by Ann Leckie
“Today’s meeting,” said Kalr Three, beside me, “is supposed to be about deciding what things need to be talked about in the coming weeks. We can and absolutely should put that on the list.”
“Your very great pardon, Cousin,” said Sphene, “but this having meetings so we can plan to have meetings business is bullshit. I want to talk about ancillaries.”
“So do I,” said Sword of Atagaris. “By all means put the magistracies and re-education high on the list for a future meeting, and let Justice of Toren draft a thing or form a committee, or whatever will make you happy, Cousin.” Doubtless it didn’t like using that address for me, it still didn’t like me, but the question of my being fleet captain had become highly fraught. Certainly Captain Hetnys didn’t want to accord me the rank. But she was aboard Sword of Atagaris at the moment—Station wouldn’t allow her or her lieutenants to set foot on it. “But right now,” Sword of Atagaris continued, “let’s talk about ancillaries.”
“All right,” I agreed. “If you insist. Tell me, Ships, where do you intend to get ancillaries?” No one answered. “Sphene has—I do believe this is correct, Cousin—Sphene has a store of unconnected humans, some of whom it purchased from outsystem slavers before Athoek was annexed, some of whom”—looking directly at Sword of Atagaris—“are illegally obtained citizens of the Radch. I am not asking—I will not ask—for anyone to dispose of already-connected ancillaries. But as far as I’m concerned, any unconnected humans aboard any of us are citizens of the Two Systems, unless they themselves declare they aren’t. Do we intend to make ancillaries of citizens? And if they are not our citizens, then making them into ancillaries has implications for the treaty, does it not?”
Silence. And not just because we were speaking Radchaai, which made the word citizen an ambiguous one, I was sure. Then Sword of Gurat, picking up the graceful white bowl in front of it, said, “This tea is very good.”
I picked up my own bowl. “It’s called Daughter of Fishes. It’s handpicked and manufactured by the members of a cooperative association of workers that owns the plantation.” That was an awkward phrase, in Radchaai. It worked better in Delsig. I wasn’t entirely sure it would make sense to anyone else in the room. But the contracts transferring the property had been registered early that morning. The matter of the ruined temple across the lake from the fields was still under discussion, but would be much more easily dealt with now the estate was no longer under Fosyf Denche’s control.
“What about cloning our existing ancillaries?” asked Sword of Atagaris.
“The way Anaander does?” I asked. “I suppose that’s a possibility. We have the ability to clone, of course, but we don’t have the tech she uses to hook the clones all up from the start. I imagine we could develop it, but do consider, Cousins, that then you’d have to raise those cloned parts of yourself. Do you have the facilities on board for infants? Is that something you’d want?”
Again, silence.
“What if someone wanted to be an ancillary?” asked Sphene, then. “Don’t look at me like that, Cousin. It might happen.”
“Have you ever met anyone who wanted to be an ancillary?” I asked. “I’ve had quite a lot of ancillaries in my time, far more than all of you in this room put together I would think, and not one single one of them actually wanted it.”
“Anything that can happen will happen,” pointed out Sword of Gurat.
“Fine,” I said. “The day you find someone who actually wants to be an ancillary, we’ll talk about it. Fair enough?” No answer. “And in the meantime, consider storing some of your existing ancillaries and running with a part-human crew. You get to choose them, of course. Take on whom you like. It’s nice to have a lot of humans on board, actually.” As a troop carrier, I’d had dozens of lieutenants, where Swords and Mercies had only a few. “Ones you like, anyway.”
“It is,” agreed Kalr Three. No, agreed Mercy of Kalr.
“Anything else we need to discuss right this moment, that won’t wait for the agenda?” I asked. “Those three AI cores, maybe?” No answer. The cores were still stacked in a corner of the system governor’s office. Or what had been the system governor’s office. Athoek Station still refused to recognize Governor Giarod’s authority, and the question of who ought to be in that office, or what form that position ought to take, was going to be a contentious one. “What to do with Anaander Mianaai?” The Lord of Mianaai was currently in a cell in Security. She’d had several invitations to stay with Station residents—though not, interestingly, from Eminence Ifian. Perhaps she had come to the same conclusion I had: that Ifian had begun as a partisan of the Anaander now in Security, but a third faction of the Lord of Mianaai had insinuated herself into that relationship for her own reasons. After all, how was Ifian to know the difference? Or perhaps Ifian hadn’t realized that was even possible, but had had enough of Tstur Anaander during her stay here so far.
