Ancillary Mercy

by Ann Leckie

  If you grew up in such a household, or took an assignment associated with one, you didn’t need to request housing from Station Administration. Your housing assignment had been made long before you were born, long before the aptitudes sent you to your post. It helped, of course, to belong to a family that had been present when a station was first built, or annexed. Or to be related to one somehow. When I had been a ship, every one of my officers who had lived on stations had belonged to such households.

  If a citizen doesn’t belong to such a household, they’re still due housing, as every citizen is. A citizen without sufficient status, or the backing of a larger, more powerful house, might find herself assigned to a bunk in a dormitory, not much different from what I had been accustomed to as an ancillary, or the common soldiers’ quarters on board Mercy of Kalr. Or one of a series of suspension-pod-size compartments, each one large enough to sleep in and perhaps hold a change of clothes or a few small possessions. Athoek Station had both of these sorts of quarters. But they were all full, because the recent destruction of several intersystem gates had re-routed ships here, and trapped others. And the closure of the Undergarden had added several hundred more citizens who needed somewhere to sleep. My Mercy of Kalrs had set up our makeshift lodgings just beyond a doorway that led to a room full of bunks, dark and quiet despite the hour, one when most station residents would be awake. Overcrowded, certainly, and likely people were sleeping in shifts.

  Eight was relieved to see me, for some reason, but also filled with indecision and ambivalence. Days ago she’d thought me entirely human. Now she knew, as everyone aboard Mercy of Kalr did, that I was not, that I was an ancillary. Now she knew, too, how much I objected to my soldiers’ playing ancillary themselves. She was at a loss as to how to speak to me.

  “Eight,” I said. “Everything’s under control, I see. No surprise there.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Eight’s uncertainty barely showed in her face or her voice—should she continue her habitual ancillary-like impassiveness, or not? Suddenly even this small interaction was precarious, where before all had been clear to her. Kalr Five felt the same, I saw, but covered her doubt with the business of stowing her precious tea set. Eight continued, “Will you have tea, sir?”

  I didn’t doubt that even here in the middle of a hallway Eight could, and would, produce tea for me if I said that I wanted it. “Thank you, no. I’ll have water.” I sat on a packing crate, turned so I could see down the open end of the corridor.

  “Sir,” Eight acknowledged. Impassive, but my reply had cast her further into doubt. Of course. Ancillaries drank water, not tea, which was only for humans, a luxury—a necessary one, it sometimes seemed. Not that there was any sort of prohibition, but one didn’t waste such luxuries on equipment. There was no answer I could have given to the question of what I would drink without seeming to send some message, or imply something about what I was or wasn’t.

  As Eight handed me the water I’d asked for—in the best porcelain she had access to just now, I noticed, the violet-and-aqua Bractware—someone came out of the nearby dormitory, turned to walk down the corridor toward where I sat. She was Ychana, dressed in the light, loose shirt and trousers nearly all the Ychana residents of the Undergarden wore. I recognized her as the person who had confronted Lieutenant Tisarwat two weeks ago, to complain—with some justice—that our proposed plans for the refit and repair of the Undergarden had not taken into account the needs and desires of Undergarden residents themselves. But I had not actually been present at that confrontation. It had been conveyed to me by Ship, who had seen and heard it through Tisarwat herself. This person would have no reason to think I would recognize her.

  But she could have no other business coming to the end of the corridor like this than speaking to me, or to one of my Kalrs. I drank my water, handed the bowl to Five, and rose. “Citizen,” I said, and bowed. “Can I be of some assistance?”

  “Fleet Captain,” she said, and bowed herself. “There was a meeting yesterday.” A meeting of Undergarden residents, she meant—it was how they settled matters that affected everyone generally. “I know you and the lieutenant were unable to attend or of course you would have been notified.”

