by Ann Leckie
“It would,” said Sword of Atagaris, voice flat. “If it hadn’t taken me an entire day to get my ancillaries thawed and bring my engines back online. Sword of Gurat got to them before me, and the Lord of the Radch decided they would be more useful to her in suspension.”
“Hah!” Seivarden was bitterly amused. “I don’t doubt it. I’m sure Hetnys is a much better tea table than she ever was a captain.”
“I can’t imagine why I don’t feel more friendly toward you,” said Sword of Atagaris, retrieving the medkit without for a moment losing its focus on Seivarden.
“Sorry.” Seivarden sat down on the glass. Crossed her legs. “I’m sorry, Ship. That was uncalled for.”
“What?” Impassive, but, I thought, taken aback.
“I shouldn’t’ve… that wasn’t right. I don’t like Captain Hetnys, and you know that, but there’s no reason for me to be insulting her. At a time like this. Especially to you.” Silence. Sword of Atagaris still pointing the Presger gun at Seivarden, sitting cross-legged on the ground. “I have to admit, I don’t understand why the Lord of Mianaai wouldn’t give you back your captain.”
“She doesn’t trust me,” Sword of Atagaris said. “I was too easily and too completely controlled by Justice of Toren. Seeing that, the Lord of Mianaai decided to keep the same control herself—I am told that if anything at all happens to the Lord of the Radch, all of my officers will be killed. She has them aboard Sword of Gurat. For safekeeping, she says. A Sword of Gurat lieutenant is in temporary command of me for the moment.”
“I’m sorry,” said Seivarden. And then, realizing, “Wait, what is she so afraid of? She trusts Sword of Gurat to kill Captain Hetnys if something happens to her, but she doesn’t trust it to guard her?”
“I neither know nor care,” said Sword of Atagaris. “But I am not going to see Captain Hetnys killed.”
“No,” said Seivarden. “No, of course not.”
Above, in the governor’s office, Amaat Two and Amaat Four lay facedown, still armored but disarmed, terrified, hands bound behind their backs. Before Sword of Atagaris had pinned them, they had seen the ancillary Seivarden had shot lying in the middle of the room. Amaat Two had managed to fire once at Anaander, but had not seen the results of her shot. Both Amaats had heard the section doors come down, closing the room off until Station canceled the hull breach alert. Or until someone managed to cut through the section doors, not an easy thing to do.
“You’re wounded, my lord.” An unfamiliar voice, in the ears of Seivarden’s two Amaats, but obviously an ancillary’s. Sword of Atagaris.
“It’s nothing. The bullet went right through my arm.” Anaander Mianaai, her voice tense with pain. “How the fuck did that happen, Sword of Atagaris?”
“I would guess, my lord…,” began Sword of Atagaris.
“No, let me guess. You’d never seen that door opened. Couldn’t open it even when you asked Station to unlock it. The entrances to that back access are all themselves locked. By Station. I myself foolishly trusted what I thought was my control over Station.”
A tearing sound. “If you would be so good as to let me remove your jacket, my lord.”
Despite—perhaps because of—her terror, the beginning of a laugh escaped Amaat Four as she recognized the sound of a medkit being opened. Two said, very softly, “Oh, you’re carrying medkits now.”
“There are several ways I could kill you.” The voice of another ancillary, closer to the two Amaats than the one talking to the Lord of the Radch. Very quiet. “Armored or not.”
“Station!” Anaander, either ignoring the exchange or not hearing it. “No more games. Do you hear me?”
Silence, for three seconds, and then Station said, “I was happy enough to go along, until you threatened my residents.”
Down on the concourse, standing on the remaining section of office window, Sword of Atagaris said, gun still pointed at Seivarden, “Station is done playing stupid, it seems.”
“I wasn’t the one making a threat, Station!” Anaander’s voice was incredulous, and angry. “I was trying to keep your residents safe. Trying to keep things calm and under control here, after the ancillary had stirred up so much trouble. And then.” A pause. Probably she gestured, but all the Amaats could see was the brown, gold-flecked tiles of the floor. “All this. What do you expect me to do, just let a mob take over the concourse?”
