Ancillary Mercy

by Ann Leckie

  “You realize,” said Tisarwat, “that I can’t really trust you entirely. I don’t know who has accesses, who can compel you to reveal things. Or who else here we can trust. You know, I’m sure. You know nearly everything that goes on here.”

  Three minutes of silence. Tisarwat’s nausea increased, and the blood pounded in her ears. Then Station said, “Lieutenant, what is it exactly that you intend to do, that Fleet Captain Breq insists you get me to agree to before you do it?”

  “Let me grab some meds, Station. I’m feeling really sick just now. And then we’ll talk about it. All right?”

  And Station said, “All right. Lieutenant.”

  7

  Two days later, strapped into my seat on the passenger shuttle from the elevator, Translator Zeiat apparently soundly asleep in the seat beside me, I heard from Lieutenant Tisarwat. “Fleet Captain. We’re on the shuttle.” Mercy of Kalr’s shuttle, she meant. She did not wait for me to ask for details. “We’re still docked with the station. But something’s wrong. I can’t quite pin down what it is, exactly. Mostly Station seems… odd.”

  At my request Mercy of Kalr showed me the oddness Tisarwat referred to. Nothing, as Tisarwat said, that was obvious or definite. Just a reticence in the past several days that seemed uncharacteristic of Station. It would have been entirely unsurprising when we’d first arrived here, weeks ago. Athoek Station had been unhappy then, and that reticence had been a sign, I knew, that its attitude toward Station authorities was at the very least ambivalent, and very possibly outright resentful. A good deal of Station’s unhappiness had centered around the state of the Undergarden, severely damaged centuries ago, never repaired. My forcing the issue, demanding Station Administration address the problems in the Undergarden, accounted for no small part of Station’s recent friendliness, I was sure. If it had turned reticent now, either we had done something to upset it—or more accurately Tisarwat had, since I had been downwell the past few days—or it found itself unpleasantly conflicted over something.

  “Sir,” Tisarwat continued, when I didn’t reply immediately, “a few days ago—yesterday, even—I could have gone to Central Access and found out exactly what the problem was. But I can’t do that now.”

  You could do quite a lot to control an AI if you had the right codes and commands. But some things—including, but not limited to, changing those codes, or installing or deleting accesses—had to be done in person, in Central Access. Tisarwat had spent quite a while in Station’s Central Access over the last two days. The place was heavily shielded, for obvious reasons. Only Station—and any person who was actually, physically present—could see inside it, and so I didn’t know in detail what Tisarwat had done. But of course, as with every Radchaai soldier, everything Tisarwat did was recorded. Ship had those recordings, and I had seen parts of them.

  With Station’s agreement, Tisarwat had deleted (or radically changed) any accesses she’d found. And then, when she’d left, she’d destroyed the mechanism that ought to open the doors in response to an authorized entrance code, broken the manual override and its accompanying console. Removed a panel inside the Central Access wall and shoved a dozen thirty-centimeter struts she’d taken from Undergarden repair materials into the door machinery in such a way that when she left, and the doors closed behind her, they would not open again. All this, still, with Station’s agreement. Tisarwat could not have done half so much without Station’s help, in fact. But now, when Tisarwat might have liked to compel Station to explain itself, she could not. Had, herself, made that impossible.

  “Lieutenant,” I said, “we don’t need accesses to know what’s wrong. I’d say Station has received orders concerning us that it can’t tell us directly about. Either someone’s used an access you didn’t know to disable, or else speaking directly to us would betray some relationship that’s important to Station. Or would betray the extent of your alterations to Central Access. But it is warning us something is wrong, and we’d be well-advised to pay attention. You made the right call, moving to the shuttle. What about Basnaaid and Uran?”

  “They’ve elected to stay, sir.” I was unsurprised. And perhaps it was the safest choice. “Sir,” Tisarwat continued, after a pause, “I’m… I’m afraid I did something wrong.”

  “What do you mean, Lieutenant?”