  On the surface, entirely reasonable. Tisarwat and I had been away from the station, either aboard Mercy of Kalr or en route here. But of course any of my Kalrs that were still on the station might have been notified of such a meeting, and I knew they hadn’t been. The meeting had never been meant to include any of us, then, but saying so directly was a difficult matter, and I didn’t doubt this citizen was hoping I wouldn’t bring the question up. “Of course, citizen,” I replied. “Will you sit?” I gestured to the nearest crate. “I don’t think there’s tea ready, but we’d be happy to make some.”

  “Thank you, Fleet Captain, no.” Her message would be something awkward, then, and she was not looking forward to my reaction to it. Or perhaps to Lieutenant Tisarwat’s reaction. “The young lieutenant very kindly set up an office on level four of the Undergarden, to make it more convenient for residents to bring their desires and concerns to Station Administration. This has of course been very helpful, but perhaps her other duties have been neglected.”

  Definitely not looking forward to Tisarwat’s reaction. “And the consensus of the meeting was that someone else ought to be running that office when it opens again, I take it.”

  This citizen’s unease was barely visible, but definitely there. “Yes, Fleet Captain. We wish to emphasize, there’s no suggestion of any complaint on our part, or any impropriety on the young lieutenant’s.”

  “You just think it might be better for that office to more directly represent the concerns of the majority of Undergarden residents,” I acknowledged.

  Surprise flashed across her face, and then was gone. She had not expected me to speak so directly. “As you say, Fleet Captain.”

  “And Citizen Uran?” Uran wasn’t one of my soldiers, of course wasn’t in any way related to me, but she was nonetheless a member of my household, and had spent her mornings assisting in Tisarwat’s level four office. She was Valskaayan, the child of transportees sent to Athoek a generation ago and set to picking the tea that grew downwell, and was shipped out all over Radch space.

  “The Valskaayan child? Yes, of course, she’s welcome to continue. Please tell her so.”

  “I’ll speak to her,” I replied, “and Lieutenant Tisarwat, both.”

  Tisarwat definitely wasn’t happy. “But sir!” Urgent. Whispering, since we were still in the corridor end, squatting on the scuffed floor behind the crate perimeter. She took a breath. Said, a trace less fervently but still in a whisper, “You realize, sir, that in all likelihood we’re going to have to find a way to govern here. We need influence to do that. We’ve made a good start, we’ve put ourselves at a crucial part of…” And then remembered that unlike in our quarters in the Undergarden, Station could hear what we said, was almost certainly listening, and might or might not report what it heard to Governor Giarod. “There is no higher authority for the governor to appeal to, no other source of support in a crisis. It’s just us.”

  Eight and Ten were away, picking up our suppers at the nearest common refectory—no cooking here. Five stood guard at our improvised boundaries, pretending she couldn’t hear any of this conversation. “Lieutenant,” I said, “I would hope that you would realize that I have no desire to govern here. I am perfectly happy to let the Athoeki govern themselves.”

  She blinked, bewildered. “Sir, you aren’t serious. If the Athoeki could have governed themselves, we wouldn’t be here. And the community-meeting thing is perfectly fine so long as you’re not doing anything that needs decisive action that instant. Or even in the next few centuries.”

  In all my two thousand years, I had never noticed that any particular kind of government made any difference, once Anaander Mianaai had given the order for annexation. “Lieutenant, you are about to throw away what goodwill you’ve built up here. Considering these
are our neighbors, and we may be here for some time, I would prefer you not do that.”

  She took a breath. Calming herself. She was hurt, and angry. Felt betrayed. “Station Administration won’t be disposed to listen directly to the Ychana in the Undergarden. They never have been.”

  “Then urge them to begin, Lieutenant. You’ve already made a start on that. Continue.”

  Another breath. Somewhat mollified. “What about Citizen Uran?”

  “They’ve asked that she continue working. They didn’t explain why.”

  “Because she’s Valskaayan! Because she’s not Xhai or outsystem Radchaai!”

  “They didn’t say, but if that is part of the reason, can you blame them, considering? And I recall you yourself mentioned exactly that, when you were trying to convince me Citizen Uran should work for you.”