“It’s not a mob,” replied Station. “It’s a complaint. Citizens do have the right to complain to Administration.” Silence. Then Station said, “Fleet Captain Breq would have understood.”
“Ah.” Anaander. “So it comes out. But it’s not the ancillary controlling you. There are no circumstances under which my enemy would give it that ability. So who is it? And is she still here? Could she unlock your Central Access, maybe?”
“No one can unlock my Central Access,” said Station. “You’ll have to keep trying to cut through.”
“It would be easier to destroy the whole station and build again,” said Anaander. “In fact, the more I think of it the better I like that idea.”
“You won’t,” said Station. “You might as well surrender to the fleet captain. I have no intention of letting you leave that room, you’ll have killed the only instance of yourself in the system. Which is an interesting thought. In fact, the more I think of it, the better I like that idea. I’d only need to trigger the fire-suppression systems in the governor’s office.”
“You already would have if you could,” replied Anaander. “Maybe if you were a ship. But you’re not. You can’t bring yourself to deliberately kill anyone. I on the other hand have no such compunction.”
“I’m sure all the citizens downwell will be interested to hear that. Or the outstations.”
“Oh, are we on the news again?” Anaander’s voice was bitter.
“We can be, if you like.” Station, calm and serene.
“So that wasn’t involuntary, as you claimed. And it didn’t stop because I’d hit on the right access.”
“No,” replied Station. “I lied about that.”
Down on the concourse, still boxed in by the section doors, Seivarden hadn’t understood what Sword of Atagaris had meant, about Station no longer playing stupid. She said to Sword of Atagaris, “So what’s the story with those AI cores?”
“I’d expect you to know better than I would,” said Sword of Atagaris. “Isn’t that what you came here for? Isn’t that why Justice of Toren went straight to the Undergarden nearly the moment she got here?”
“No,” replied Seivarden. “Is that where they were?” And then, at a thought, “Is that why you were so… enthusiastic about running security in the Undergarden?”
“No.”
“Well then, whose are they?” Sword of Atagaris didn’t answer. “Aatr’s tits, there isn’t a third one of her, is there?”
“I neither know nor care,” replied Sword of Atagaris.
“And what is this one going to do with them? Build ships? That takes months—no, it takes years.”
“Not if the ship is already built,” Sword of Atagaris pointed out.
Above, in the governor’s office, Anaander was saying, “So we’re at an impasse.”
“Perhaps not,” said Station. Amaat Two and Amaat Four still lay facedown on the brown-and-gold tiles, still listening. “If I understand Fleet Captain Breq correctly, your argument isn’t with me or any of my residents—it’s with yourself. It’s none of my business. It only becomes my business when you threaten my residents’ safety.”
“What are you suggesting, Station?” Wary, with an undertone of anger.
“You have no reason to concern yourself with the running of this station. Those matters are more properly handled by me and by Station Administrator Celar.” Silence. “As for Sword of Gurat and Sword of Atagaris, they’re not welcome here. I do understand Sword of Gurat needs repairs and supplies, and that its officers might want leave occasionally, and that an officer is nearly always accompanied by an ancillar
y at such times, but I will not have whole decades interfering with my operations, or harassing my residents.”
“And what do I get in exchange for these concessions?”
“You get to live,” said Station. “You get to remain in this system. You get the Sword of Gurat decades back that are at the moment trapped until I see fit to raise the section doors. And you get a place where your ships can purchase supplies.”
“Purchase!”
“Purchase,” repeated Station. “I can’t afford to assume that I or my residents will receive any sort of benefit from the provincial palace, not for the foreseeable future. Not considering the circumstances. And I can’t afford to let you drain all this system’s resources and give nothing in exchange. Particularly when providing you with supplies and services potentially makes me a target for your enemies.” Silence. “As a show of my good faith, I will decline to charge you for the removal of the five dead Sword of Gurat ancillaries that were attempting to cut into my Central Access. You needn’t worry about their officer, she was away using the bath when the section doors went down.”
