by Ann Leckie
“Games, now,” said Translator Zeiat thoughtfully. “I can’t say we actually play any games. Not as such. Well, you know, Dlique might. I wouldn’t put anything past Dlique.” She looked at me. “Did Dlique play counters?”
“Not that I’m aware, Translator.”
“Oh, good. I’m very glad I’m not Dlique.” She looked over at Medic, who was eating eggs and vegetables and still frowning at me. “Medic, I do understand you miss the previous fleet captain, I do myself, but it’s hardly this one’s fault. And she’s very much like the previous one, really. She’s even making every effort to grow another leg for you.”
Medic swallowed her mouthful of breakfast, entirely unoffended. “Translator, I’m given to understand that the first Presger translators were grown from human remains.”
“I myself am given to understand the same,” replied Translator Zeiat, sounding quite unperturbed by the question. “I suspect it’s even true. Long before the treaty, long before translators were ever considered, in fact, they had, shall we say, a very… yes, a very practical kind of understanding of how Human bodies were put together.”
“Or taken apart,” Medic put in. Seivarden nearly pushed her plate away. Sphene chewed placidly, listening as it had all through the meal.
“Indeed, Medic, indeed!” agreed Translator Zeiat. “But their priorities are not, well, not Human priorities, and when they put us together, you know, they didn’t really have any understanding of what would be important. Or maybe essential is a better word. At any rate. Their first several tries went horribly wrong.”
“In what way?” asked Medic, genuinely curious.
“Your very great indulgence, Medic,” said Seivarden, “but we are eating.”
“Perhaps you can discuss it later,” I suggested.
“Oh!” Translator Zeiat seemed genuinely surprised. “Is it propriety again?”
“It is.” I finished off my own eggs. “Incidentally, Translator. You are, of course, welcome to stay with us as long as you like, but since you did come through the Ghost Gate, I was wondering if you might be leaving us before we return to Athoek.”
“Oh, goodness, no, Fleet Captain! I can’t go home just yet. I mean, can you imagine it? Everyone saying Hello, Dlique! and, Look, Dlique’s home! It would be Dlique this, and Dlique that, and I’d have to tell them that no, I’m very sorry, but I’m not Dlique, I’m Zeiat. And then I’d have to explain what happened to Dlique and it would get very awkward. No, I’m not ready to face that. It’s very good of you to let me stay. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.”
“It’s our pleasure, Translator,” I said.
Athoek Station’s response arrived in four parts, each one innocently labeled as a routine reply to an authorized query. Tisarwat ought to have been asleep, but was not. Instead she sat at the table in the decade room. She had not been able to stay still in her quarters, and besides the decade room was closer to the bath; she had drunk far more tea than was wise. Bo Nine had just set a fresh bowl in front of her. Nine had been impressively patient given that this was the middle of the night for her as well and she hadn’t slept any more than her lieutenant had.
Ship didn’t waste an instant, but displayed the first-arriving in Tisarwat’s vision without explanation. Tisarwat started up out of her chair. Frowned. “It’s a shuttle schedule. Why did Station send a shuttle schedule?” To be precise, it was the schedule for the passenger shuttles between Athoek Station and the tops of the planet’s elevators. Dated yesterday.
I was coming out of the bath, headed for Command, but instead I swung myself around and went toward the decade room, Five behind me. “Next one, Ship,” I said. Station Security was to place itself under the orders of a lieutenant from Sword of Gurat. Ancillaries from Sword of Gurat would patrol the station along with regular Security. And so would ancillaries from Sword of Atagaris. “There’s no mention of any lieutenant from Sword of Atagaris,” Tisarwat said, as I came in the door and Nine pulled out a chair for me. “Or any of its officers at all, actually.”
“Why not?” I asked. “Did Sword of Atagaris not get those pods we left?”
“Maybe she removed Captain Hetnys from command,” suggested Tisarwat, sitting back down. “It would hardly be surprising, Hetnys is lucky if she has half the brains an oyster has. And you’ve made it pretty clear that whoever controls Hetnys controls Sword of Atagaris.” She gave a little hah. “That’ll turn out to be a mistake.”
I certainly hoped so. “And the next?”
