Ancillary Justice (25 page)

“Surely she’s been present when others have discussed it,” Mianaai continued. “What have her feelings been in such cases?”

“Exasperation,” I answered, through One Var. “Impatience. Sometimes boredom.”

“Exasperation,” mused Mianaai. “At what, I wonder?” I did not know the answer, so I said nothing. “Her family connections are such that I can’t be certain where her sympathies are most likely to lie. And some of them I don’t want to alienate before I can move openly. I have to tread carefully with Captain Rubran. But so will
she
.”

She
meaning, of course, herself.

There had been no attempt to discover
my
sympathies. Perhaps—no, certainly—they were irrelevant. And I was already well along the path the other Mianaai had set me on. These few Mianaais, and the four segments of One Var thawed for her service, only made the Var deck seem emptier, and all the decks between here and my engines. Hundreds of thousands of ancillaries slept in my holds, and they would likely be removed within the next few years, either stored or destroyed, never waking again. And I would be placed in orbit somewhere, permanently. My engines almost certainly disabled. Or I would be destroyed outright—though none of us had been so far, and I was fairly sure I would more likely serve as a habitat, or the core of a small station.

Not the life I had been built for.

“No, I can’t be hasty with Rubran Osck. But your Lieutenant Awn is another matter. And perhaps she can be of use in discovering where Awer stands.”

“My lord,” I said, through one of One Var’s mouths. “I am at a loss to understand what’s happening. I would feel a great deal more comfortable if the hundred captain knew you were here.”

“You dislike concealing things from your captain?” Anaander asked, with a tone that was equal parts bitter and amused.

“Yes, my lord. I will, of course, proceed precisely as you order me.” A sudden sense of déjà vu overcame me.

“Of course. I should explain some things.” The sense of déjà vu grew stronger. I had had this conversation before, in almost exactly these circumstances, with the Lord of the Radch.
You know that each of your ancillary segments is entirely capable of having its own identity
, she would say next. “You know that each of your ancillary segments is entirely capable of having its own identity.”

“Yes.” Every word, familiar. I could feel it, as though we were reciting lines we had memorized. Next she would say,
Imagine you became undecided about something
.

“Imagine some enemy separated part of you from yourself.”

Not what I had been expecting.
What is it people say, when that happens? They’re divided. They’re of two minds.

“Imagine that enemy managed to forge or force its way past all the necessary accesses. And that part of you came back to you—but wasn’t really part of you anymore. But you didn’t realize it. Not right away.”

You and I, we really can be of two minds, can’t we.

“That’s a very alarming thought, my lord.”

“It is,” agreed Anaander Mianaai, all the time sitting in the Var decade room, inspecting the corridors and rooms of the Var deck. Watching Lieutenant Awn, alone again, and miserable. Gesturing through my mind, on the central access deck. Or so she thought. “I don’t know precisely who has done it. I suspect the involvement of the Presger. They have been meddling in our affairs since before the Treaty. And after—five hundred years ago, the best surgicals and correctives were made in Radch space. Now we buy from the Presger. At first only at border stations, but now they’re everywhere. Eight hundred years ago the Translators Office was a collection of minor officials who assisted in the interpretation of extra-Radch intelligence, and who smoothed linguistic problems during
annexations. Now they dictate policy. Chief among them the Emissary to the Presger.” The last sentence was spoken with audible distaste. “Before the Treaty, the Presger destroyed a few ships. Now they destroy all of Radch civilization.

“Expansion, annexation, is very expensive. Necessary—it has been from the beginning. From the first, to surround the Radch itself with a buffer zone, protecting it from any sort of attack or interference. Later, to protect
those
citizens. And to expand the reach of civilization. And…” Mianaai stopped, gave a short, exasperated sigh. “To pay for the previous annexations. To provide wealth for Radchaai in general.”

“My lord, what do you suspect the Presger of having done?” But I knew. Even with my memory obscured and incomplete, I knew.

“Divided me. Corrupted part of me. And the corruption has spread, the other me has been recruiting—not only more parts of me but also my own citizens. My own soldiers.”
My own ships.
“My own ships. I can only guess what her goal is. But it can’t be anything good.”

