Faith

PART THREE

Thahl spoke softly into his comm, and nodded. Foord raised an eyebrow and asked “News?”

“I’m afraid so, Commander.”

“Afraid?”

“Ansah, Commander. Her trial is over. ”

Foord said nothing, and was careful to give no outward indication of what he felt.

“I’m sorry, Commander,” Thahl added. He didn’t entirely understand the dynamics of human relationships, but in his time aboard the Charles Manson he had acquired a feeling for things unsaid. He knew Ansah once meant something to Foord, but wasn’t sure what.

The soft lighting seemed to darken, as if the Bridge had its own artificial summer evening. It turned almost to twilight. Movements flickered discreetly round its edges, and low nuanced voices murmured.

“There’s something else, Commander,” Thahl added. “We’ve been ordered to Horus. To engage Faith when She comes there. Your sealed orders and mission briefing have been transmitted.”

Foord rose, and turned to Thahl. “You have the ship. I’ll view the orders and briefing in my study.”

He never called it a cabin; he used it as a study. It was large and sparse, like the apartment he kept on Earth, and, along with the Bridge, the only uncramped space on the ship. Everywhere else was crowded with functionality.

Without being asked, the screen in his study showed him a digest of his orders and briefing, and he scanned both without surprise. He found, as expected, that they hadn’t repeated the mistake they made at Isis. At Horus—the solar system of Sakhra, Thahl’s home planet—it would be different. He would meet Her alone, as he had always insisted.

He knew what had happened to the Pallas at Bast, to Copeland’s Wulf at Anubis, and—most recently, and most dramatically—at Isis, where they had sent Ansah. She would be their scapegoat; he knew the outcome of her trial, from Thahl’s voice and from his own instincts. When I form any kind of attachment with people they usually leave, in one way or another. In the privacy of his study his heart nearly broke, a process to which he allotted five minutes; then he spoke into his comm.

“Thahl, do you have the transcript of Ansah’s trial yet?”

“Yes, Commander.”

“Put it on my screen in here, please…Thank you.”

As the words began to form on his screen, he tried to put pictures in the spaces around and behind them; to imagine what it must have been like for her. Isis trials were inquisitorial, not adversarial, so she would have been facing them alone, without counsel. She would be looking at them with her head slightly cocked to one side, the way she used to look whenever she felt threatened.

•

She looked at them for a moment, with her head slightly cocked to one side. Then she poured herself a cup of scented tea from the immaculate service of white fluted porcelain set before her—not easy considering the manacles, though even these, in deference to the occasion, were slender bracelets of chased silver. She made the operation last long enough for the Chairman to decide to repeat his question.

“Commander Ansah, I’m giving you, on record, a second chance to exercise your rights. Think carefully. You’re charged with desertion and cowardice. As a result of these offences….”

“Alleged,” intoned a lawyer member of the Board.

“….alleged offences, this city has been subjected to an unprecedented and humiliating attack. Ships have been lost. Crews have been lost. You’ve been told the penalty you face if found guilty. You have the right to refuse to stand trial here on grounds of possible bias and to elect for trial on Earth. You don’t seem to regard that as very important, but I do; more important, for instance, than the dignity of this Board, so I’ll ask you again. Will you elect for trial on Earth?”

“I’m not interested in where I stand trial.”

“Unless you formally elect for Earth, it will be here.”

Ansah shrugged. The Chairman nodded and leaned back.

•

The next day, Ansah was back in the same room. It was large and formal, almost ballroom size, with a geometric parquet floor, furnishings of red mahogany and buttoned velvet, and watered-silk wallcoverings. As before, she sat in a comfortable keyhole-back armchair, with a circular drum table to one side, set out with a tea service of white fluted porcelain and silver. She faced the same large curving bay window, through which sunlight streamed, silhouetting the figures who sat before her at the long table whose curve matched that of the window. When she had last faced them there were six and they called themselves a Pre-Trial Directions Board. The same six were there, but now there were six more, and they called themselves a Supreme Court. The Supreme Court.

The trial would be in camera, in view of possible public reaction; it was not even widely known that Ansah was on the planet. Her ship had returned to Earth, with—the story went—her aboard in custody. There was no public gallery, no media presence, and just a handful of security guards. Ansah had only one guard assigned to her, and he was unarmed; but he was a Sakhran.