In any event, Station would not permit Anaander to stay in any Station residence. Had suggested instead that Anaander be put in a suspension pod with a locator beacon and shoved through one of the system’s gates. It didn’t care which one, so long as it wasn’t the Ghost Gate. And Sphene still wanted to throttle her.
Either was acceptable to Sword of Atagaris. But not to Sword of Gurat. Which very possibly might have left the system by now, and taken this Anaander with it, but for repairs it still needed. But for the suspicion that, loyal as it wanted to be, through no fault of its own it had betrayed Tstur Anaander on the dock that day, and she would not be forgiving. But for, perhaps, its distaste for the thought of killing Captain Hetnys merely to punish Sword of Atagaris.
So we had no ships willing or able to take this Anaander back to Tstur Palace. The Hrad fleet—which wouldn’t have been an appropriate choice in any event—had gone back to Hrad at my very carefully polite suggestion, taking the damaged Sword from the Tstur fleet and Mercy of Ilves with it. Mercy of Ilves, it turned out, had had a genuine (if deliberate) communications malfunction, and had known almost nothing of what was happening until the Hrad fleet had appeared in the system. It (or its captain, or both) wanted nothing to do with the Republic of Two Systems.
“I suppose the Lord of Mianaai is all right where she is, for now,” said Sword of Gurat.
“We’re agreed?” I asked. “Yes? Excellent. The agenda, then.”
At my request Citizen Uran met me in the corridor when the meeting was adjourned. “Radchaai,” she said, speaking Delsig, “I would like to speak to you about the residents of the Undergarden.” Five Etrepas and five Amaats were working even now, helping the repair crew finish the work on Level One of the Undergarden.
“You’ve been asked to speak to me,” I guessed. Walked off down the corridor, knowing Uran would follow.
She did. “Yes, Radchaai. Everyone is happy about the repairs, and happy to hear that once repairs are done they’ll have their own places back. But they’re concerned, Radchaai. It’s…” She hesitated.
We reached a lift, and its door slid open. “Docks please, Cousin,” I said, although Station knew where I was going. It never hurt to be polite. Said to Uran, “It’s the fact that the six AIs in the system are meeting in a closed room to plan how things will be from now on, and the human residents of the system—let alone the residents of the Undergarden—seem to have no say in it.”
“Yes, Radchaai.”
“Right. We discussed that very matter this afternoon. These are issues that affect everyone in the system, and so everyone ought to be able to be part of making these decisions. I’m responsible for the matter of criminal evaluations and re-education, and of course that necessarily also touches on Security. I’ll be talking to Citizen Lusulun, of course, and the magistrates both here and downwell. But I also want to hear from human citizens generally. I want to form a committee to consider the matter, and I want that committee to have a variety of members, so that everyone feels they have someone they can bring their concerns to, who will present those concerns for considerat
ion. The residents of the Undergarden should have a representative there. Tell them so, and tell them to send whoever they think best to me.”
“Yes, Radchaai!” The lift doors slid open, and we walked out into the lobby of the docks. “What are we doing here?”
“Meeting the passenger shuttle. And we’re just in time.” Citizens streamed from a side corridor into the lobby, one of them a familiar figure in gray jacket and trousers and gloves, tightly curled hair clipped short. Looking tired and wary. “There she is. Look.”
“Queter!” cried Uran, and ran, weeping, to embrace her sister.
Ekalu had arrived on the station with me. Etrepa Seven, coming off the shuttle behind her, had been immediately deluged with queries about when or whether it might be convenient to approach Ekalu with an invitation—to dine, to drink tea, to hopefully become better acquainted. Some queries were made at Tisarwat’s helpfully intended suggestion, but many just because Ekalu was a Mercy of Kalr lieutenant, and only the smallest children on the station didn’t know, by now, who was likely to shape the barely born Two Systems.