“Do I understand correctly,” I asked, already knowing the answer, “that this other Anaander Mianaai is the force behind the ending of annexations?”

“She will destroy everything I’ve built!” I had never seen the Lord of the Radch so frustrated and angry. Had not thought her capable of it. “Do you realize—there’s no reason you should ever have thought of it—that it’s the appropriation of resources during annexations that drives our economy?”

“I am afraid, my lord, that I am only a troop carrier and have never concerned myself with such things. But what you say makes sense.”

“And you. I doubt you’re looking forward to losing your ancillaries.”

Outside me my distant companions, the Justices parked around the system, sat silent, waiting. How many of them had received this visit—or both these visits? “I am not, my lord.”

“I can’t promise that I can prevent it. I’m not prepared for open warfare. All my moves are in secret, pushing here, pulling there, making sure of my resources and support. But in the end, she is me, and there is little I can do she will not already have thought of. She has outmaneuvered me several times already. It’s why I have been so cautious in approaching you. I wanted to be sure she had not already suborned you.”

I felt it was safer not to comment on that, and instead said, through One Var, “My lord, the guns in the lake, in Ors.”
Was that your enemy?
I almost asked, but if we were faced with two Anaanders, each opposing the other, how did anyone know which was which?

“Events in Ors didn’t come out precisely the way I wished,” answered Anaander Mianaai. “I never expected anyone would find those guns, but if some Orsian fisherman had found them and said nothing, or even taken them, my purpose would still have been served.” Instead, Denz Ay had reported her find to Lieutenant Awn. The Lord of the Radch hadn’t expected that, I saw, hadn’t thought the Orsians trusted Lieutenant Awn that much. “I didn’t get what I wanted there, but perhaps the results will still serve my purpose. Hundred Captain Rubran is about to receive orders to depart this system for Valskaay. It was past time for you to leave, and you would have a year ago, if not for the Divine of Ikkt’s insistence that Lieutenant Awn stay, and my own opposition. Whether knowingly or not, Lieutenant Awn is the instrument of my enemy, I’m certain of it.”

I did not trust even One Var’s impassivity to answer that,
and therefore did not speak. Above, on the central access deck, the Lord of the Radch continued to make changes, give orders, alter my thoughts. Still believing she could in fact do that.

No one was surprised at the order to depart. Four other Justices already had in the last year, to destinations meant to be final. But neither I nor any of my officers had expected Valskaay, six gates away.

Valskaay, that I had been sorry to leave. One hundred years ago, in the city of Vestris Cor, on Valskaay itself, One Esk had discovered volume upon volume of elaborate, multi-voiced choral music, all intended for the rites of Valskaay’s troublesome religion, some of it dating from before humans had ever reached space. Downloaded everything it found so that it hardly regretted being sent away from such a treasure out to the countryside, hard work prying rebels from a reserve, forest and caverns and springs, that we couldn’t just blast because it was a watershed for half the continent. A region of small rivers and bluffs, and farms. Grazing sheep and peach orchards. And music—even the rebels, trapped at last, had sung, either in defiance against us or as consolation for themselves, their voices reaching my appreciative ears as I stood at the mouth of the cave where they hid.

Death will overtake us

In whatever manner already fated

Everyone falls to it

And so long as I’m ready

I don’t fear it

No matter what form it takes.

When I thought of Valskaay, I thought of sunshine and the sweet, bright taste of peaches. Thought of music. But I was sure I wouldn’t be sent down to the planet this time—there would be no orchards for One Esk, no visits (unofficial, as unobtrusive as possible) to choral society meetings.

Traveling to Valskaay I would not, it turned out, take the gates, but generate my own, moving more directly. The gates most travelers used had been generated millennia ago, were held constantly open, stable, surrounded by beacons broadcasting warnings, notifications, information about local regulations and navigation hazards. Not only ships, but messages and information streamed constantly through them.