These procedural matters, which were considered unusual but necessary, had been settled at the Pre-Trial Directions Hearing. Other matters, however, would proceed exactly in accordance with the Isis Legal Code: the conduct of the trial would be inquisitorial and not adversarial, the verdict would be decided by a minimum three-quarters majority of the twelve, and once the verdict was given, the complete record of the proceedings would be put in the public domain. There would be no right of appeal.

The Chairman recited some of these matters, in order to put them, and Ansah’s acknowledgement of them, on the record. He went on to tell her his name and those of the eleven others. As on the previous day, she chose not to remember them, and decided instead to identify them to herself as First Voice, Second Voice, and so on.

She went to pour herself some tea. The Sakhran guard behind her, without apparently asking anyone’s permission, reached in front of her and gently unlocked the manacles. (Those wonderful hands! she thought.) She smiled her appreciation and he smiled back. His teeth were very pointed. The inside of his mouth was dark red.

Someone started reciting charges. The sun Isis rose higher on the left-hand side of the huge bay window, making the figures at the table grow more indistinct, blurring the edges of their silhouettes. She was not unduly concerned at being unable to see their faces clearly. Voices, with their nuances and inflexions, could tell her as much as faces; on her ship, she had acquired some skill in analysing voices.

Third Voice was speaking.

“Commander Ansah, will you please tell us your occupation?”

“Commander of the Commonwealth ship Sirhan.”

“And what kind of ship is the Sirhan?”

“An Outsider Class cruiser.”

“That’s not just any kind of ship, is it?”

“No. It’s considered the Commonwealth’s ultimate warship.”

“How many Outsider Class ships are there?”

“Nine.”

“These nine ships, they’re outside the normal military command structure, aren’t they?”

“Yes. They report to the Department of Administrative Affairs on Earth, not to the military authorities. But that’s not why they’re called Outsiders.”

“I’m aware of that, Commander, we’ll come back to that….Tell me about your title. You’re Commander, not Captain. Can you explain that?”

She smiled faintly. “It’s a kind of symbolism.”

“Symbolism?”

“The Department likes to reinforce the idea that it is the Captain of each of the nine. Those who command from day to day are Deputy Captains; Commanders.”

“So this, symbolism, actually provides a double emphasis. The Commanders are doubly reminded that these extraordinary vessels are… Instruments of the Department?”

“Yes. The Department even uses that word. Instruments.”

“An unusual word. Does it mean that each of the nine is absolutely bound to honour the letter and spirit of the Department’s orders, in every detail?”

Again she smiled faintly. “I see where you’re leading.”

“Just answer the question, please.”

“I’m sorry. The answer is Yes.”

“Commander.” This was another voice. She had heard three so far today, including the Chairman. Yesterday she had heard six, including today’s three, so she called this one Seventh Voice, and committed it to memory.

“Commander Ansah, what brought a ship like the Sirhan to Isis?”

“Faith.”

“Please answer in more detail, Commander. For the record.”

“A single unidentified ship with extraordinary capabilities, making apparently random, motiveless and highly successful raids on several Commonwealth systems…Is that enough?”

“Yes, thank you, Commander, that’s excellent….So again, what brought your ship to Isis?”

“Faith had made eight attacks on the Commonwealth. The last two were on ex-Sakhran systems, Bast and Anubis, so it was thought that Isis and Horus might be next. The Department deployed an Outsider to each of them. I got Isis.”

“Or we got you….Thank you, Commander.”

There were glances and shufflings of paper among the figures at the table. The sun Isis streamed through the curved bay window. It was now almost directly overhead, and its white-gold light drew dust motes circling up to the ceiling. The window showed the city outside; it was breathtakingly beautiful. Only very occasional hints of its smell penetrated the large room’s climate control.

“Commander Ansah.” This was Second Voice, from yesterday. “Department Of Administrative Affairs…Is that a euphemism?”

“It’s a less than completely accurate description of the Department.” She spoke the words with exaggerated carefulness, in a gentle mimicry of the way a politician or lawyer would speak them. It drew some smiles, as faint as her own, from a couple of those at the table; though not from Second Voice.