  Lieutenant Tisarwat took a deep, gulping breath. Opened her mouth to speak, but stopped. Took another breath. Said, almost pleading, “You still don’t trust me!”

  I had been so intent on the conversation that I had not paid much attention to anything else. Now Kalr Five spoke, forestalling my reply to Tisarwat. “How can I assist you, citizen?”

  I reached. The Notai ancillary, from Security, stood just outside our low wall. Still wearing the Ychana tunic and trousers and those gray gloves, holding, now, a bundle of gray fabric under one arm. “They let me go, and gave me clothes,” it said now, in matter-of-fact reply to Five, “and said that they regretted they had no suitable employment for me, but as that wasn’t my fault I could still eat, and have a bunk for a specific six hours out of the day. I’m told all this is at the request of Fleet Captain Breq Mianaai, who I’m certain will have arranged more comfortable circumstances for herself and her household, so she might as well take responsibility for me.”

  Kalr Five’s anger and resentment didn’t show on her face, of course. Neither did a strange sense of unease that was, I suspected, due to her knowledge that the person talking to her was, in fact, an ancillary.

  I rose before Five could respond. “Citizen,” I said, though I knew the address was technically incorrect. An ancillary wasn’t due any sort of courtesy title. “You’re welcome to stay with us, though I fear that until the Undergarden is open again, our situation won’t be much more comfortable than anyone else’s.” No response, the ancillary just stood there, solemn-faced. “It might be helpful if we knew what to call you.”

  “Call me whatever you like, Fleet Captain.”

  “I would like,” I replied, “to call you by your name.”

  “Then we are at an impasse.” Still matter-of-fact.

  “You aren’t going anywhere,” I said. “You’d have left six hundred years ago when this system was annexed if you could have. You can’t make your own gates anymore. Possibly even your engines don’t work. Which means finding you is just a matter of time and determination on our part.” In fact, it shouldn’t take more than some history and some math to discover what ship it was most likely to be. “So you might as well just tell us.”

  “You make a very persuasive point, Fleet Captain,” it said, and nothing more.

  Mercy of Kalr said, in my ear, “I’ve been thinking about this since we first realized there was a ship on the other side of the Ghost Gate, Fleet Captain. It could be any of several ships. I might say Cultivation of Tranquility, but I’m fairly certain the supply locker we found is off one of the Gems. That narrows it down to Heliodor, Idocrase, or Sphene. Pieces of Heliodor were found three provinces away during an annexation two centuries ago, and based on Idocrase’s last known heading it’s unlikely to have ended up here. I’d say this is most likely Sphene.”

  Aloud I said, “Sphene.”

  The ancillary didn’t react that I saw, but Station said in my ear, “I think that’s right, Fleet Captain. Certainly you surprised it just now.”

  Silently I said, “Thank you, Station, I appreciate your help.” Aloud, “You’ll have to get your own supper from the refectory tonight, Ship. Kalr Eight and Ten are already on the way back with the rest of ours.”

  Sphene said, a trace of ice in its voice, “I’m not your ship.”

  “Citizen, then,” I said, though I knew that was no better. I gestured toward our little territory. “You may as well come in. If you are coming in.”

  It walked past Five as if she weren’t there, ignored Lieutenant Tisarwat, who had stood up halfway through the exchange. It walked all the way to a rear corner, and sat down with its back to the wall and its arms around its knees, staring forward.

  Five affected to ignore it. Tisarwat stared at it for five seconds, and then said, “It can have my supper, I’m not hungry. I’m going out.” She looked at me. “With the fleet captain’s permission, of course.” Voice on the very edge of acid. She was still angry with me.

  “Of course, Lieutenant,” I said equably.

  Four hours later I met with Head of Security Lusulun, to all appearances a social call, given the hour and the place (the head of Security’s favorite tea shop, on Station’s advice, well off the main concourse, just slightly dingy, with soft, comfortable chairs and walls muffled with gold and dark-blue hangings). Except among friends, most Radchaai considered last-minute invitations to be quite rude. But my rank, and the current situation, mitigated some of that. And the fact that I’d ordered a bottle of a local, sorghum-based spirit Station had told me Head of Security Lusulun favored, and had it ready to pour her a cup of it when she arrived.

