The Roach God

The Ascension came back on the fifty-eighth day.

It was not the same beetle.

Sacha registered that at three hundred lengths and spent the remaining approach working out why it mattered.

The first one had known everything.

It had walked in with a headcount, a nursery figure, and the name of a dead colony, and had used all of it as a demonstration—we see you completely, and we are choosing not to act on it yet.

Sending a different one was a different kind of statement.

It said the first conversation was closed.

It said whatever file the Ascension kept on the west cellar had been reassigned to somebody senior enough to close things.

He had nine minutes again, and this time he spent all of them on one question:

What do they want that they did not want two months ago?

The first one had walked in down the foraging route with an inventory.

This one stopped at the marks — at the marks, the way the Mother’s nine had — and waited to be received, and Sacha noted every element of that and did not enjoy a single one.

They have started treating me the way they treat her, he thought. That is not a promotion. That is a reclassification.

He put Vek on the receiving line beside him, something he hadn’t done for the Mother’s nine and wouldn’t have thought of two months ago.

Not for support.

A claim with two authorities in it should look like one from the outside as well as from four hundred lengths.

And if the Ascension had already worked out that the border had not been moved by him, pretending otherwise would be the first lie he had told anybody in this sector.

She did not ask why.

She took the position, read the approach, and held it, and Sacha noticed that she was reading the emissary’s escort spacing the way he had once read a supply column from a ridge — counting intervals, checking them against themselves.

She learned that in nineteen days without me, he thought. Or she had it the whole time and I never once looked.

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[Contact acknowledged.

Claim: registered.

Divine Creature — Echelon 4.]

It stopped at mark three, we will talk. Using it was a choice.

You have moved, the emissary sent.

We have.

Sixty lengths east, onto a second water, ten days ago. Marked the day before rather than the day after. The beetle let that sit exactly long enough. That was well done and it was not done by you. You were underground.

Sacha did not confirm it and did not need to.

And grown, and split your authority, and taken a second water. Its antennae moved once. And you have been underground for nineteen days and come back at a rank you did not leave with. We would like to know what is under you.

Sacha kept everything flat.

You can read a claim’s shape from four hundred lengths, Sacha sent. Read it.

He was not being clever.

He had spent nineteen days learning what could and could not be read at that distance, and he knew, with a precision he hadn’t possessed two months ago, that the honest answer to this question would be unhelpful to them and that saying it plainly cost him nothing.

We have. No irritation in it, which was worse than irritation. There is nothing to read. There is a hole under your territory that our surveys say is sealed and your people say is not, and there is a colony above it whose shape changed in a way that shapes do not change.

It settled. We do not enjoy things we cannot read. It is the entire basis on which we operate.

Then let me save you an afternoon, Sacha sent. I am not going to tell you what is under my territory.

No, the emissary agreed, without any apparent disappointment. We assumed not. You have been asked now, which is a thing that has to happen in a particular order, and I have watched you decline, which is another.

Its antennae moved. You should understand that most of what I am doing here is procedural. It is not less dangerous for that. It is generally more.

And there it was — the first useful thing Sacha had learned about the Sixth Ascension since the cricket had described it.

You expand by acquiring, he sent, slowly. Everything you take, you have to hold. So before you take a thing, you price it. And you cannot price a thing you cannot read.

Yes.

So what happens to a claim you cannot price?

The emissary took its time.

Historically, it sent, we take it early, cheaply, before it becomes expensive to find out.

Sacha held his sending flat and did the arithmetic in the space behind it.

Nine years of doctrine.

A power that grows by acquiring and therefore has to price everything it acquires.

And a small claim on its flank that had, in two months, moved a border, split its authority, gained a rank, and acquired a hole underneath it that their surveys could not see into.

He was not being threatened because he was dangerous.

He was being threatened because he had become ambiguous, and ambiguity was the one thing an organization built entirely on pricing could not hold on its books.

You want to know what’s under me, he sent, because if it’s nothing you’ve overpaid, and if it’s something you’ve underpaid, and either way somebody in your structure has to write a number down this season.

The emissary’s antennae moved once, and Sacha understood that he had just been assessed and had come out somewhere he would not have chosen.

You are considerably better at this than you were two months ago, it sent. That is not, from where I stand, an argument for waiting.