I reminded myself that this was a new idea to Captain Hetnys. That up until now, no Radchaai had ever questioned the identity of Anaander Mianaai, or wondered about the basis of her claim to rule. It had all been mere evident fact. “They both are, Captain.” She showed no sign of comprehension. “If the ‘right’ Anaander had no concern for the lives of citizens so long as she won her struggle with herself, would you still follow her orders?”

She was silent for a good three seconds. “I think I’d need to know more.” Fair enough. “But, your very great pardon, Fleet Captain, I’ve heard things about alien infiltration.”

“From Captain Vel.”

“Yes, sir.”

“She was mistaken.” Manipulated, more likely, easier for the one Anaander to gain her sympathies—and perhaps belief—by accusing an outside enemy, one nearly all Radchaai feared and hated.

But I couldn’t say truly that the Presger were not involved at all. It was the Presger who had made the gun I wore under my jacket, invisible to any scanner, its bullets capable of piercing any material in the universe. The Presger who had sold those guns, twenty-five of them, to the Garseddai, to use to resist annexation by the Radch.

And it was the destruction of the Garseddai as a result, the complete and utter obliteration of every living thing in that system, that had triggered Anaander’s crisis, a personal conflict so extreme that she could only resolve it by going to war with herself.

But it had been a crisis waiting to happen. Thousands of bodies distributed over all of Radch space, twelve different headquarters, all in constant communication but time-lagged. Radch space—and Anaander herself—had been steadily expanding for three thousand years, and by now it could take weeks for a thought to reach all the way across herself. It was always, from the beginning, going to fall apart at some point.

Obvious, in retrospect. Obvious before, you’d think. But it’s so easy to just not see the obvious, even long past when it ought to be reasonable.

“Captain,” I said, “my orders are to keep this system safe and stable. If that means defending it from the Lord of the Radch herself, then that is what I will do. If you have orders to support one side or the other, or if you have strong political ideas, then take your ship and go. As far away from Athoek as possible, by my preference.”

She had to think about that just a shade longer than I liked. “Sir, it’s not my job to have any political ideas at all.” I wasn’t sure how honest an answer that was. “It’s my job to follow orders.”

“Which up till now have been to assist the system governor in maintaining order here. From now, they are to assist me in securing and maintaining the safety of this system.”