but anger at the enemy and loyalty to their countrymen. But they were the ones most likely to break. They were dead men. Had no dreams of future life, and no dreams of home. And when some crucial moment of stress came, when they needed to retreat inwards and find comfort, they'd find nothing. Given up their hopes for it. And they'd snap, brittle as eggshells. One boy... must've been seventeen. He was like that. Knew nothing but war. Then, during the defence of the Tulavanta, days and days of shelling, of hearing the titans move closer... he saw a book floating down the river. Fished it out. Pages were swollen together, the ink had slipped free, it was useless. He just stared at it for minute after minute, turning the pages, peeling them apart and staring at the blankness. Then he calmly drew his pistol and shot himself in the heart. Less of a mess, that way."

A pause.

He came back to himself with a snap. And Tanner backed away instinctually, seeing something angry flash in his eyes, something paranoid. Not sure what he'd been saying, not sure how much he'd let slip. His mouth clicked shut, and he glared at her, at the table, at his papers... then the anger passed, and what remained was a lingering sadness, replaced by practised stoicism that gave away nothing. Nothing but the very slightest shiver in his left hand.

"That'll be all."

"...my duties, sir?"

He blinked.

"Your... duties?"

"Would you like me to pursue the governor's murder?"

"Hm? Oh. Yes. I suppose you ought to. Hasn't that been resolved by now?"

"The cartel leader, Vyuli, claims he was uninvolved. Lyur didn't admit to it, even when he was admitting to other crimes."

"Mutants, then. Doubtless it was mutants. Preparing the way for an advance. Not an uncommon tactic."

And if that was true, then mutants were coming. And the number of future outcomes went from three to two, in his estimation.

"I... don't think that was the case, sir."

He stared silently. And she felt compelled to continue, to fill the silence with something. Same technique she'd used on Tom-Tom, technique she'd learned from Canima to begin with.

"His body had some irregularities. He was wearing an elaborate tie, properly formal, but his scarf was simple, despite a more formal scarf being readily available... though it was at the back of his wardrobe, hidden enough that someone unfamiliar with it might've missed it. His coat was far too clean and dry, too. I think he was murdered somewhere else, then there was an attempt to make it seem like the murder happened in the street. He was definitely moved, none of the houses nearby were suitable sites."

Hunch, hunch, hunch. Pure hunches and conjecture. Bad judging. But... why would mutants do that? The scarf and the coat had lingered in her mind from the very beginning of the case, standing out as notable instances of mistakes. The drawers in his study were unlocked, too - and that just seemed contrary to his character of obscuring anything that could be obscured, for the sake of preserving his power. Why hadn't he locked all of that up, and why had the keys for his personal effects not been on his person?

And, of course, there was the device hidden in his safe. The hourglass-thing, which she'd yet to find a purpose for.

Canima blinked slowly.

"I see. And you think...?"

"I think there's more to his case, I don't think he was murdered by mutants, nor by the cartel."

Canima was silent for a second.

"Investigate it if you must. Come to me when you have evidence."

"And you'll go after the cartel, sir?"

"...the last thing the colony needs is a civil war, honoured judge. Both of my assistants are aware of the situation, and doubtless are leaking it to the cartel leader as we speak. I'm quite certain that at least one is in his employ. We're being gentle at present. Arrangements might be made, a truce might be worked out, if only in the face of a larger threat. Right now, stay away from the cartel. Do what you must, but travel with a guard, don't go anywhere alone, keep your companions close to you."

Tanner shuddered. A memory of a knife flickered across the surface of her mind.

"Sir... they're murderers, they've killed and harassed a very large number of people, if they think..."

"If they think we're going to wipe them out here and now, they'll be bold. An animal-"

"In a corner has no way of fleeing except through the person in front of them, and nothing to lose by trying. I'm aware of the metaphor, sir."

"Quite. If they anticipate aggression, they will move to match us pre-emptively. This would be disastrous. If the leader, as you say, is a survivor of the Great War... he'll be familiar with the level of threat. He'll have no illusions as to its severity. And he'll know that fighting us is suicidal."

"But at some point we'll need to wipe them out."

"At some stage, most likely."

"So they know we'll have to be aggressive eventually. Maybe they'll just be surgical, wipe out a few people, seize control..."

Canima inclined his head, acknowledging the point.