“A list of urgent requests for an audience with…” Tisarwat hesitated.
“With Anaander Mianaai,” I finished for her. “And of course Fosyf Denche is on the list, and of course she wants the Lord of the Radch to right a terrible miscarriage of justice regarding her daughter Raughd.”
Tisarwat scoffed. Then frowned. “And last is a list of citizens who are required to immediately relocate downwell, in order to relieve crowding on the station. Sir, look at the names.”
I was looking at it. “Basnaaid and Uran are on it.”
“Station Administrator Celar made this list, depend on it. But look at the rest of it.”
“Yes,” I agreed.
“Nearly all Ychana,” Tisarwat said. “Which makes sense, really, since it’s mostly Ychana who were displaced to begin with. And if trouble breaks out on the station they’re most likely to bear the brunt of it. I’m sure Administrator Celar was thinking of getting them to relative safety. But I see at least a dozen people who are going to immediately suspect they’re being singled out for mistreatment. And I doubt anyone on the list is going to be happy about being summarily sent off the station.” She frowned. “They’re supposed to leave today. That’s fast.”
“Yes,” I agreed. Anaander had likely ordered everyone to remain indoors, and Station Administrator Celar had had to find some way to make it work, and quickly. I sat, finally, in the chair Bo Nine had pulled out for me. Leaned my crutches against the table, next to where the pieces of Sphene and Translator Zeiat’s ongoing game were laid out. “Is this information supposed to go with the shuttle schedule?” Except the order to relocate was for today, and the shuttle schedule was for yesterday.
“Sir,” said Tisarwat. Frustrated and afraid. “Did you hear me? They’re hastily relocating dozens of Undergarden residents, at a time when armed soldiers are threatening to shoot citizens on the concourse.”
“I heard.”
“Sir! A lot of the people on this list are likely to refuse to get on that shuttle.”
“I think you’re right, Lieutenant. But there’s nothing we can do about it. We are three days away from Athoek Station. Whatever is happening is happening now.”
Sphene came in the door, Translator Zeiat close behind. “Well, I wasn’t ever a child, actually,” Translator Zeiat was saying. “Or, that is to say, when I was a child I was someone else. I daresay you were, too. No doubt that’s why we get on so well. Hello, Fleet Captain. Hello, Lieutenant.”
“Translator,” I said, lowering my head briefly.
Tisarwat seemed not to have noticed that anyone else was in the decade room. “So Station wants us to know that Captain Hetnys isn’t back on Sword of Atagaris and isn’t likely to be. It tells us that Basnaaid and Uran are being sent to safety. And that Fosyf is seizing the opportunity to put herself back on top of things. And that the shuttles are running as always? Why?”
“It’s telling us,” said Five, behind me, for Ship, “that something happened to one of the shuttles. There’s one missing off the schedule. Look.” In my vision, and Tisarwat’s, the schedule Station had sent us, and the one Ship already had. The differences flared, the arrivals and departures that were on the regular schedule but not the one Station had sent. “Those are all the same shuttle. So Station wants us to know that something happened to that shuttle. It is also being careful to let us know that it happened before yesterday. Before, that is, Basnaaid and Uran boarded a shuttle downwell.”
Sphene sat down on one s
ide of the in-progress game. “Is Station doing that thing again, where it won’t tell you what’s wrong but something is obviously wrong?”
“Sort of,” I said. “Only this time we asked it to. It can’t tell us directly, because the Usurper is on the station.”
Translator Zeiat sat beside me, on the other side of the game. Frowned a moment at the bright-colored counters in their holes on the board, the scattering of eggshell fragments. “I believe it’s your turn, Sphene.”
“Indeed,” replied Sphene. It scooped the counters out of one depression on the board, turned its hand palm-up to show them to Translator Zeiat. “Three green. One blue. One yellow. One red.”
“I think that’s four green,” said the translator dubiously.
“No, that’s definitely blue.”
“Hmm. All right.” Translator Zeiat took the red counter from Sphene’s hand and dropped it in the scummed-over bowl of tea. “That’s almost a whole egg, too. I’m going to have to think carefully about my next move.”