  She bowed as I rose to meet her. “Fleet Captain. I apologize for the late hour.” She had clearly come straight from her office, she was still in uniform. “Things have been a bit hectic lately!”

  “That they have.” We sat, and I handed her a cup of liquor. Picked up my own.

  “I confess I’ve been wishing to meet with you for the last few days, but there’s never been the time.” And for the last few days I’d been absent, on my own ship. “Forgive me, Fleet Captain, I fear my mind is still on business.”

  “Your business is important.” I took a sip of the liquor. It burned going down, with an aftertaste like rusting iron. “I’ve run civilian security a time or two myself. It’s a difficult job.”

  She blinked, trying to conceal her surprise. It was not the usual attitude of military toward civilian security. “I’m pleased to hear that you appreciate that, Fleet Captain.”

  “Would I be right in assuming you’ve got your people doing extra shifts, trying to keep citizens out of the Undergarden?”

  “Right enough. Though even the Ychana are sharp enough to realize it’s dangerous to go there just now, before it’s been fully inspected. Most of them, anyway. There’s always a few.” She took a taste of her drink. “Ah, that’s just what I needed.” I sent a silent thanks to Station. “No, Fleet Captain, it’s true I’ve got my people patrolling there just now, and our lives would be a sight easier without that, but if I had a say in these things I’d have whatever structural damage there might be repaired as quickly as possible, and have these people back where they came from. Now I’ve heard you’ve run civilian security before, I don’t wonder you didn’t hesitate to move in with them. You’ll have been at annexations, I don’t doubt, and I’m sure you don’t blink at uncivilized behavior. And there’s a good deal more room for you in the Undergarden than anywhere else on the station!”

  I put a genial smile on my face. “Indeed.” Taking issue just now with these people and uncivilized wouldn’t be helpful. “Considering the present situation, I’m… taken aback at the insistence in some quarters that we should delay allowing residents to return to the Undergarden while we reconsider station housing assignments.” Some quarters being the head priest of Amaat. “Let alone the suggestion that any but the most necessary repairs be delayed until those assignments are… reconsidered.”

  Head of Security Lusulun took another long drink. “Well, I suppose how places are assigned will affect just what those repairs should be, yes? Of course, it’s quicker and easier to leave assi
gnments as they are, as you’ve suggested yourself, Fleet Captain. And work was already going forward even before the lake sprung its leak. Might as well continue on as we were. But.” She glanced around. Lowered her voice, though there was no one in earshot besides me and Kalr Five, standing behind my chair. “The Xhais, sir, can be quite unreasonable on the topic of the Ychana. Not to say I blame them entirely. They’re a dirty lot, and it’s a shame, the difference between what the Undergarden was meant to be and what it is now, after they’ve been living there.” Fortunately it was easy for me to keep a neutral expression on my face. “Still,” Lusulun continued, “let them have it, I say. It would make my life easier. Since the Undergarden has been evacuated we’ve had twice the disturbances. Fistfights, accusations of theft. Though most of those turn out to be nothing.” She sighed. “But not all of them. I’ll rest easier when they’re back in the Undergarden, I don’t deny it. And so will the Xhais, truth be told, but let them get the idea that any Ychana has somehow ended up with something she doesn’t deserve…” She gestured her disgust.

  Most station officials who weren’t outsystem Radchaai were Xhai, here. The same was true of the wealthiest families. “Is Eminence Ifian a Xhai?” I asked, blandly.

  Head of Security Lusulun gave an amused snort. “No indeed. She’s outsystem Radchaai, and wouldn’t thank you for suspecting she might be Athoeki. But she’s pious, and if Amaat put the Xhais over the Ychana, well, that’s what’s proper.”

  It went without saying that in Radch space, a head priest of Amaat had a great deal of influence. But there were nearly always other religious figures with influence of their own. “And the head priest of the Mysteries?”