"Possibly. They may try. But if they fail, then they'll be aware of the consequences. Presently, the cartel is in a position where they could, feasibly, extricate themselves. I am aware of them, as are you, as is Sersa Bayai. If you inform your colleagues, that would make five people who know about the cartel and are generally opposed to them. And one of them is a child. A surgical strike, as you said, likely saved until the mutant crisis has passed, if it comes at all. Attempts to blackmail us. Attempts to destroy our evidence. You, for instance, making claims might be dismissed if they have powerful friends. If I die, then our ability to prosecute them dwindles significantly. I assure you - I am aware of the cartel's threat, and I do intend to destroy them completely, but for now, they have enough routes out of this scenario to make immediate violence a last resort, not a first course of action. Stay away from them. Don't press them. Let them wallow in uncertainty."

Another pause.

"That being said. Negotiations will doubtlessly need to occur. Your role in this affair hasn't ended - and I apologise for that fact. Now, was there anything else?"

"...how much oversight would you like to have on my investigations? Should I report everything, run every course of action by you, for instance ,bringing someone in for interviewing, or-"

Canima's voice became tinged with irritation.

"I trust your judgement. Come to me when you have something major. Don't report over every little thing. I have other business which demands my time."

Piss off. Do what you want. Let me work out how to keep us all alive.

Tanner wanted to keep pushing for... something. Not even sure what she'd be pushing for. Orders. Real, deliberate orders. Go here. Stand there. Hold this. She wanted to become a machine again, like she'd managed during most of her years in the inner temple. In her own way, she didn't want to investigate the governor's death any further. Let the mutants come, and give her a hammer or something. Give her purity, and then, give her the quietness of death. She wanted to feel her lungs burning, her legs aching, her arms screaming for relief, she wanted to shed every unnecessary bit of weight in a haze of adrenaline, she wanted to become a smooth, perfect thing, like the statues on the walls. In adrenaline there was a kind of death. A kind of thoughtlessness. She hadn't thought when she was running in the tunnels, not really, just... kept moving. Her mind had easily set aside the long-term in favour of the simple desire to keep on going. Each second could be her last, and she'd been terrified, beyond terrified, and would be having nightmares about it for... some time, but...

But what?

There'd been purity in it, maybe. She hadn't had to think about telling people they were going to die to the mutants, about the continuing investigation, about politics, about anything but the next second she could claw out of the world.

Gods, she was already trying to be nostalgic about the tunnels where she was almost tortured to death. No, no, not nostalgic, just... she'd been in that state, pushed further than ever before. If the mutants came, then she'd be in that state again, presumably. So this was just a period of anticipation of catastrophe. Everything she did now was just... time-wasting. Maybe. No, no, not wasting of time, just less efficient use. She was thinking in minutes, hours, days. In the tunnel, she grew familiar with the smallest possible divisions of time, from one heartbeat to the next, the smallest increments of a second.

She didn't know what she was thinking. Maybe she just wanted it all to be over so she could sleep, content that she'd done her duty, and could be remembered well.

...until she was forgotten. And she would be. Could see the outlines of the last time someone would say 'Tanner Magg' with any hint of recognition.

"Thank you, sir. And... if there's anything else I can do, please, tell me. I'm happy to help."

Canima nodded quickly.

"Very appreciated."

She was about to leave when he suddenly spoke.

"Are you fond of Sersa Bayai, honoured judge?"

Tanner felt her temperature rising.

"...sir..."

"I'm old and surrounded by crises. I think I can afford a degree of bluntness from time to time."

"...well..."

She trailed off.

Did she?

She liked when he touched her shoulder. Liked the concern he showed. Liked those walks with him, though they felt like they'd happened a hundred years ago. Liked the fact that she felt... some kind of trust in the man. But all of that... she'd seen Lantha die, and knew she didn't know the woman. Didn't think she knew anyone. How could she... be fond, in that sense, of someone she didn't truly know? What had Bayai been like as a child, what experiences had shaped him, what did he think when he was alone at night, did he have someone to call his own, or had he at some point in the past? Anyhow. All of this was beyond her at the moment.

"I regard him highly as a colleague, sir."

Canima stared at her for a few seconds, sizing her up... then looked down at his papers, and said no more. Tanner's face was flat as she left the office, closing the door noiselessly. Before she could even turn, she could hear a lock clicking into place, so smoothly oiled that it barely made any noise at all. One step away and she might've missed it.

The shock of the question helped her focus. Stopped her wallowing in potentials - surprise was the adrenaline of social encounters, washed away thought and replaced it with either paralysis or motion, nothing more.