“We have more shells for you, Translator, if you need them,” said Bo Nine. The translator waved an absent acknowledgment, stared at the board as Sphene redistributed the remaining counters.
“Look at the Security order,” said Tisarwat. “At the way it’s worded. I think Sword of Gurat is actually docked with Athoek Station. But why would…” She trailed off, frowning.
“Because Anaander needs every ancillary aboard it to police the station,” I guessed.
“But she has three other ships! One of them is a troop carrier, isn’t it? She has thousands of…” I could see the realization strike. “What if she doesn’t have three other ships? Sir!” She focused again on the records in her vision. “Why hasn’t Station told us what ships are in the system?” And then, “No, she won’t have told Station what ships are in the system. Especially if there aren’t many. And she doesn’t trust Sword of Atagaris. Or Captain Hetnys.”
“Can you blame her?” asked Sphene. “Arrogant and dim-witted, the both of them.” Tisarwat looked up at the ancillary, surprised to realize that it was in the room. Blinked at it, and at the translator.
“Does she not know what happened last time Sword of Atagaris supplied security?” asked Tisarwat. And then, “No, of course she doesn’t. They haven’t told her for some reason.”
Just from the small bit we’d seen the day before, there were plenty of things system authorities hadn’t told Anaander Mianaai. “Or she does know and she doesn’t care.”
“Very possible,” Tisarwat agreed. “Sir, we have to go back!”
“We do,” said Translator Zeiat, still staring at the game in front of her, still pondering her move. “I’m told you’re nearly out of fish sauce.”
“Now how could that have happened?” asked Sphene, as innocently as I supposed was possible for it.
“Please, sir.” Tisarwat seemed not to have heard either of them. “We can’t leave things the way they are, and I have an idea.”
That got the translator’s full attention. She looked up from the game, frowned intently at Tisarwat. “What’s it like? Does it hurt?” Tisarwat only blinked at her. “Sometimes I think I might like to get an idea, but then it occurs to me that it’s exactly the sort of thing Dlique would do.” When Tisarwat didn’t answer, Translator Zeiat returned her attention to the game. Picked up a yellow counter from off the board, put it in her mouth, and swallowed. “Your turn, Sphene.”
“That one wasn’t green, either,” said Sphene.
“I know,” said Translator Zeiat, with an air of satisfaction.
“Ship is already making the calculations for the trip back to Athoek,” I said, to Tisarwat. “Go see Medic and tell her you’ve had way too much tea.” She opened her mouth to protest, but I continued. “It’s three days back to Athoek. We can spare a few minutes. When Medic is done with you, come see me in my quarters and we’ll talk about your idea.”
She wanted to protest. Wanted to pound a fist on the table and shout at me. Almost did it, but instead she took a breath, and then another one. “Sir,” she said. Stood up, overturning the chair behind her, and left the decade room. Bo Nine righted the chair, and followed.
“What an excitable person that Lieutenant Tisarwat is,” said Translator Zeiat. “An idea. Just imagine!”
12
“So, this idea of yours?” I asked, when Tisarwat came to my quarters.
“Well, it’s not…” Standing in front of me where I sat, she shifted uncomfortably, just slightly. “It’s kind of desperate.” I didn’t say anything. “Sword of Gurat isn’t one of the ships she gave me accesses to, but there’s… there’s a kind of underlying logic to the accesses. The split has meant that the underlying logic for each part of her isn’t identical, which is part of why I couldn’t find all of what she might have done to Athoek Station, or Sword of Atagaris.”
“Or Mercy of Kalr.”
“Or Mercy of Kalr. Yes, sir.” Unhappy at that. “But the other part of her, the part that’s at Omaugh, I’m… very familiar with that. If I could get aboard Sword of Gurat, if I had time to talk to it, I might actually be able to figure out how to access it.” I looked at her. She seemed entirely serious. “I told you it was desperate.”
“You did,” I agreed.
“So here’s my idea. We put two teams on the station. One of them—mine—goes to the docks to try to get aboard Sword of Gurat. And the other finds Anaander and kills her.”
“Just like that?”