“I get your point, Station,” said Anaander. “Fine. We can deal.”
15
Coming into the governor’s office, Sword of Atagaris close behind her, the first thing Seivarden noticed was her two Amaats, facedown on the floor, hands bound. Their armor still raised, and so she knew they were still alive. Was relieved, but in a distracted way, because the next thing she saw was Anaander Mianaai standing grim-faced behind the desk. Shirtless, a corrective around her upper arm.
Anaander’s expression changed to sardonic surprise. “Seivarden Vendaai.” Voices sounded, rising from the concourse below to that now-glassless window, medics calling instructions to each other, someone sobbing.
“That’s Lieutenant Seivarden to you,” said Seivarden, managing to sound braver than she felt. Now all the action was past, she was nearing collapse. The Sword of Atagaris ancillary behind her went to the desk and laid down the Presger gun. Stepped away.
Anaander looked down. Watched the gun turn the same pale yellow as the desk surface. All expression left her face.
Despair overwhelmed Seivarden, that adrenaline and urgent necessity had kept at bay since she’d fallen out the window. She knew me well enough to know that I had not been joking when I had said I would probably not live long enough to forgive her if she lost the gun. Knew what it meant, that Anaander Mianaai now had it.
Anaander picked up the gun. Brushed gloved fingers across it so that it became not the color of whatever it touched, but a plain dark gray. Examined it. “This,” she said, “is very interesting.” Seivarden said nothing. Anaander continued, “To my knowledge there are only twenty-four of these, and every last one is accounted for. In fact, each one of them is marked with an identifying number, but this one”—she paused—“is not.” She looked at Seivarden. “Where did you get it?”
“Twenty-five,” Seivarden said.
“Excuse me?”
“Twenty-five. Everything on Garsedd was fives. Five principal sins, five right actions, five social classes, five capital crimes. Probably five kinds of farts.” Anaander raised one dark eyebrow at that. “If you didn’t go looking for that twenty-fifth gun you’ve got only yourself to blame.”
“I did look,” Anaander said. “I have trouble believing that you found it when I didn’t.” Seivarden made a gesture of unconcern, deliberately insolent, though she did not feel as brave as the action implied. “Where did you get this?”
“Fleet Captain gave it to me.”
“So now we come to it,” said Anaander. Tense and intent. “Who is controlling the ancillary?”
“That would be Justice of Toren to you,” said Seivarden, her voice far more even than her emotions, “if you honestly can’t bring yourself to acknowledge her proper rank. And you’re lucky I didn’t laugh in your face just now when you suggested that anyone might be controlling her but herself.”
“You know as well as I do that ancillaries don’t control themselves. Not even ships control themselves.” She gave Seivarden an appraising glance. “Well, Lieutenant, I think you and I will be continuing this conversation aboard Sword of Gurat.”
“Oh, no.” Station’s voice, from the office console. “No, Lord of Mianaai, I’m afraid you won’t be. Perhaps you didn’t understand the implications of our recent discussion. Perhaps I should have been more explicit. If you leave here I will have no means by which to enforce the terms of our agreement. No, you’ll be staying right here. With a few servants if you like, and I’m even willing to allow Sword of Atagaris to act in that capacity. Which is very generous of me, honestly. The governor’s residence is very comfortable, I assure you, and you have no reason to go anywhere else. And as for Lieutenant Seivarden, I’m afraid I must insist that my own security force take her into custody.”
“This has nothing to do with you, Station,” said Anaander. “Seivarden Vendaai is not one of your residents, but she is a member of the Radchaai military, of which I am the supreme commander.”
“She is a member of a Radchaai military,” Station said. “You yourself appear to be under the impression that her commanding officer—that would be Fleet Captain Breq—is not working for you, but for some enemy of yours. The fact that that enemy is quite possibly some other iteration of you is not my concern. And whatever military she might belong to, I have no agreements with anyone granting immunity to members of military forces who cause damage or commit other offenses while they’re here. I’m afraid Station Security must place the lieutenant—and her two subordinates—under arrest until we can evaluate her actions.”