“Your orders from the Department. Did they give you absolute freedom of judgement and action in the event of an engagement?”

“You know they didn’t, or none of this would have happened. In particular, the city outside wouldn’t be smelling like it does.” She took care to keep any inflexion out of her voice.

“Just answer the question, please.”

“No, my orders didn’t give me absolute freedom of judgement and action in the event of an engagement. Or any freedom of judgement and action.”

“And we’ve heard that you’re absolutely...”

“…absolutely bound to honour the letter and spirit of the Department’s orders, in every detail. Yes; you’ve heard that.”

“Was your ship assigned to a task force of five Isis ships?”

“Yes.”

“What were the ships?”

“There were four heavy cruisers, and…”

“Yes, go on, Commander. Say it. And?”

“And the battleship Thomas Cromwell.”

“Yes, that’s the pile of radioactive rubble that’s still in orbit above us and fouling up our communications, isn’t it?”

“Over two hundred people died on that ship. I think,” Ansah said carefully, “that you didn’t mean to sound so dismissive.”

“I had friends and colleagues among those two hundred, Commander.”

“I think,” the Chairman said, “this would be a good time to adjourn for lunch. It’s been a long morning. I suggest we reconvene in ninety minutes.”

Chairs scraped, heels clacked on the parquet, and voices resumed then receded.

The Chairman continued sitting for a moment after everyone left. He was thinking about the wording of Ansah’s orders, and her apparent indifference about where she stood trial. The wording of her orders was unusually explicit and constraining; someone would have to be primed to ask her why. As to her indifference about where she stood trial, he’d initially thought she was being theatrical; now, he wasn’t sure.

Desertion and Cowardice. It seemed a simple case when he first read the pleadings, and that should have warned him. Most things, he had learned, were not simple when you saw them up close.

They took her in an unmarked flier to the De Vere Highlands, a few miles north of the city. Highlands was something of an exaggeration: they were more like gently rolling hills, but they did give a good view of De Vere and its surrounding countryside. They landed in Marling Park, a small formal garden, far enough into the Highlands to make it unlikely that there would be many lunchtime visitors from the city. Ansah walked at leisure, taking in the view, and the Sakhran maintained a discreet distance.

De Vere was an elegant, formal city of white marble and stucco, with palladian architecture, piazzas, colonnades and garden squares. It was the legislative and financial centre of Isis 2, and of the whole Isis system. It was not the biggest city, but was arguably the most beautiful and well-kept; though almost everywhere on Isis 2, city or parkland or country, was beautiful and well-kept. The De Vere Highlands were just far enough, and high enough, to afford a pleasing view of the city’s more expensive districts, without seeing the stains on its buildings or smelling its air.

The Sakhran took out his lunch: dried shredded meat in a leather pouch. He caught up with her and offered her a piece. It tasted vile, as she expected, but she smiled her thanks. Again she thought, Those Wonderful Hands.

Thirty seconds later, she was still chewing. She considered discreetly spitting it out when the Sakhran wasn’t watching her, but realised there was never a moment when he wasn’t watching her; so she steeled herself, swallowed it, and signalled her relish to him. Deadpan, he acknowledged with a brief nod. She walked on.

A little further, she encountered two families—four adults and five children—picnicking under some wireweave trees. The Sakhran momentarily grew wary, but nobody even looked at Ansah, much less recognised her. This was not surprising. Outsider officers kept low public profiles, and in any case Ansah was supposed to be already heading back to Earth for her trial.

She genuinely didn’t care where her trial was held. Its outcome was inevitable, as inevitable as that stupid engagement where five stupid ships had stupidly believed that they could go up against Her. Those five ships had been more than just a task force, they were actually the bulk of Isis Fleet: quite a large Fleet, considering the size of Isis, but that reflected the wealth and political connections of the system’s leading citizens. Isis attracted such people.

The Commonweath’s most characteristic state was one of orderly turbulence, in which Fleets played a central part. Its twenty-nine solar systems had all kinds of conflicts: political, religious, cultural, historical, economic. The last one tended to be the root of the other four, so that trade wars between the systems often blew up into real wars. Hence the Fleets, which were funded partly by the systems themselves and partly by Earth. Earth used its funding to dispense favours, create obligations, and play the systems against each other.