“Well, that’s just an overview. I did leave out some details. And of course, I haven’t really taken Sword of Atagaris into account at all.” She winced, then, just a bit. “A lot of the details seemed really clear to me when I first thought of it. In retrospect, they were actually pretty incoherent. But I still think the basic outline is sound, sir.” She hesitated, watching for my reaction.
“Right,” I said. “Choose two of your Bos to go with you. They’ll spend the next three days in the gym and the firing range, or whatever other training or briefing you feel they need, and they’re relieved of all other duties. Ship.”
“Fleet Captain,” Mercy of Kalr said in my ear.
“Have Etrepa One take over watch from Lieutenant Ekalu, and ask Ekalu and Seivarden to join us here. And ask Five to come make us tea for the meeting. And Ship.”
“Sir.”
“Do you want Lieutenant Tisarwat to do for you what she did for Station and Sword of Atagaris?”
Silence. Though I suspected I already knew the answer. And then, “Actually, Fleet Captain, I do.”
I looked at Tisarwat. “Make room for it in your schedule, Lieutenant. And you might as well tell me your incoherent details, in case there’s anything there worth salvaging.”
Next morning at breakfast, I left Sphene and Medic to entertain Translator Zeiat, and invited Ekalu to eat with me. “Is everything all right?” I asked, when Five had laid out fruit and fish on the Bractware, and poured tea in the rose glass bowls, and then left the room at Ship’s suggestion.
“I don’t know what you mean, sir.” Picked up her bowl of tea. Much less uncomfortable holding it than she’d been weeks ago. Much less uncomfortable around me.
Still. “I don’t mean anything in particular, Lieutenant.”
“It’s a little odd, sir, begging your indulgence.” She put the tea down, untasted. “You already know how I’m getting along, don’t you?”
“To a point,” I admitted. Took a bite of fish, so that Ekalu could begin eating if she wanted. “I can look in on you if I want, and I can see how you feel sometimes. But I’m…” I put my utensil down. “I’m trying not to do that too much. Particularly if I think it makes you uncomfortable. And”—I gestured the space between us—“I’d like you to be able to talk to me if you need to. If you want to.”
Mortification. Fear. “Have I done something wrong, sir?”
“No. Far from it.” I made myself take another bite of fish. “I just wanted to have breakfast with you and maybe ask your opin
ion about some things, but right now, asking you how things are going, I’m just making conversation.” Took a drink of my tea. “I’m not always very good at idle conversation. Sorry.”
Ekalu dared a tiny little smile, felt the beginning of relief, though she didn’t trust that feeling entirely. Didn’t relax.
“So,” I continued, “I’ll just go right to the business then, shall I? I wanted your opinion of Amaat One. It must be strange,” I added, seeing her suppress a flinch at that, “hearing a name you went by for so long, that you don’t go by anymore.”
Ekalu gestured insignificance. “I didn’t come onto this ship Amaat One. My number changed, as people retired, or left, or…” Whatever she’d meant to put behind that or didn’t come. She gestured it away. “But you’re right, sir, it is strange.” She took a bit of fruit, then. Chewed and swallowed. “I suppose you know what that’s like.”
“I do,” I agreed. Waited a moment to see if she had anything else to say, but she apparently didn’t. “I’m not asking for anything bad. Amaat One stood watch and ran her decade while Seivarden was ill. I think she did an excellent job, and I’d like her to begin officer training. We have the materials aboard, because you’ve been using them. Actually, I think the training ought to be available to anyone on the ship who wants it. But I very specifically am considering the possibility of a field promotion for Amaat One. You know her very well, I think.”
“Sir, I…” She was deeply uncomfortable, insulted even. She wanted to get up from the table, leave the room. Didn’t know how to answer me.
“I realize I’m very possibly putting you in a difficult position, if you should object to her being promoted, and if she should find out—because there are very few secrets on this ship—that you had perhaps prevented it. But I beg you to consider the situation we’re in. Consider what happened when I and Lieutenant Tisarwat were away and Lieutenant Seivarden was ill. You and the decade leaders handled things admirably, but you would all have been more comfortable if you’d had more experience. I see no reason not to give all of the decade leaders the training required for when it happens again, and I foresee them eventually deserving promotion. I foresee the ship needing them in those places.”