In the two thousand years I had been alive, I had used them once. Like all Radchaai warships, I was capable of making my own shortcut. It was more dangerous than using the established gates—an error in my calculations could send me anywhere, or nowhere, never to be heard from again. And since I left no structures behind to hold my gate open, I traveled in a bubble of normal space, isolated from everyone and everywhere until I exited at my destination. I didn’t make such errors, and in the course of arranging an annexation the isolation could be an advantage. Now, though, the prospect of months alone, with Anaander Mianaai secretly occupying my Var deck, made me nervous.

Before I gated out, a message came from Lieutenant Skaaiat for Lieutenant Awn. Brief.
I said keep in touch. I meant it.

Lieutenant Dariet said, “See, I told you.” But Lieutenant Awn didn’t answer.

At some point I opened my eyes again, thinking I had heard voices. All around me, blue. I tried to blink, found I could only close my eyes and leave them closed.

Sometime later I opened my eyes again, turned my head to the right, and saw Seivarden and the girl squatting on either side of a Tiktik board. So I was dreaming, or hallucinating. At least I no longer hurt, which on consideration was a bad sign, but I couldn’t bring myself to care much. I closed my eyes again.

I woke, finally, actual wakefulness, and found myself in a small blue-walled room. I lay in a bed, and on a bench beside it Seivarden sat, leaning against the wall, looking as though she hadn’t slept recently. Or, that is to say, even more as though she hadn’t slept recently than she usually did.

I lifted my head. My arms and legs were immobilized by correctives.

“You’re awake,” said Seivarden.

I set my head back down. “Where’s my pack?”

“Right here.” She bent, lifted it into my line of sight.

“We’re at the medical center in Therrod,” I guessed, and closed my eyes.

“Yes. Do you think you can talk to the doctor? Because I can’t understand anything she says.”

I remembered my dream. “You learned to play Tiktik.”

“That’s different.” So, not a dream.

“You sold the flier.” No answer. “You bought kef.”

“No, I didn’t,” she protested. “I was
going
to. But when I woke up and you were gone…” I heard her shift uncomfortably on the bench. “I was going to find a dealer, but it bothered me that you were gone and I didn’t know where you were. I started to think maybe you’d left me behind.”

“You wouldn’t have cared once you took the kef.”

“But I didn’t have the kef,” she said, voice surprisingly reasonable. “And then I went to the front and found you’d checked out.”

“And you decided to find me, and not the kef,” I said. “I don’t believe you.”

“I don’t blame you.” She was silent for five seconds. “I’ve been sitting here, thinking. I accused you of hating me because I was better than you.”

“That’s not why I hate you.”

She ignored that. “Amaat’s grace, that fall… it was my own stupid fault, I was sure I was dead, and if it had been the other way around I’d never have jumped to save anyone’s life. You never knelt to get anywhere. You are where you are because you’re fucking capable, and willing to risk everything to do right, and I’ll never be half what you are even if I tried my whole life, and I was walking around thinking I was better than you, even half dead and no use to anyone, because my family is old, because I was
born better
.”

“That,” I said, “is why I hate you.”

She laughed, as though I’d said something moderately witty. “If that’s what you’re willing to do for someone you hate, what would you do for someone you loved?”

I found I was incapable of answering. Fortunately the doctor came in, broad, round-faced, pale. Frowning slightly, slightly more when she saw me. “It seems,” she said, in an even tone that seemed impartial but implied disapproval, “that I don’t understand your friend when he tries to explain what happened.”

I looked at Seivarden, who made a helpless gesture and said, “I don’t understand any of it. I tried my best and the whole day she’s been giving me that look, like I’m biological waste she stepped in.”

“It’s probably just her normal expression.” I turned my head back to the doctor. “We fell off the bridge,” I explained.

The doctor’s expression didn’t change. “Both of you?”

“Yes.”

A moment of impassive silence, and then, “It does not pay to be dishonest with your doctor.” And then when I didn’t answer, “You would not be the first tourist to enter a restricted area and be injured. You are, however, the first to claim they’d fallen off the bridge and lived. I don’t know whether to admire the brazenness, or be angry you take me for such a fool.”