attack. We have one casualty, a Gandesian guard. The assassin is also dead. But I’m not opening this door until we get some additional vetting on everyone outside it.”
She limped to a sofa at the side of the room and sat heavily, one gun in each hand.
A skittering noise came from the inner door to the anteroom, and Niko half-climbed the wall before realizing it was just the Gandesian AI spiders. The AIs. You know about their AIs. They’re just like you studied. But seeing them in person was different.
And of course, right behind the horde of spiders came . . . the general.
Niko felt like vomiting. General Cynwrig. A military dictator who ran Gan-De with the efficiency of a factory, all while blithely killing Hypatians by the shipload, leaving them to die a slow death in space, all because she’d decided Gan-De should only be for certain humans—how Niko’s own father could talk to this woman like it was all okay and make trade deals importing their water in exchange for tech—
Niko couldn’t understand it. Didn’t want to understand it.
“Well,” General Cynwrig said. “It seems I have you to thank once again, Agent Asala.”
Asala grunted. “I suggest you go back into your rooms until we have all this sorted out, General.”
Cynwrig’s eyes crawled over Niko. “Who’s this?”
“President Ekrem sent a messenger to speak to me about something unrelated. Bad timing. They’re not involved.”
“I see.” The general took another moment, studying the two dead bodies on the floor. Then she said, “I’ll be in the back rooms. Don’t mind my spiders. Given the circumstances, I feel I must send them a little farther afield. You understand.”
She turned on her heel with military precision, and the door slid shut behind her. The robots remained, however. A good portion of them skittered over to squeeze out under the door, while the rest tap-tapped around the room, taking in Niko and Asala and the guards. Watching.
That’s what Gandesians do with their spiders. You know that. The reminder didn’t stop Niko from being unnerved.
“Creepy, aren’t they,” muttered Asala. She leaned down to get her face right up close to one of the bugs. “I said you’re creepy. What are you going to do with that?”
“They’re intelligence-gathering robots,” Niko said. The words came out dry and stuttery. “I guess she wants more, um. Intelligence. Because of the—because of all this.” They bit their lip. You’re talking too much. You always do. Just shut up, shut up.
“Hell, I’d like some more intelligence too,” Asala said.
Niko’s mind was starting to unblank, but it was filling with thoughts they didn’t want to have, like how the guard had moved to kill them both without the slightest hesitation and how Niko had completely frozen and Asala had shoved them out of the way . . .
My fault she’s hurt. All my fault.
“Do you need a med team?” Niko asked. “We can call one in . . .”
One of Asala’s shoulders lifted and then lowered. “Eventually. I’ve had worse.”
And you were trying to convince her you were ready to go out in the field. At the first sign of pressure you fell apart, while she sits there shot acting like it’s a stubbed toe.
The adrenaline and panic were receding, leaving shame behind.
Was there any chance of salvaging Asala’s impression of them? Some way to show Niko wasn’t just a data rookie who froze up at the first sign of trouble?
Intelligence, Asala had said. Something useful . . .
The traitorous guard was still lying where she had fallen. Niko tried to figure out how to step over to her without tracking through all the blood, but it was impossible. They gingerly crouched down to start lifting the flaps on her pockets.
There has to be something here. Something worth showing Asala . . .
“Shouldn’t you wait for the forensic team to do that?” Asala said it from over on the couch, not moving.
“You want to wait and take whatever sanitized report they choose to give you?” Niko said, with more bravado than they felt.
The edge of a smile quirked Asala’s tired expression. “You’ve got more guts than I gave you credit for, kid.”
The compliment should have delighted Niko, but instead their heart was banging out of their chest. Was it cheating, to do things this way? It had to be. It felt like it.
And—worst case—what if Niko couldn’t find any evidence at all, even missed something really obvious, and then Father would ream them out for disrupting the scene and Asala would think they were a green know-nothing and—
Oh. There. At the bottom of a back pocket. Niko drew out the thick packet. Across the room, Asala’s eyes widened and she sat up slightly—she knew what it was too.
“That’s concentrated glow,” she said. “Way more than for personal use. That much is an automatic intent-to-deal charge.”
“Which means it’s also enough for a payment,” Niko said. “What’s the going rate for assassinating a head of state?”
And whoever happened to be in the way. Niko felt another wave of nausea and tried not to think about it.
Asala frowned. “There aren’t many people who would use glow as currency. Too hard to unload, unless . . .”
“Unless you’re in the trade. She’s got to be out of Khwarizmi.” That wasn’t too big a leap, was it? Niko didn’t think so. Khwarizmi, the only other Inner Ring world, was warmer even than Khayyam and a haven for pleasure resorts and smuggling cartels alike. Just the shady sorts who might believably have assassination as one of their goals. Asala would agree, wouldn’t she?
“Glow dealers wouldn’t have any beef with Gan-De,” Asala said, as if feeling it out. “But the Khwarizmian syndicates also deal in ice smuggling. Throw Gan-De into chaos, especially now, and the black market for water would go through the roof.”
“What percentage of Khayyam’s water comes from ice mining on Gan-De or Hypatia, instead of pulling it from the sun? It’s a lot, right?” Niko agreed. “And with all the—the environmental crisis—on Hypatia, Gan-De’s where it’s at.”
Asala didn’t look entirely convinced. “Maybe . . .”
Come on! Niko barely bit back from voicing their frustration. This is solid information. You know it is!
Something beeped.
It wasn’t the wall interface. Asala dug out a personal handheld, miraculously undamaged even after the fight.
“Your father’s coming down here,” she said. “He has the interrogation reports from the suspects who survived this morning’s incident. It seems you’re right—they were out of Khwarizmi.”
