The Roach God

The answer, when it finally came, did not come from him.

It came on the fourth evening after the cricket, in the reporting crawl, and it came from Khrr — and it did not arrive as a plan or a proposal, because Khrr had no way to make either.

It arrived the way everything from Khrr arrived:

as an object placed in front of him, complete, that he was expected to understand.

The object was a route.

Scent-marked on the floor in the compressed shorthand the two of them had spent two months building, it ran from the deep ground east — and Sacha followed it with his antennae twice before he registered that it did not touch the corridor at any point.

It went under it.

Through the cracked footing network Thresh had drawn as a smear, the ground nobody mapped because nobody could use it, a route composed almost entirely of gaps.

Sacha’s first reaction was to explain to Khrr, patiently, why it didn’t work.

He got as far as forming the objection before it fell apart in his own head.

The objection was:

nothing can move through that.

And that was true.

Nothing could.

Not a rat.

Not a beetle in fitted plate.

Not a column of the Ascension’s carriers with their outriders spaced at doctrinal intervals.

Not a cricket with one stiff leg.

Not the Ninefold Mother, whose bodies had been bred for six generations to be the sort of thing that holds a corridor.

Every power in this sector fought in corridors because corridors were where bodies their size could go.

A roach could compress itself to the width of a coin.

A roach could go sixteen hours without air worth the name, could take a fall that should have been fatal, could squeeze through a fracture in poured concrete that a scouting eye would not even register as a passage.

He had spent two months trying to work out what his colony had that either faction would want.

It had never once occurred to him that the answer was the thing everyone had always used to describe why his species was worthless.

He sat down on the floor of the reporting crawl, in front of a route drawn by someone who could not tell him why, and made himself go through it properly rather than surrendering to the first rush of it.

Because the first rush was dangerous.

He knew the feeling — had felt it four times in eleven years, standing at a scene with a sudden certainty that he’d seen the thing everyone else had missed.

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Twice he’d been right.

Twice he’d been about to do something extremely stupid at speed, and the only reason he hadn’t was that somebody older had put a hand on his arm.

There was nobody down here to put a hand on his arm.

So he made himself be the hand.

He worked the route backward from its far end, which was the discipline: not does this work, but how does this fail.

It failed if the gaps were sealed anywhere along the smeared section.

It failed if there was standing water.

It failed if something already lived down there, which he had precisely no way to check without sending people.

It failed if the far end came up somewhere visible, in which case the entire advantage evaporated in a single sighting and the Ascension’s next inventory would include a line about roaches who could go under corridors.

That last one stopped him cold for a while.

The advantage only existed as long as nobody knew it existed.

Which meant every use of it spent a little of it, permanently, and the first time it was used badly it stopped being an advantage and became a description of him.

The route was not safe. Half of it was unmapped smear on Thresh’s drawing — the beetle’s honest shorthand for nobody who went in came out to describe it, and that silence was itself a finding. It would be slow — days, not hours, through ground with no water in most of it.

It could not move the nursery.

It could not move sixty.

It might, at a generous estimate, move eight.

But it went east, and it went east underneath a corridor that two powers had been unable to take from each other in living memory, and it arrived on the far side of a war neither of them could walk around.

Which meant Sacha’s people were not, in fact, a colony that needed to be let through.

They were the only thing in this sector that could carry something from one side of that corridor to the other without being seen.

The Mother doesn’t need me, he thought, and felt the whole shape of the last three weeks pivot around a single fixed point. The Mother doesn’t need a colony. Nobody needs a colony. But an old, patient, extremely careful power that intends to still be standing in fifty years, sitting across a corridor it cannot cross from a rival it cannot reach —

He looked up.

Khrr was watching him with the flat, unhurried attention of something that had worked all of this out several days ago and had been waiting for the god to catch up.

You already know, Sacha sent, into a channel that did not reach, and would not have carried it anyway.

Khrr shifted its weight, and marked one more thing on the floor beside the route:

a single scent-glyph, the one they had built weeks ago to mean first group.

And then, under it, the one that meant me.

Sacha looked at the two marks.

The correct answer — the answer eleven years of triage produced automatically, before he could stop it — was no. Khrr was the single most valuable asset the colony possessed, more valuable than the deep ground, more valuable than four immature lineages, arguably more valuable than Sacha himself in any scenario where the route worked and the god had to stay behind to hold a claim.

You did not send your one irreplaceable thing into unmapped ground on a route nobody had ever come back from.

He had the whole argument assembled.

It was airtight.

It was also, he understood with something close to vertigo, exactly the argument that would have kept Khrr a capability for another two months.

You wrote it into the plan before you showed me, he sent, uselessly. Again.

Khrr waited.

And Sacha finally understood what he’d been failing to see since the night on the reporting line when he’d stopped and had no question to ask.

Khrr had not put itself in the first group because it wanted to die, or because it thought it was expendable, or out of any of the noble and slightly insulting reasons Sacha had been quietly assigning to it.

Khrr had put itself in the first group because it was the only member of this colony capable of understanding what it was walking into — and it had worked out, entirely on its own, that a route this valuable had to be scouted by someone who could tell the difference between this is impassable and this is difficult.

It was not a sacrifice.

It was a professional judgement about staffing, made by the only other professional in the room, and Sacha had been about to override it out of affection.

He reached out and touched an antenna to the glyph.

Once.

Deliberately, where Khrr could see it.

Approved, he sent, to nobody, in a language that did not exist.

Then he went to find Thresh, because there was one more thing this route needed before anyone walked it, and it was a map of the far side drawn by the only creature in his cellar who had ever been there.