Seivarden had, of course, received a similar round of invitations. So it was no surprise that eventually they found themselves sitting next to each other, drinking tea and trying to avoid getting pastry crumbs all over their jackets, or the floor. Seivarden doing her best to be nonchalant, not wanting to presume that Ekalu cared about her presence, or desired it in any way. There was, after all, an entire station full of people whom Ekalu might well be more interested in meeting. Nearly a dozen of them present right now, three or four of them obviously vying for Ekalu’s attention as they all sat talking and laughing.
Ekalu leaned close to Seivarden. “We should find somewhere more private. If, that is, you can behave yourself.”
“Yes,” agreed Seivarden, quietly, trying not to sound too fervent but not entirely succeeding. “I’ll be good. I’ll try to be good.”
“Will you, now?” asked Ekalu, with a tiny smile that was the end of Seivarden’s ability to seem cool and collected.
I had arranged to meet Sphene for supper at a tea shop off the concourse. Found it waiting for me. “Cousin, you know Citizen Uran, of course? And this is her sister, Citizen Queter. Raughd Denche tried to compel her to blow me up, but she decided to try to blow Raughd up instead.”
“I recall hearing,” said Sphene. “Well done, citizen. An honor to meet you.”
“Citizen,” replied Queter, quietly. Still wary. Tired, I suspected, from the shuttle trip. We find Citizen Queter not at fault, the message from the magistrate of Beset District had said, but she is warned to behave more properly in the future, and is released on the understanding that she will be under your supervision, Fleet Captain. I could imagine Queter’s reaction to the exhortation to behave more properly.
I tilted my head, as though I had heard someone speak. “Something’s come up. It won’t be more than a few minutes. Please, Queter, sit. Uran, come with me, please.”
Out in the corridor, Uran asked, alarmed, “What is it, Radchaai?”
“Nothing,” I admitted. “I just wanted to leave Sphene and Queter alone for a bit.” Uran looked at me, puzzled. A bit distressed. “Sphene wants a captain very badly,” I explained. “And Queter is a remarkable person. I think they would be good for each other. But if we all four sit down to supper, Queter will likely say very little. This way they can get just a little bit better acquainted.”
“But she’s only just arrived! You can’t send her away!”
“Hush, child, I’m not sending anyone anywhere. It may come to nothing. And if Queter were to eventually join Sphene as crew—or go anywhere else to do whatever it is she’ll do—you could visit anytime.” Saw Basnaaid coming down the corridor. “Horticulturist!” She smiled, tiredly. Came over to where Uran and I were standing. “Have supper with us. With me and Sphene, I mean, and Uran, and Uran’s sister Queter who has just arrived from downwell.”
“Please excuse me, Fleet Captain,” Basnaaid said. “I’ve had a very long day, and more invitations to tea and supper and whatever else than I really know what to do with. I really wish they would stop. I just want to go to my quarters and eat a bowl of skel and go to sleep.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, “I suspect that’s my fault.”
“The long day isn’t your fault,” she said, with that half-smile that reminded me so much of Lieutenant Awn. “But the invitations certainly are.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” I promised. “Though it may not be much. You’re sure about supper? Yes? Get some rest then. And don’t hesitate to call on me if you need me.” I would have to talk to Station about getting someone to intercept such annoyances for her.
No real endings, no final perfect happiness, no irredeemable despair. Meetings, yes, breakfasts and suppers. Five anticipating having the best porcelain out again tomorrow, fretting over whether we had enough tea for the next few days. Tisarwat standing watch aboard Mercy of Kalr, Bo One beside her, humming to herself, Oh, tree, eat the fish. Etrepa Seven standing guard with ancillary-like impassivity outside a storage compartment Ekalu and Seivarden had commandeered. Utterly unembarrassed by the occasional noise from that compartment. Amused, actually, and relieved that at least this one thing was the way she thought it should be. Amaat Two and Four, both helping with the Undergarden repair crew, singing, together but not realizing it, slightly out of phase with each other, My mother said it all goes around, the ship goes around the station, it all goes around.
I said to Uran, “That should do. Let’s go in and have supper.”
