Satrap Nim­rod
What are you talk­ing about now?
Gil
Bes­tial Liberation—we—we try to help beasts, like the lamashu. We’re against bes­tial oppres­sion.
Satrap Nim­rod
Bes­tial oppres­sion? Get him out of here, I don’t have time—

The two hoplites lift Gil up and drag him towards the door. But Gil twists around as much as he can.

Gil
You think I’m lying to you? You’d just assume I was a ter­ror­ist instead, and send me off to be tor­tured? How can you be that igno­rant!

Nim­rod looks up from his papers, and just barely smirks. The hoplites stop drag­ging Gil.

Satrap Nim­rod
Do not call me igno­rant, boy.

For a moment Gil thinks the satrap is going to snap and lunge over his desk to attack him. But then the door to the room opens to a com­mo­tion out­side.

Impe­r­ial Hoplite
Satrap, sir, the girl is hys­ter­i­cal. She won’t stop kick­ing us, and she keeps on ram­bling about beasts—
Satrap Nim­rod
Beasts? What, had you two worked out some excuse in case you got cap­tured?

One of the other hoplite guards steps for­ward. Gil notices that he has tanned, light-brown skin, like the natives.

Native Hoplite
Satrap, I think the boy is telling the truth. Bes­tial Lib­er­a­tion is known to us. The group oper­ates under­ground, and many of them are cer­tainly crim­i­nals. But they do not appear to have any sig­nif­i­cant rela­tion to the native resis­tance, or to the mys­tics. And in any case, I have never seen these two in the native dis­trict.
Satrap Nim­rod
Is that so. Well, I’m not going to inter­ro­gate a kid for belong­ing to some mis­fit animal-loving cult.

Gil breathes a sigh of relief.

Gil
Satrap, sir, thank you for see­ing rea­son—
Satrap Nim­rod
Rea­son, boy? I don’t see any rea­son for what you did. You’re lucky that mon­ster you set free didn’t kill some­one. You will await trial until mar­tial law is lifted. I expect your judg­ment will be harsh. Take him to the prison.
Native Hoplite
But satrap, sir—the prison is already over capac­ity. All those natives we brought in from the riot tonight—
Satrap Nim­rod
Hmm.

He strokes his chin, star­ing placidly at Gil.

Satrap Nim­rod
I should just have your hands cut off. Did you know that is what the natives did to thieves, before we Akka­di­ans came here? Per­haps there are some glim­mers of enlight­en­ment in their bar­barism…

Gil gulps. Even in the strangely cool air, he can’t stop sweat­ing. The satrap con­tin­ues to look at him, right in the eye, with his half-smirk.

Finally, he looks down at his desk and begins scrib­bling onto a sheet of paper.

Satrap Nim­rod
Take both of them to the old prison, then.
Native Hoplite
Satrap, that is where we are hold­ing—
Satrap Nim­rod
You have your orders, hoplite. That is that.

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