I considered leaving, but we still had more than a week of full mourning to go. An interruption like this would only appear ill-omened, the proper execution of the funeral rites compromised. Perhaps the Presger, or their translators, wouldn’t understand, or care. Still. Twice I had seen the Presger underestimated with disastrous results—once by Governor Giarod and Captain Hetnys, and once by Anaander Mianaai herself, when she had thought she had the power to destroy them and in response they had put those invisible, all-piercing guns in the hands of the Garseddai the Lord of the Radch thought she had so easily conquered. The Presger had not done it to save the Garseddai, who had in the event been completely destroyed, every one of them dead, every planet and station in their home system burned and lifeless, with no action, no protest from the Presger. No, they had done it, I was sure, to send a message to Anaander Mianaai: Don’t even think about it. I would not underestimate them in my turn.

Fosyf still visited our small house daily, and treated me with her usual jovial obliviousness. I came to see her strangely serene manner as both a sign of just how much she expected to get whatever she wanted, and also an instrument by which she managed to do that, plain persistent saying what she wanted to be true in the expectation that it would eventually become so. It’s a method I’d found worked best for those who are already positioned to mostly get what they want. Obviously Fosyf had found it worked for her.

Above, on Athoek Station, even with Lieutenant Tisarwat’s push, with Station Administrator Celar’s involvement, a thorough inspection of the Gardens’ supports wouldn’t happen for more than a week. “To be entirely honest,” Tisarwat explained to Basnaaid one afternoon, in my sitting room on the station, “there are so many things that need urgent attention that it keeps getting pushed back.” I read her determination, her continuing thrill at being able to help Basnaaid. But also an undercurrent of unhappiness. “I’m sure if the fleet captain were here she’d find some way to just… make it happen.”

“I’m impressed that it seems likely to happen at all,” said Basnaaid, with a smile that left Tisarwat momentarily, speechlessly, pleased with herself.

Recovering her self-possession, Tisarwat said, “It’s not anything urgent, but I was wondering if Horticulture could provide some plants for public areas here.”

“It can’t help but improve the air quality!” Basnaaid laughed. “There might not be enough light yet, though.” And then, at another thought, still amused, “Maybe they could put some of those mushrooms out.”