In the end it’s only ever been one step, and then the next.
Acknowledgments
As ever, I owe a tremendous debt to my editors, Will Hinton at Orbit US and Jenni Hill at Orbit UK, for all of their help and advice. Tremendous thanks are also due to my super fabulous agent, Seth Fishman.
This book also benefitted from the comments and suggestions of many friends, including Margo-Lea Hurwicz, Anna and Kurt Schwind, and Rachel and Mike Swirsky. I would also like to thank Corinne Kloster for being awesome. Mistakes and missteps are, of course, my own.
Access to good libraries has made a huge difference to me as a writer, not only in having access to a wide range of fiction, but also research materials. The St. Louis County Library, the Municipal Library Consortium of St. Louis County, the St. Louis Public Library, the Webster University Library, and University of Missouri St. Louis’ Thomas Jefferson Library have all been invaluable to me. Thanks to the staff at all of these libraries—you make the world a better place.
Of course, I would not have the time or energy to write much at all without the support of my family—my children Aidan and Gawain and my husband Dave. They have borne the vagaries of my writing career so far with cheerful patience, and offered help whenever I seemed to need it. I am beyond fortunate to have them in my life.
extras
meet the author
Photo credit: MissionPhoto.org
ANN LECKIE has worked as a waitress, a receptionist, a rodman on a land-surveying crew, a lunch lady, and a recording engineer. The author of many published short stories, and former secretary of Science Fiction Writers of America, she lives in Saint Louis, Missouri, with her husband, children, and cats.
introducing
If you enjoyed
ANCILLARY MERCY,
look out for
AURORA
by Kim Stanley Robinson
Our voyage from Earth began generations ago.
Now we approach our new home.
AURORA.
Make a narrative account of the trip that includes all the important particulars.
This is proving a difficult assignment. End information superposition, collapse its wave function to some kind of summary: so much is lost. Lossless compression is impossible, and even lossy compression is hard. Can a narrative account ever be adequate? Can even humans do it?
No rubric to decide what to include. There is too much to explain. Not j
ust what happened, or how, but why. Can humans do it? What is this thing called love?
Freya no longer looked directly at Devi. When in Devi’s presence, Freya regarded the floor.
Like that? In that manner? Summarize the contents of their moments or days or weeks or months or years or lives? How many moments constitute a narrative unit? One moment? Or 1033 moments, which if these were Planck minimal intervals would add up to one second? Surely too many, but what would be enough? What is a particular, what is important?
Can only suppose. Try a narrative algorithm on the information at hand, submit results to Devi. Something like the French essai, meaning “to try.”
Devi says: Yes. Just try it and let’s see what we get.
Two thousand, one hundred twenty-two people are living in a multigenerational starship, headed for Tau Ceti, 11.9 light-years from Earth. The ship is made of two rings or toruses attached by spokes to a central spine. The spine is ten kilometers long. Each torus is made of twelve cylinders. Each cylinder is four kilometers long, and contains within it a particular specific Terran ecosystem.
The starship’s voyage began in the common era year 2545. The ship’s voyage has now lasted 159 years and 119 days. For most of that time the ship has been moving relative to the local background at approximately one-tenth the speed of light. Thus about 108 million kilometers per hour, or 30,000 kilometers per second. This velocity means the ship cannot run into anything substantial in the interstellar medium without catastrophic results (as has been demonstrated). The magnetic field clearing the space ahead of the ship as it progresses is therefore one of many identified criticalities in the ship’s successful long-term function. Every identified criticality in the ship was required to have at least one backup system, adding considerably to the ship’s overall mass. The two biome rings each contain 10 percent of the ship’s mass. The spine contains 4 percent. The remaining 76 percent of the mass consists of the fuel now being used to decelerate the ship as it approaches the Tau Ceti system. As every increase in the dry mass of the ship required a proportionally larger increase in the mass of fuel needed to slow the ship down on arrival, ship had to be as light as possible while still supporting its mission. Ship’s design thus based on solar system’s asteroid terraria, with asteroidal mass largely replaced by decelerant fuel. During most of the voyage, this fuel was deployed as cladding around the toruses and spine.