She went downstairs in a haze, hands clutching at air as she resisted the urge to knead her skirt - never a good move while walking. Right. Plans. Plans. She entered the waiting room with her mind still clicking away, and found a cup of coffee immediately shoved in her face by a certain chambermaid. Yan-Lam smiled up at her, and... gosh, she looked thin, now Tanner thought about it. Thin, and intense. Very bright eyes. Had she been eating enough? Tanner considered the last time she'd eaten, and... no, too busy to eat. Just have something light and portable, something that wouldn't sit in her stomach like a lead weight. No time for a proper meal. The job wasn't over yet. She sipped quickly at the coffee, striding towards the governor's office. Needed a place to work properly.

"How was your meeting, miss? Are you going after the people who captured you?"

"Not yet."

Yan-Lam paused, enthusiasm dipping for a moment.

"...well, if there's anything you need, let me know."

"Don't go outside on your own. Not until things are done."

"Yes, miss. Of course, miss."

"...do you need breakfast?"

"No, miss. Not hungry."

Tanner blinked. Yan-Lam stared unflinchingly back. Seemed to dare her to be a hypocrite. Hm. Well... for now, for now. She had other things to handle. She stepped into the governor's office, drawing in the now-familiar scent of old books and well-kept furniture. Considered her course of action. Considered telling Yan-Lam that she was about to die in a wave of gnashing teeth and horror. Telling her that she ought to start carrying a gun around with one bullet, just in case the mutants won and started taking prisoners for conversion. Maybe Tanner should do the same. Just in case. So... right. On the docket: rewrite all of her notes so there was solid, unyielding evidence of the cartel's existence. She'd long-since committed her notes to memory, and could reproduce it fairly quickly. Gods praise the Golden Door and their endless mnemonic techniques. Second, she wanted to keep working at the governor issue, worrying away at it like a dog with a bone. She had more suspicions, but... the actual evidence had remained the same. All she'd done was expand her understanding of the context, and struck off a suspect. Needed to remain here, otherwise. Remain very, very still. And very clever. A sudden thought.

"Where's Marana?"

A flinch from the chambermaid

"...Ms. Marana took a guard with her so she could visit the nearest doctor."

A flash of worry ran up Tanner's spine.

"Is she alright? Has her wound-"

"She was... in search of more laudanum, I believe."

"...oh."

Well.

That was the end of that. Tanner couldn't even fault her, couldn't see her way to criticising her habits. If things were all going to come to an end... why not find relief wherever it might live? Why not sink into a haze of painlessness and wait for the tide of mutated flesh to wash it all away? But her skin crawled at the idea of Marana... doing this to herself. Basic concern for her health rose above any morose thoughts on the end of the colony. Marana was middle-aged, but she... put her body through the wringer. Regularly. Alcohol, laudanum... a past history of cocaine injection... Tanner was worried for her. Deeply worried. And she had no idea what to do about it. Couldn't just cure years of addiction - getting her off alcohol would mean dealing with delirium tremens, and laudanum would mean inviting the pain of her wounds back.

Didn't know. She just... didn't know.

She stared at the desk.

Sighed.

"When Marana gets back, I want to talk to both of you at once."

The enthusiasm returned. Inappropriate. Entirely so.

"Of course, miss. Is there anything...?"

"I might need... some help with writing. If my wrists start to hurt too much."

"Yes, miss."

"Do you know how to use an automatic quill?"

"No, miss."

"I can teach you, they're useful things."

Tanner paused, and looked over.

"...Yan-Lam, do you... have friends?"

The girl blinked, clearly surprised.

"I... am rather busy with my work."

"What about in the shantytown?"

And the surprise turned to cold stoicism in a blink of an eye.

"I was very busy with my work, miss. I'm happy if I have colleagues I can get along with."

Gods, it was like looking in a mirror. Just a little. Emphasis on little, of course.

"What would you... like to do when you get back to the city? Assuming you want to go back."

A confused blink.

"I'll work as a chambermaid. That's my profession, miss. If I can make a decent living, I'll be happy. If the people who killed my father are... imprisoned, I will be unreservedly happy."

"Imprisoned?"

Yan-Lam's eyes flashed.

"Of course, I'd rather if you killed them. All of them."

Tanner shivered.

"...the law does assert that execution is... well..."

She racked her brains for one of Sister Halima's lessons.