Most of Isis 2’s wealth came from its finance houses and banks. Of the four ex-Sakhran systems in the Commonwealth, Isis had by far the highest per capita income and standard of living, if you excluded Sakhrans from the calculation. And it showed, not least in the view of De Vere which Ansah was admiring.

The exclusion of Sakhrans from the calculation also showed in the view; unlike the other ex-Sakhran systems, Isis almost ghettoised Sakhrans in residential areas outside the cities. The irony was that Sakhrans themselves preferred living separately. The authorities had preferences of their own: they preferred that Sakhrans’ relative poverty, and their blocky functional buildings, be kept at a distance. Accusations of racism, which came regularly from other Commonwealth systems, were mainly but not entirely justified.

Mainly But Not Entirely. Most things, Ansah reflected, were not as simple close up. Her time on the Sirhan had taught her that. When you look close up, simple issues pass out of focus, dissolving into Ifs and Buts. She even sensed that the Chairman might be realising this; there were things she had noted, detailed nuances of his voice and body language…

No, enough of that. The outcome of this trial is inevitable.

She suspected that the Department had already forgotten Isis and was concentrating on how to defend Horus, where She’d probably appear next. There were rumours that they were sending Foord there. It made sense; Foord was the second best of the nine. The best was Anwar Caal, who commanded the Albert Camus, leadship of the Outsider class, but they’d keep him in reserve; if Foord failed at Horus, Earth would be next.

Ansah once had a relationship with Foord. Given their two natures it worked well, with only occasional violence on either side. Foord, despite all his obsessions and compulsions, had given her something she still valued: a quiet friendship of equals. Ansah had heard that he didn’t do relationships anymore; apparently his affections were now directed elsewhere. A shame: she could have done with some of his quiet friendship now.

The pilot leaned out of the flier and gestured to her to return. She nodded. None of them—pilot, Sakhran, or Ansah—had said a word to each other.

Second Voice resumed.

“Commander, you were telling us your ship was assigned to a task force of four heavy cruisers and the battleship Thomas Cromwell. The Thomas Cromwell was destroyed, as we’ve heard. What happened to the others?”

“They made it back, but they were all damaged and suffered casualties.”

“Would you say heavy casualties, Commander?”

“Compared to what?” The moment she said it, she realised where she’d been led.

“Why, compared to your ship, Commander! But then, your ship was hardly an active participant in the events, was it?”

Ansah did not reply, and Second Voice went on.

“Let’s go back to those orders from the Department, Commander. They placed your ship specifically under the command of Isis Fleet, didn’t they?”

“Yes. They were quite specific.”

“And they said that if the unidentified ship was detected entering Isis system, the task force was to move out and engage it, directed and led by the Thomas Cromwell. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“So what happened when the unidentified ship was detected entering Isis system?”

“The task force moved out and engaged it, directed and led by the Thomas Cromwell. Four hours later Faith had completed Her attack, and five Isis ships were destroyed or damaged.”

“And what of your ship? The Sirhan?”

“It returned undamaged, and with no casualties, after taking survivors off the Thomas Cromwell.”

“It returned after it took survivors off, because after it took survivors off you ordered it to leave the scene of battle. You deserted, Commander! You ran away! That’s correct, isn’t it?”

“Everything except Deserted and Ran Away.”

“And how would you characterise what you did?”

“I can only answer that by going back to my orders. I’d like to say something about my orders.”

“In good time, Commander. Let’s not leave what you actually did, not just yet. I want to be clear about this. If you never Deserted, and you never Ran Away, how would you characterise what you did?”

“A moment, please” said the Chairman, to Second Voice. “We can come back to that. Let’s hear her first. Commander, you wanted to say something about your orders?”

She paused before answering.

“The Department made a stupid decision. Those orders cost you most of your Fleet. All Outsiders fight best alone.” She noted the stirrings and mutterings among the silhouetted figures, and added for good measure, “We’re like Sakhrans. We don’t work in teams.”

“Commander, if it was so stupid…”

“Which it was. I bet it won’t be repeated at Horus.”