  “I… those ships that came into the system, they haven’t approached. We couldn’t miss that, if they had. So she’s not on the station. And I don’t think System Governor Giarod or the station administrator are able to give Station any orders it couldn’t tell me about. Not without some kind of access code from… from her.” From the other Anaander. “And she wouldn’t have messaged an access like that, she’d only give it in person. So if Station’s upset, maybe it’s with me. Or maybe I did something that hurt it. Or if something else is wrong, we can’t get in to fix it anymore.”

  Unbidden, Ship showed me Tisarwat’s fear—near panic—and self-hatred. An almost physically painful regret. Though her apprehensions were on their face entirely reasonable, her emotional state struck me as extreme, even considering that. “Lieutenant,” I said, still silently, Translator Zeiat still asleep strapped into her shuttle seat beside me. “Did you do anything Station didn’t agree to?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Did you manipulate Station into agreeing to anything?”

  “I don’t… I don’t think so, sir. No. But, sir…”

  “Then you did your best. It’s certainly possible you made a mistake, and it’s worth keeping that possibility in mind. It’s good that you’re thinking of that possibility.” In Mercy of Kalr’s shuttle, Bo Nine kicked herself over to where Tisarwat clung to a handhold. Pulled away the patch of meds at the back of Tisarwat’s neck, just under her dark-brown uniform collar, and replaced it with a new one. If anything, Tisarwat’s self-hatred and anxiety increased, with a fresh surge of shame. “But, Lieutenant.”

  “Sir?”

  “Be easier on yourself.”

  “You can see all that, can you?” Bitter. Accusing. Humiliated.

  “You’ve known all this time that I can,” I pointed out. “You certainly know that Ship can.”

  “That’s different, isn’t it,” replied Tisarwat, angry now, at me and at herself.

  I nearly retorted that it wasn’t different at all, but stopped myself. Soldiers expected that kind of surveillance from Ship. But I was not, after all, Ship itself. “Is it different because Ship is subject to your orders, and I’m not?” I asked. Immediately regretted it—the question did nothing to improve Tisarwat’s emotional state. And the issue of Ship being subject to orders was one that I had only recently realized might be a sensitive one for Ship itself. I found myself wishing I could see better what Ship was thinking or feeling, or that it would be plainer with me about what it felt. But perhaps it had been as plain as it could be. “This isn’t the time for this particular discussion, Lieutenant. I meant what I said: be easier on yourself. You did the best you could. Now keep an eye on the situation and be ready to move if it seems necessary. I’ll be there in a few hours.” Should have been there already, but the passenger shuttle, as often happened, was running late. “If you need to move before I get there, then do.”

  I didn’t look to see how she responded. On the passenger shuttle I unstrapped myself and pulled myself around the seat to where Sphene sat, behind me. “Cousin,” I said, “it seems likely we’ll be leaving the station on short notice in the near future. Do you prefer to stay, or to come with us?”

  Sphene looked at me with no expression. “Don’t they say, Cousin, that as long as you have family you’ll want for nothing?”

  “You warm my heart, Cousin,” I replied.

  “I don’t doubt it,” said Sphene, and closed its eyes.

  When the passenger shuttle docked with the station, I immediately sent Five and Eight, along with Sphene, to Mercy of Kalr’s shuttle, and walked with Translator Zeiat to the lifts that would take us to the station’s main concourse, and the go
vernor’s residence. “I hope you enjoyed your trip, Translator,” I said.

  “Yes, yes!” She patted her upper chest. “Though I do seem to be having some indigestion.”

  “I’m not surprised.”

  “Fleet Captain, I know it isn’t your fault, what happened to Dlique. Considering, you know, Dlique. And”—she glanced down at her white coat, its only interruption Translator Dlique’s silver-and-opal memorial pin—“it was very thoughtful of you to hold a funeral. Very… very generous of you. And you’ve been so very obliging. But I feel I must warn you that this situation is very awkward.”

  “Translator?” We stopped in front of the lifts—had to stop, because the doors did not open as we approached. I remembered what Tisarwat had said, that Station had been oddly reticent lately. Nothing she could pin down. “Main concourse please, Station,” I said, as though I hadn’t noticed anything amiss, and the doors opened.