Three seconds of silence. Sword of Atagaris stood stiff and impassive, three of it, around the Lord of the Radch. Amaat Two and Amaat Four lay rigid, eyes closed, breathing carefully, listening intently. Finally Anaander said, “Don’t push me, Station. Or whoever is giving you instructions.”
“You would do well to take your own advice, Lord of Mianaai,” said Station. “I won’t be pushed, either.” A quick, brief breeze as the section doors slammed back down, over the two doors, over the window, the sound from the concourse suddenly cut off. The air in the office suddenly still.
“If you empty the air out of this room,” Anaander pointed out, “you’ll also kill Seivarden. And her two subordinates.” That last just the least bit mocking.
“They’re nothing to me,” said Station. “They aren’t my residents.”
An expression flashed across Anaander’s face. Fear, maybe. Or possibly anger. “All right, Station. But we’ll be discussing this further.”
“If you like,” said Station, bland as always.
Seivarden and her two Amaats spent six hours in a cell in Security. At some point someone had brought them bowls of skel, and water to drink, but Seivarden had been unable to so much as taste hers. By the time the door finally opened, Amaat Two and Amaat Four had fallen into an uneasy, exhausted sleep, propped up against the wall, and each other. “Lieutenant,” said a Security officer from the corridor. “If you would be so good as to come with me.”
Seivarden said nothing. Pushed herself to standing. Amaat Four half woke. Muttered, “What?”
“Nothing, Four, go back to sleep,” said Seivarden, and stepped into the corridor.
Allowed herself to be led to the office of the head of Security. Which was, it turned out, occupied by Citizen Lusulun. Who rose and smiled at Seivarden’s entrance, though the smile didn’t quite make it to the rest of her face, and bowed. “Lieutenant. Seivarden, I understand? Fleet Captain Breq mentioned you. I’m Head of Security Lusulun.”
Seivarden stared at her, uncomprehending, for just a moment. Then bowed herself. “An honor, sir. To make your acquaintance, and to be mentioned by the fleet captain.”
“Sit, Lieutenant,” said once-again Head of Security Lusulun. “Will you have tea?”
“I’d rather stand.”
“I apologize,” Head of Security Lusulun said, still standing, appare
ntly unsurprised at Seivarden’s demeanor, “for the delay in my speaking to you. Things have been… a bit chaotic. The current situation is…” Lusulun took a breath. Considered a moment what sort of description might suit, and seemed to come up short. “Well. We’ve been a bit disorganized. I’ve only been back in office for the last fifteen or twenty minutes. At any rate, it’s been determined that you’re not responsible for the damage on the concourse. And by the way Medical would like to thank you for your assistance with the citizen who you helped, who was injured.”
“No thanks necessary,” Seivarden said, quite automatically.
“All the same. So, you and your soldiers are free to go. There was some difficulty about food and housing assignments, since you aren’t station residents. But it happens that the Undergarden needs a great deal of work just now—more even than when the fleet captain was here. Some of it needs to be done in vacuum, which I imagine you’ve got some experience with, yes?”
“Yes,” said Seivarden, and then frowned. “What?”
“Level one of the Undergarden was breached when the dome over the Gardens was damaged again the other day,” explained Lusulun. “There are a number of repairs that need to be made before that area can be re-pressurized. We’re assuming you’ve got experience working in vacuum.”
“I… yes.”
“Right,” said Lusulun, noticing Seivarden’s near-stupor but forging on ahead. “The fleet captain did have a housing assignment, but I’m afraid it wasn’t luxurious. You’re welcome to use it, though. And sometime soon I do hope you’ll join me for tea. I’d be honored if you would.”
Seivarden stared stupidly and then said, “I… thank you. Very kind of you, sir.”
The crates and boxes were where we had left them, sectioning off a corridor end. Seivarden sank down in the back corner, arms around her legs, head on her knees, while Two and Four went through the crates to see what we’d left behind. “Oh!” exclaimed Four, opening one. “Tea!” It was a packet of Daughter of Fishes. My Kalrs had known I wouldn’t care what happened to it. “Now we’ll be all right.”