“…If it was so stupid, why was the Department so insistent that you should be under Isis Fleet’s command?”

“I don’t know. Maybe your leading citizens used their political connections.”

Second Voice resumed.

“You’re the one who’s on trial here, Commander. For your life. Let’s return to the issue. If you never Deserted, and you never Ran Away, how would you characterise what you did?”

“I was protecting my ship. And giving the next Outsider, when it faces Her, a better chance than I had.”

“Commander—”

“No, let her go on,” the Chairman said. “I want this, for the record.”

“During the engagement I realised that She can never be stopped by conventional people in conventional ships. She can only be stopped when an Outsider engages Her alone, without any constraints like those on me. I don’t know who She is, where She comes from, or why She’s doing this, but I know that nothing except an Outsider, alone, will be good enough to stop Her.”

She paused, almost embarrassed: it was one of her longer speeches to the Court, and it sounded like it was turning into a defense, which she hadn’t intended.

In front of her, Isis was starting to set. Shadows of dusky pink and dark red were settling over De Vere; evening light slanted through the great curving bay window, enriching the dark reds of the furniture. That, and the lengthening silence of those in front of her, broken only by a couple of murmurs, reminded her of the Bridge of the Sirhan.

“We’ll return to these matters in detail tomorrow, Commander,” the Chairman said eventually. “We have much we need to ask you about the engagement.”

“And,” Ansah said, “about what She did after the engagement.”

The Chairman glanced up at her sharply. “That too,” he snapped. “Court is adjourned.”

•

The following morning statements were taken from some of the surviving officers and crew of the Thomas Cromwell and the four cruisers. They gave detailed accounts of how the engagement had been fought, and how the Sirhan left them. They generally tallied, and Ansah placed on record her agreement that in all material respects they were accurate. The Court asked her if she wished to reserve her position in respect of any discrepancies, but she declined.

“And that is it, is it, Commander?” This was Fourth Voice.

“I’m sorry,” she replied, genuinely confused by the grammar. “What is what?”

“That’s what you want to tell us about the events of the engagement, is it?”

“Oh, I see….Well, I’ve acknowledged that those statements are substantially correct, and there’s what I said at the end of yesterday’s session. Did you want me to add something?”

“How about, you know, something along the lines of a defense?”

“Just questions, please,” the Chairman reminded Fourth Voice, “and not rhetoric.”

“So you’ve agreed with the survivors’ accounts, and you’ve referred us to what you said yesterday. What you said yesterday boils down to this: your orders tied you to our ships and stopped you fighting Her properly. Is that it? You think that’s enough from you?”

“Yes.”

“Well it isn’t, Commander. Frankly it stinks.”

“You’ve recently acquired knowledge of things that stink.”

There was a silence.

“Perhaps,” the Chairman said, “you should have thought before you said that, Commander.”

“No, Mr. Chairman,” Fourth Voice said. “That’s all right. Let her have that one, on us.”

After the engagement with the five Isis ships, which She had won so brilliantly and shockingly, and with the Sirhan having left the scene of battle to pick up survivors, there was nothing to stop Her turning towards De Vere. She did so.

It was a matter of record that She never attacked undefended civilian targets. This time, however, She did attack a civilian target, but in a most unexpected way.

She went first to one of the city’s poorer southern suburbs, consisting mainly of Sakhran ghettoes, where She hovered mysteriously over one area for a few minutes, then turned and set off towards the city centre. Later it became apparent that She had scooped up some faecal waste—both human and Sakhran—from a sewage treatment plant, synthesised it in large quantities, carried it stored under high pressure back to De Vere, and released it as a spray above the city. Then She left, and passed out of the system.

The effect was incalculable. It was, as the Chairman had described it, unprecedented and humiliating. It was also particularly apt: Isis was famously obsessive about the beauty and fragrance of its cities, and of its people. The story spread rapidly over the other twenty-eight systems. Isis, and De Vere, would forever be known as the place where She had done this.

And the smell and stains absolutely would not go away. Sakhran faeces smelt many times worse than human faeces, and left stains on De Vere’s palladian facades and colonnades and piazzas which responded only gradually to even the most high-powered of hoses. The city’s renowned formal gardens also suffered; Sakhran faeces killed rather than fertilised.

