Jainan felt an unpleasant tingle under his skin. Internal Security had no reason to outright lie to them. “If that’s true, she’s technically committed a crime,” he said. “But you can only prove she was trying to get into Kingfisher’s systems. You have no evidence she murdered Taam.”
“Apart from a clear motive against Taam and against Kingfisher,” Rakal said. They put up their hand to forestall Kiem’s protest. “Yes—I have seen the resignation letter you copied to us. It is a forgery. The military has no record of receiving it.”
Jainan’s mouth was dry. “I see.”
“The situation is untidy.” Rakal said untidy with an air of picking up a rotting piece of vegetable matter. “The Emperor has entrusted Internal Security with finding an answer before Unification Day; the evidence must be watertight. We know Audel is traveling to Carissi Station to witness the treaty signing. The Kingfisher refinery is in the same habitat cluster as the station. We believe she intends to make another attempt at illegally accessing Kingfisher’s network from there.”
“What’s that got to do with Jainan?” Kiem said.
“We want you to give her an access credential to the refinery,” Rakal said. Their manner was abrasive, but unlike some of the military they spoke directly to Jainan, not through Kiem, with a gaze that seemed to bore through the back of Jainan’s skull. “She will try and use it. The device is a honeypot, set up to gather evidence of what she does in the refinery. Once we have proof of sabotage, we can use that to tie this up. It will also clear your name.”
“You can’t force Jainan to do this,” Kiem said. He had switched back to his initial combative tone. Jainan would have appreciated it, but both Rakal and Kiem sounded muffled to him. The enormity of Galactic politics seemed to be pressing on him like a gravity well, as if the unfathomable distance and terrible strangeness of the other Resolution systems were clustering in low orbit above them. The Empire didn’t just mean Iskat: the Empire was Thea as well, and five other planets with hundreds of millions of citizens, all drifting away from the rest of the universe like the axial tilt of winter.
“I’ll do it,” Jainan said. He felt gray and stretched, like an old piece of cloth. There was no choice. There had never been a choice.
“Is it really justice if you’re trapping her into it?” Kiem said to Rakal. “I thought justice was the point.”
“Justice means nothing without a framework to impose it,” Rakal said. “Internal Security is an intelligence agency, not a policing body; we are about stability.”
Jainan found himself in unwilling agreement. He said nothing.
“Doing a good job there, aren’t you?” Kiem said mutinously. “I don’t buy this explanation. I don’t have a better one, but I don’t buy it. Don’t tell me Professor Audel sabotaged our flybug.”
Rakal hesitated. “That has given us something of a headache,” they admitted. “It would have been a big risk for her to take. But it is a common mechanical flaw, and I understand you were putting unusual demands on the flybug. It could have been an accident.”
“I feel so safe,” Kiem said.
“I will assign close protection to your flybug—”
“I’m not getting in one of those until this is all over,” Kiem said bluntly. “My aide says she’ll book a random shuttle for us to travel on to Carissi Station tomorrow, so unless someone wants to blow up the entire shuttleport, they shouldn’t be able to do anything. But I don’t like trapping Audel like this. I thought Internal Security was at least bothered about the law.”
“The state is the law, Your Highness,” Rakal said. “I serve the Emperor.”
Kiem’s expression said, as clearly as if he’d passed Jainan a note, that this was not as reassuring as Rakal thought it was. Jainan swallowed a bubble of hysteria at this perilous swerve toward lèse-majesté. “We understand, Agent Rakal,” Jainan said. “We are all dedicated to the Empire.”
Rakal turned on their own wristband briskly, a sign the interview was coming to a close. “A representative from Press Office is waiting to speak to you,” Rakal said. Press Office also came out like a piece of radioactive waste in a pair of tongs. “A local newslog in Braska ran a report on Prince Kiem’s failure to attend the school graduation. Whatever story you give them must contain nothing that points to the investigation. Do I need to invoke the Imperial Voice?”
“No,” Kiem said. He pushed himself up from his slouch just to slump forward, his head bowed over his knees. “I’ll do it. I can handle them.”
Jainan had long ago realized that anger was an unsuitable emotion for diplomats and suppressed it, so it took him a moment to recognize the low, cold sensation at Kiem being given a further set of orders. “I hope this has given you what you need, Agent Rakal,” he said. “Kiem is suffering from stim hangover; may we leave? You know where to find us.”
“You could say that.” Rakal gave a tight, unreadable smile. “And if not, I’m sure the newslogs will tell me.”
Jainan rose and had to stop himself from reaching a hand out to help Kiem. Kiem would find that embarrassing; Jainan himself would have rather given a tell-all interview to a newslog than accepted physical support in front of Rakal. Kiem was fine, in any case, even if he moved more slowly than usual.
Bel met them at the door to Internal Security’s offices, which let into a wide hallway with curved stairs leading down to the entrance of the staffing headquarters. She cast a glance over Kiem that was somewhere between impatient and worried. “There’s a palace medic waiting for Kiem downstairs,” she said—to Jainan, as if Jainan could do anything about it. “Make him get checked. Press Office as well, but I’ll try and head them off.”
“I’m okay,” Kiem said. “All I want is a shower.” When they rounded the curve of the stairs and he saw who was standing at the bottom, he groaned and collapsed on Jainan’s shoulder. “Nope, scratch that, I’m definitely too ill to talk.”
Jainan offered his arm without thinking. Of the two people waiting for them, one was a palace nurse. The other was someone Jainan had only had very brief, unpleasant dealings with and did not particularly want to be debriefed by.
“Trust you,” the chief press officer said. Hren Halesar had his arms crossed and was standing in Kiem’s path. “Trust you to fuck up a school visit. You really crashed?”
Kiem stumbled down the last of the stairs on Jainan’s arm and stopped. “Urgh,” he said. “Yes, we crashed. I fell in a river. Jainan fought off a bear. There were flights of angels. Alien invasions. Can I get my checkup and go to bed?”
“Angels my ass. Have you been talking to any journalists?”
“Yes, one popped out of the lockers on the rescue flyer,” Kiem said. He was still leaning on Jainan, and Jainan didn’t think it was all theatrics. “I just attract them. Pheromones.” Jainan choked.
“They’re trying to get hold of you. A couple of outlets picked up that local report about your no-show at Braska. Don’t reply. I’ve been told by the spies that they need this to disappear for the sake of the fucking Resolution”—his expression made it very clear that Press Office wasn’t any fonder of Internal Security than Rakal was of them—“so I’ll need a statement and a short vid from you.”