  “You may not know”—Translator Zeiat followed me onto the lift—“in fact, you probably don’t know, that there have been… concerns in some quarters.” The lift doors slid closed. “There was not… universal enthusiasm at the prospect of treating Humans as Significant beings. But an agreement made is an agreement. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “I would.”

  “But recently, well. The situation with the Rrrrrr. Very troubling.” The Rrrrrr had appeared in Radch space twenty-five years ago, their ship crewed not only by Rrrrrr, but humans as well. The local authorities had reacted by attempting to kill everyone aboard and take their ship. Might have succeeded if the decade leader assigned to the job hadn’t refused her orders and mutinied.

  But some centuries before that, the Geck had successfully argued that since the Presger already acknowledged humans as Significant and thus worthy of admittance to an agreement—and most importantly not a legitimate target for the Presger’s bloodier amusements—then logically the close and equal association of the Geck with the humans living in their space proved they, also, were Significant beings. Every Radchaai schoolchild knew this, it was hardly possible the officials who’d ordered the destruction of the Rrrrrr didn’t, or didn’t understand what the implications of that would be, if word of the attack on the Rrrrrr ship ever got out: that the Radch might be entirely willing to break the treaty that had, for the last thousand years, kept humans safe from the depredations of the Presger.

  “It didn’t help, you know,” Translator Zeiat continued, “that the Rrrrrr’s association with Humans, who very clearly treated them as Significant beings, essentially forced the issue of whether they were Significant. The Geck as well. This was something that had been anticipated, you understand, and had from the start been an argument against making any agreement with Humans at all, let alone the question of their Significance. Difficult enough. But Humans—not just Humans, but Radchaai Humans, discover the Rrrrrr, in circumstances that make their implications for the treaty obvious, and do what? They attack them.”

  “More implications for the treaty,” I agreed. “But that situation was straightened out, as quickly as we could.”

  “Yes, yes, Fleet Captain. It was. But it left some… some lingering doubts as to the intentions of Humans toward the treaty. And you know, I do understand the idea of different sorts of Humans. In the abstract, as I said. I must admit I do have some trouble really comprehending it. At least I know the concept exists. But if I tried to go home and explain it to them, well…” She gestured resignation. “I wouldn’t even know how to begin.” The lift door opened and we stepped out onto the white-floored concourse. “So you understand how very awkward this is.”

  “I have understood how potentially awkward this is since Translator Dlique met with her accident,” I admitted. “Tell me, Translator, was Translator Dlique sent here because of this doubt about human intentions toward the treaty?” She didn’t answer immediately. “The timing, you understand, and your appearance so soon after.”

  Translator Zeiat blinked. Sighed. “Oh, Fleet Captain. It’s so very difficult talking to you sometimes. It seems like you understand things and then you say something that makes it obvious that, no, you don’t understand at all.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She gestured my apology away. “It isn’t your fault.”

  I delivered Translator Zeiat to quarters in the governor’s residence—not Dlique’s, Governor Giarod had been at pains to assure me, though I wasn’t entirely certain why she thought it mattered. Once the translator was settled, and a servant sent to find a fresh bottle of fish sauce and another few packets of fish-shaped cakes, I followed the system governor to her office.

  I knew something was wrong when Governor Giarod stopped in the corridor just outside the door and gestured me through ahead of her. I almost turned and walked away, to the shuttle, except that then my back would be turned to whatever it was in Governor Giarod’s office that she wanted me to encounter first. And besides, I was not in the habit of going through any door heedlessly. Mercy of Kalr spoke in my ear. “I’ve alerted Lieutenant Tisarwat, Fleet Captain.”

  Still mindful of that recent conversation with Tisarwat, I didn’t reach to see her reaction, but went through the door into the system governor’s office.

  Lusulun stood waiting for me, trying hard to keep her face neutral, but I thought she looked guilty, and more than a little afraid. As I came fully into the office, System Governor Giarod behind me, two light-brown-coated Security stepped in front of the door.