It was the first thing She had ever done which might, just possibly, hint at a motive. Or maybe not; nobody knew anything about Her, and She had never made or answered any communication. And yet, it was said throughout the Commonwealth, how exquisitely judged! And how exquisitely executed! Until you remembered the five Isis ships and their crews.

“No, Mr Chairman.” Fourth Voice said. “That’s all right. Let her have that one, on us. Commander, I’m bound to say that your attitude towards this trial is at best questionable. You’ve refused to call witnesses in your defense, you’ve refused to cross-examine any witnesses we might call, you’ve refused to appoint a legal adviser or to accept our offer of one, you only answer our questions partially, and when you do it’s as if you’re doing us a favour. Either pull out of this trial altogether—and we advised you of your right to do that—or participate in it; but don’t insult us. That unidentified ship does enigmatic silences and hidden meanings much better than you do.”

“I’m sorry,” Ansah said, “if my attitude to the trial has offended you. Frankly, the trial isn’t going the way I wanted.”

“You’re not the first defendant to think that.”

“No, I mean the way I wanted. It’s been concerned too much with my personal guilt or innocence.”

“I rather thought that was the idea of a trial, Commander.”

“No. If you find me guilty, you’re wrong. If you find me innocent, you’re wrong.”

The hazy outlines behind the long curved table exchanged whispers and glances. Ansah could imagine their expressions, and remembered a phrase Foord sometimes used for such people: clitoris-faced and labial-lipped. She waited a while, calculating when best to speak, then said loudly “Forks.” She was gratified to see a couple of them, including Fourth Voice, actually jump.

“What was that, Commander?”

“Forks. A road with two forks. Sakhrans call them Binary Gates. Two alternatives, one for Guilty and one for Innocent. But I made earlier decisions at earlier forks. The fork I’m facing now, at this trial, is so far down the road that wherever I go, it won’t alter the main direction.”

“So you’re not Guilty and you’re not Innocent. What are you?”

“When I was sent to Isis I received sealed orders for this mission. When I decided to open them I knew that sooner or later that decision would kill me. As you know, those orders put my ship under the control of Isis Fleet if there was an engagement with Her. I could have refused to obey them, and died there and then. I could have accepted them, joined your Fleet and fought in a battle which I knew was already lost; and died then. Or I could have withdrawn my ship, knowing that I would have to stand trial; and die now.”

“Do you mean to tell this Court that—is something amusing you, Commander?”

Ansah had been smiling faintly. “I’m sorry. I had a bet with myself that if anyone used the phrase Do You Mean To Tell This Court, it would be you.”

“I’ll use it again,” Fourth Voice snapped. “Do you mean to tell this Court that when a Class 101 battleship and four Class 097 heavy cruisers—let’s leave your ship out of it, shall we, since that’s what you did—when those five ships engage a single opponent, far from having even a limited expectation of success they’re inevitably going to be defeated?”

“Yes. And they were.”

“Commander, listen to me carefully. You’re on trial for your life. Why did you leave those ships to Her?”

Ansah paused.

“They didn’t have a chance, and I told them. That’s on record. I asked them to get out of my way and let me engage Her alone, and they refused. That’s on record. They couldn’t accept that they were facing an invincible opponent. They couldn’t accept that giving way to an Outsider—something completely abhorrent to them—was their only chance of survival. So they lost; and that’s on record.”

There was a few seconds’ silence from the figures at the table. Then a new voice spoke; she called it Ninth Voice.

“Commander Ansah, I’d like to ask you about your ship. The Sirhan, as we’ve heard, is an Outsider Class cruiser. I understand that Outsiders are believed to be capable, on present documented evidence, of at least matching the performance and firepower of this unidentified ship. Is that correct?”

“On present documented evidence.”

“Then wouldn’t such a ship be decisive in the engagement, especially when added to those five others? Why should it be more likely to fail with those five than without?”

“You’ve heard me tell the Court there are nine Outsiders.”

“Yes.”

“Do you know how much each one is worth?”

“Probably something that sounds good when you recite it: the entire cost of Isis Fleet, or the entire annual gross product of Bast, or something similar.”