"Think of it like this. People change every day. And if they change enough, over the course of years, then the person they used to be is... dead, in a way. The Golden Door teaches that the only right humans have is the right to be punished, the right to be held responsible for their actions and to experience consequences. And execution means... we're taking away that right. Which isn't ideal. So... why not change someone, or induce them to change, or use punishment to teach them how to change, and to encourage them. And after a while, they change so much that the old person is more or less dead. You don't need to forgive them - they're not here any more, someone else is walking around in their skin. It's punishment, and a kind of execution, but it minimises the amount of actually dead people in the world."

Yan-Lam blinked.

Didn't look overly impressed.

"But the judges used to execute people."

"In the old days. When the king was still around."

Yan-Lam stared at her for a solid few seconds. Her eyes were unpleasantly cold.

"These people killed my father, killed the governor, and then tried to kill you - twice, miss. I don't mean to be rude. But if I had a say in the matter, and I'm sure I don't, I'd want them hung. All of them. Every rotten soul responsible. I was born in the shantytown, miss. You learn to accept a great deal. Adapt. Fighting back just gets you killed, or worse."

"And now..."

"Eventually it's like killing chickens, miss. You start out being gentle. Don't want to kill them. But then... after a while, miss, you just snap and move on. The people who kill you if you step out of line, they just see it like that. Don't see why they should do it, and I shouldn't."

Speaking like someone twice her age. Unpleasantly cold. But her eyes... they started flickering over Tanner the moment she stopped talking, a strange fear brewing in them. Wondering if she went too far, wondering what Tanner thought, hoping Tanner wouldn't judge her. Had she ever had a childhood? Definitely lost it by now, but... at some point, had she just been... ordinary? Not sure about the executions. In her mind, the cartel... the Golden Parliament would sign their death warrants in a second, the whole pack of them. Canima definitely had the right to do it himself. But that was for them. Not Tanner. Tanner didn't execute, she might advise execution, or a suitably long prison sentence, or exile from the state, but she wouldn't... do it herself. Gods.

Tanner knew what Yan-Lam was dreaming of, with the chambermaid business. Losing herself in good, solid labour. Safety and comfort, the only two things which really mattered once you'd had nothing for a while. Don't get high and mighty, just take what you can get and huddle against the wind. And maybe she'd find it. For a while. But her father was gone, and... who else did she have in her life? The governor was gone, her father was dead, Rekida had never been her home... would she wake up one day and realise that she'd found comfort, she'd found peace, and... now what? Maybe she wouldn't. But maybe she would. And if she did, maybe she'd start asking herself further questions. Tanner was likely going to die out here, survival wasn't really plausible enough to consider for long, and she was finding... finding that her preconceptions were being shaken, her beliefs were weakening, she'd seen the shadowy thing on the horizon and thought to herself that it was small, so very small compared to what it could be. How little she'd done with herself.

She could see the moment when she'd be remembered for the last time, and subsequently forgotten. When both Tanners were truly, truly dead. And it was sooner than she thought.

If she had any option but to push onwards, she'd... well, not sure, but she might be considering things. Reviewing things in her life.

Would Yan-Lam ever have that moment, years down the line?

Would she have that moment, and be able to change? Or would it be too late?

Tanner smiled faintly. Didn't judge her for her... inclinations. Damn understandable. The maid smiled back hesitantly, nodding in silence.

Well. No point wondering any further. Everything was locked into place, now. What remained was for her to do her job, and try to work with whatever she had. There was a deathly calm around her mind. Even when she felt fear, it was strangely dulled. Kept thinking about the tunnels, the knife, the sad eyes of Vyuli, the dark eyes of Lyur. The feeling of seeing someone who was, in every sense, evil. The cold. The knowledge that she was going to die. The black figure crawling out of the sun, ready to steal her life away. The body in the snow. Lantha with her head blown open by a bullet, but her body remaining alive, still trying to repair itself. Had to burn it to be sure. The story of the cages which were jaws, the ground which sighed, the slow conversion... all of it. She was locked into her route. Now, she just had to do what she could. Endure. Soldier on, and make the best of it all.

No matter what the spasms in her stomach told her.

And she politely set aside the memory of breaking out of her ropes and begging the world just to live for a second longer.

Gods, she hoped Yan-Lam survived this.

"Thank you for the coffee, Yan-Lam."

"You're quite welcome, honoured judge."

She took a deep breath.

"Well. Let's get started."

And the look of genuine admiration sent her way by the girl was enough to make her feel both proud...

And in some way, deeply sad.

Either way. Work to be done.