  “I assume you have a reason for this, citizens?” I asked. Quite calmly. I wondered where Administrator Celar was. Considered asking, and then thought better of it.

  “We’ve had a message from the Lord of the Radch,” said Governor Giarod. “We’re ordered to place you under arrest.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Head of Security Lusulun. Genuinely apologetic, I thought, but also still afraid. “My lord said… she said you were an ancillary. Is it true?”

  I smiled. And then moved, ancillary-quick. Grabbed her around the throat, spun to face the door. Lusulun gasped as I wrenched her arm around behind her, and I tightened my grip on her throat just slightly. Said calmly in her ear, “If anyone moves, you’re dead.” Didn’t say, Now we discover how much System Governor Giarod values your life. The two Security froze, frank dismay on their faces. “I don’t want to, but I will. None of you can move as quickly as I can.”

  “You are an ancillary,” said Governor Giarod. “I didn’t believe it.”

  “If you didn’t believe it, then why are you attempting to arrest me now?”

  Governor Giarod’s face showed disbelief, and incomprehension. “My lord ordered it directly.”

  Unsurprising, really. “I’ll be going to my shuttle now. You’ll clear Security out of my path. No one will try to stop me, no one will interfere with me or with my soldiers.” I glanced very briefly at the head of Security. “Will they?”

  “No,” said Lusulun.

  “No,” said the governor. Everyone moved away from the door, slowly.

  Out on the concourse, we drew stares. Uran was pouring tea for citizens in line. She looked up, saw me making for the lifts with the terrified-looking head of Security in my grip. Looked down again as though she had not seen me. Well, so long as it was her own choice.

  Eminence Ifian actually stood up as we passed. “Good afternoon, Eminence,” I said, pleasantly. “Please don’t try anything, I don’t want to have to kill anyone today.”

  “She means it,” said Head of Security Lusulun, sounding a trifle more strangled than really necessary. We walked on by. Citizens staring, and light-brown-coated Security clearing carefully out of our way.

  Once the lift door closed, Lusulun said, “My lord said you were a rogue ancillary. That you’d lost your mind.”

  “I’m Justice of Toren.” I didn’t loosen my grip on her. “All that’s left of it. It was Anaander Mianaai who destroyed me. The part of her that’s here now. It was another part of her that promoted me and gave me a ship.” I thought of aski
ng her why, if she’d known I was an ancillary, she had confronted me with such inadequate backup, and herself unarmed, so far as I could tell. But then it occurred to me that perhaps that had been deliberate, and she wouldn’t want to answer that question where Station could hear it, and no doubt station authorities were watching, if only out of anxiety for her safety.

  “Have you ever had one of those days,” she asked, “when nothing seems to make any sense?”

  “Quite a lot of them, since Justice of Toren was destroyed,” I said.

  “I suppose it explains some things,” she said, after two seconds of silence. “All the singing and the humming. Did Station Administrator Celar know? She’s always wished she could have met Justice of Toren and asked it about its collection of songs.”

  “She didn’t.” I supposed she did now. “Give her my regrets, if you please.”

  “Of course, Fleet Captain.”

  I left the head of Security at the dock. Five pulled me into the shuttle as Eight quickly secured the airlock and triggered the emergency automated undock. I kicked myself over to where Tisarwat was and strapped myself into the seat beside her. Put my hand briefly on her shoulder. “You didn’t make any mistakes that I can see, Lieutenant.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Tisarwat took a shaky breath. “I’m sorry, sir. Ship had been reminding me for three hours to renew my meds, sir, but I kept telling Nine I was all right and we were busy and it could wait.” I began to reach for the data, to see what her mood was like, and then stopped myself. A bit surprised I could actually do that.

  “It’s all right, Lieutenant,” I said. “It’s a very stressful situation.”

  Tears started in her lilac eyes. She blotted at them with a brown-gloved hand. “I keep thinking, sir, that I ought to have just gone in and taken as much control of Station as I could. No matter what it wanted. And then I think, no, that would be exactly what she would do. But how are we supposed to…” She trailed off. Wiped her eyes again.