“That will do well enough. And do you know their political status?”

“I thought you’d already told us, Commander…and I believe that I’m supposed to be asking you questions.”

“Then please ask that one. It’s important.”

Pause.

“Commander, what is the political status of the nine Outsiders?”

“They’re Instruments of the Commonwealth, outside the normal command structures. They report directly to the Department of Administrative Affairs. They fight alone, not in a team.”

“Yes, we know all that, you already told us. Why is it important?”

“There are people…” Ansah paused, and began again. “There are people who say that if She can only be stopped by an Outsider, then maybe it’s better if She isn’t stopped at all.”

“And are you familiar with that attitude, Commander?”

“I see it wherever I go. It’s like we’re carrying a disease. Outsiders have a certain reputation. They’re accountable to nobody, at least nobody anyone would recognise, and they’re run on lines most miltary people wouldn’t understand. So people treat them as alien ships, crewed by aliens.”

“How do you mean, Crewed By Aliens?”

“People of unusual ability, otherwise they wouldn’t be there. But people who don’t fit into any conventional authority structure, because they’re too ambitious or unambitious, too political or apolitical, too stable or unstable. Most of them are sociopathic, many are psychopathic. Most of them have done terrible things.”

“Is that the real reason they’re called Outsiders?”

“Yes.”

Some of the figures facing her glanced at each other, but said nothing. To fill the silence, Ansah added “And there will never be any more than nine. They’re expensive, but the Commonwealth could easily afford to build fifty.”

“Then why only nine?”

“Would any rational system deliberately inject a disease into itself? Nine is all the Commonwealth could possibly take. They were conceived in back alleys, built in secret, launched almost in guilt, and commissioned without ceremonies. They’re even named after ancient killers and loners and assassins: Sirhan, James Earl Ray, Charles Manson. They’re like some shameful medical condition. And yet they’re the only Commonwealth ships which might defeat Her.”

“And the only time,” Ninth Voice said quietly, “the only time an Outsider has ever faced Her was here, in our system. And you turned away.”

“Yes.”

“Don’t you think it’s time you told us how you remember that engagement? Not statements or recordings, but how you remember it.”

“I remember when I first saw Her. It’s true what they say, it’s not like seeing pictures of Her. When She unshrouds, there’s something about Her actual presence which you don’t forget.

“She’s a bit smaller than an Outsider, but a very similar shape, a thin silver delta. But on Her, the shape looks different. Like She’s only the visible part of something larger.

“I remember seeing Her pick off the others one by one. It was obscene; they didn’t have a chance.

“I remember requesting the Cromwell, again and again, to withdraw that ridiculous task force and let me engage Her alone. All my requests were refused, and all of them are on record.

“I remember thinking that She could have destroyed those cruisers, but She only disabled them. There were casualties, but there were also survivors.

“I remember how She kept probes on the Sirhan all through the engagement. She made no move against us, and we made none against Her, but Her probes were on us all the time, and they were much stronger than ours on Her. Ours gave us nothing.

“And I remember the Thomas Cromwell, because that’s where the end came. The Cromwell tried to keep Her at long range and use its beam weapons, but She turned suddenly, in Her own length, and charged down its throat in less than a nanosecond, too quickly for the Cromwell’s electronics to refocus. That’s the first time I’ve seen a ship do something in battle which was both pure reason and pure impulse. It was done so suddenly that it even outpaced computers. It looked instinctive; yet logically it was perfect, and She executed it perfectly.

“I remember one other thing. She could have used Her own beams and vaporised the Cromwell, but instead She used conventional closeup weapons. Again, She left survivors. I don’t know if that was intentional. I don’t know Her motives. Nobody does. She never communicates.”

“So, Commander, we’ve come to the point where you turned away.”

“Yes, I turned away. I took survivors off the Cromwell rather than chase Her, because I knew…”

“A moment, Commander. You say She was heading here, and you didn’t chase Her?”

“Yes. I knew She’d never attacked civilian targets. And I knew there were people on the Cromwell I could save. Even knowing what She did to your city, I’d still do the same.”

Ansah remembered how, on the Bridge of the Sirhan, She was first registered by the scanners: blips and echoes and simulations denoting a single ship of similar dimensions to the Sirhan. And then She unshrouded.

Ansah had watched in disbelief as She moved among them like a living thing, the way Ansah always imagined the Sirhan appeared in comparison to ordinary ships. Faith made even the Sirhan look like an ordinary ship. She looked like She belonged in empty space; like She was actually a part of empty space, a small part made solid and visible. And the rest looming around Her, unseen.

There were low chimes from a gold carriage clock on the long table. It was well into evening. During the pause, and in view of the unexpectedly late hour, tea was served. The silence refocused to a muted clatter of porcelain and silver among the indistinct figures at the long curved table. Even in here, the smell of faeces persisted round the edges.

“Thank you, Commander,” the Chairman said. “I think none of us realised how late it was. The Court is adjourned until tomorrow morning.”

The trial wore on for another few days, but that was its last substantive chapter. There came an afternoon, seven days later, when all depositions and statements had been read and considered, all recordings of the engagement played and studied, all theories of Faith’s nature and origin weighed, and all matters of Ansah’s record and conduct assessed; and the Chairman found himself ready to bring the trial to a close.

“Commander Ansah.”

She stood and faced him. The Chairman studied her through the gathering twilight as Isis set over De Vere, turning the air velvet. She was a beautiful woman, tall and elegant. She was Commander of an Outsider, and he knew she had done terrible things; he’d seen them in her record. Yet she wasn’t unlikeable; even here, at her trial, she had shown glimpses of a self-mocking sense of humour. How had she found time in her life, which wouldn’t last much longer, for such a career? And how could she have done those things?

“Commander Ansah, these proceedings are concluded. The Court will adjourn to consider its verdict on the two charges against you: Cowardice and Desertion.”

He realised, only after he said it, that the final words he would speak to her in these proceedings, the final words on the transcript until the announcement of the verdict, would be Cowardice and Desertion.

The Chairman felt a mounting unease. He knew that an injustice was going to be done, but he genuinely didn’t see how to make it right; and even the injustice would have some trace elements of justice. Nothing was simple.

The outcome was inevitable, like the fate of those five Isis ships; she knew that. But there was something he still might do for her.

“Ebele Ansah, please stand. The Court has now reached its verdict,” the Chairman told her, three days later. “On the charge of Cowardice we find you Not Guilty. Unanimously. On the charge of Desertion we find you Guilty. Eleven votes to one.”

Ansah gazed back at him, without any visible emotion.

This was what the Chairman had done for her. For three days he had argued against the Cowardice charge, insisting they find her Not Guilty. Their opposition was furious, but he would not be moved. Sensing his mood, some of them had even tried to compromise with a verdict of Not Proven, but still he would not be moved. So, Not Guilty of Cowardice was what he had done for her, but Guilty of Desertion was inevitable. Even she knew that.

“Commander, you know the sentence.”

“Yes,” Ansah said. “I request the Court to allow me to carry it out on myself, in accordance with military custom.”

“That’s granted, of course. You have until midnight. The Court Secretary will bring you the necessary substances.”

“Thank you.”

“Commander,” the Chairman said, “would you like us to provide you with a companion of some kind?”

“Yes. I’d like my guard, if he agrees.” She turned to the Sakhran. “Will you?”

“Of course,” he said. It was the first time they had spoken to each other.

•

The pictures faded from where Foord had imagined them, in some quasi-space behind the words of the transcript; then the words themselves faded from the screen. He turned away. His grief for Ansah had come, occupied its allotted time, and gone; much like his relationship with her. What it left was a sense of unfamiliarity, the knowledge that she was no longer a part of the universe. It would make the shape of his life different. The rest of his life, for as far as he chose to see it, would be devoted to Faith. We were made for each other. We belong together.

He recounted his mission briefing from the Department. It was an irritating document, overwritten and portentous (the Department always knew more than it let on, or thought it did) and ultimately of no use to him. Everyone wants to know what She is and where She comes from. Me, I’m interested only in what She’s done. I’ve studied what She’s done, and I know how to defeat Her.

“Thahl.”

“Commander?”

“Lay in a course for Blentport on Sakhra, please.”