Ancillary Mercy

by Ann Leckie

  “I haven’t found anything to make it with yet,” said Two.

  “Hah!” exclaimed Four. “You don’t really think Kalr was going to leave any dishes behind, do you? I’ll see about getting us a flask.” And then, opening the next box, “Oh!”

  Two came over to see what she’d found. “Aatr’s tits!” She looked over at Seivarden, who was still curled up against the wall. Looked back at Four. “That’s a dozen bottles of the fleet captain’s arrack.” Watching out of the corner of her eye for some reaction from Seivarden, but there was none. “We could trade a bottle for a tea set, easy. And probably a few other things. Fleet Captain wouldn’t mind. Would she?”

  “She would not,” agreed Four. “She would want us to have tea. Don’t you think, sir?” Looked over at Seivarden. Who did not move or make a sound. Four turned back to Two, trying to pretend she had not just felt that sickening, sinking feeling of dismay at seeing Seivarden unresponsive. She took a bottle out of the box. “I’ll see to it. And I’ll get us something to eat, too.” And then, a trifle louder, her voice aimed at Seivarden, added, “You just get some rest, sir.” But did not leave, because someone neither Two nor Four recognized was approaching the crate enclosure. Stopped at the perimeter. The Amaats weren’t sure whether to be reassured by how young she was, or how well-dressed. Or the shy familiarity with which she walked right up to the improvised entrance.

  “Citizens.” She bowed. “I’m Uran. You are…” She frowned, looking at the insignia on the soldiers’ rumpled and by-now-dirty uniforms. “Mercy of Kalr Amaat.”

  “Oh! Citizen Uran!” Two bowed with a discomfited rush of surprise. Did not look over at Seivarden, who still sat against the wall, who should have made herself available to handle this sort of potentially socially awkward moment. “Our apologies. Of course this is your home, we hadn’t even thought, things have been… hectic.” Noticed then that Uran held her right arm at an oddly stiff angle. “Were you hurt?”

  “Only a broken wrist, citizen,” Uran replied. “I was just coming from Medical and I heard you were here.” She waved away whatever Two had been about to say with her uninjured hand. “I’ve been staying with friends, but I heard you were here and came to see if you needed anything. The Rad… the fleet captain left some things, there’s plenty of bedding and there’s some tea.” Two saw Uran’s gaze flick away, over Two’s shoulder, to where Seivarden sat, and then back to Two. “I don’t think there are any dishes, though. Also, Horticulturist Basnaaid means to call on you when she can.”

  “That’s very good of her,” replied Two. “And we’re grateful for your assistance. In fact.” She looked over at Four, still holding that bottle of arrack. “Maybe you can show us where we can make some trades. You’re right, we haven’t found any dishes so far, and we’re in particular need of a tea set just now.” Wanted to turn her head to look at Seivarden. Managed not to.

  Uran’s eyes grew wide. “That will get you lots more than a tea set, and besides, that’s the fleet captain’s arrack! Please, my allowance is generous. Let me bring you what you need and it will be”—she frowned, looking, probably, for an equivalent of a Delsig phrase—“it will be a word between cousins.” Winced at Two’s expression of puzzled surprise. “I express myself badly. Radchaai is not my first language.”

  “You express yourself perfectly, citizen,” said Two. “And thank you.” She looked over at Four.

  “I’ll stay with the lieutenant,” said Four, and put the bottle back in its crate.

  An hour later Two had come back, with dishes and utensils, water and refectory rations for the three of them, and most importantly a tea flask and bowls. When the tea was ready, Four brought a bowl over to Seivarden, who had not moved. Crouched beside her. “Sir. Lieutenant Seivarden, sir, here’s tea.” No response. “Sir.” Still nothing. Gently Four reached out and smoothed Seivarden’s hair back with one free, gloved hand. “Sir.” Allowing her dismay and fear just the smallest bit into her voice. “Sir, I know it’s hard, but we need you.” They didn’t, strictly speaking. Two and Four were perfectly capable of taking care of themselves. Though not, perhaps, if they also had to take constant care of Seivarden. “We need to know what to do next.”

  “It doesn’t matter what we do next.” Seivarden, still curled in on herself.

  “It’ll seem better when we’ve had some tea, sir,” said Four, still holding out that now-cooling bowl.

  “Tea?” Seivarden didn’t look up, but the muscles in her neck and shoulders tensed, as though she was considering it.

  “Yes, sir. And there’s breakfast, and we’ve found some nice, comfortable bedding, and we don’t have work until tomorrow morning. We can relax for the rest of the day, but we need you, sir, we need you to sit up and drink some tea.”

  Seivarden looked up, saw Four squatting beside her, bowl of tea in her hand, her face the nearest thing to absolutely impassive. Probably only someone who knew Four well would realize that she was near tears, and small wonder if she was. Both Two and Four had been as obviously near death as either of them had ever been in their lives, just hours ago. They had failed in their mission, one they knew well enough everything had depended on. Even the next few minutes seemed uncertain, filled with pitfalls. Seivarden, with no apparent awareness of this, asked, bewildered, “You need me to drink tea?”

  “Yes, sir.” Four, not quite daring to be relieved.

  “Yes, sir,” agreed Two, pulling blankets out of a crate. “We surely do need you to do exactly that.”

  Seivarden blinked. Exhaled, short and sharp. Unwrapped her arms from around her legs, took the tea from Amaat Two, and drank.

  “Work” was putting on vacuum suits and going through a hastily erected temporary airlock into a now-airless level one of the Undergarden. Looking for structural damage, which neither Seivarden nor her Amaats were qualified to do, but they could all three of them apply patches where a supervisor told them to, or carry things. It wasn’t terribly interesting work, but it was demanding enough to mostly keep their minds off of problems they couldn’t solve.

  Or at least, Seivarden had likely imagined it was. On the second day, another vacuum-suited citizen leaned her faceplate against Seivarden’s and said, tersely questioning, “Rough day, eh?”

  The question seemed innocent enough, but hearing it struck Seivarden with a sudden, sharp sense of recognition, and then fierce wanting. And a wash of shame, and nauseated regret. She might have said any of a dozen things—Not really or even just a flat Go away. Instead she said, “I have a shunt.”

  “Oh,” said that other citizen, not at all taken aback. “That’ll cost a bit extra, then. But you know—I can see that you know—you know how nicely a bit of detachment takes the edge off, when you’re having a rough day.”

  “Go away,” said Seivarden, finally. Not very relieved to have said it. Still sick to her stomach.

  “Fine, fine.” And the citizen lifted her faceplate from Seivarden’s, and went back to sealing her bit of corridor.

  Seivarden didn’t go back to her own patching, but left work, without reporting to the crew supervisor.

  She woke up in Medical. Lay looking at the ceiling for a few minutes, not even wondering how she’d gotten there. Feeling oddly rested and calm. Then a memory must have struck her, because she winced, closed her eyes, laid an arm over her face. “Well, good morning, Lieutenant.” The voice cheerful. Seivarden didn’t move her arm to see who was speaking. “That was an exciting evening you had last night, though fortunately enough for you, you weren’t conscious for most of it. I’m impressed you managed to get down nearly two bottles of arrack before you passed out. That much, drunk that fast, can be enough to kill someone. We were all in a good deal of suspense.” Still quite cheerful. Breezy, even, not a trace of sarcasm.

  “Go away,” said Seivarden, not moving her arm.

  “If we were aboard your ship, I’m sure I’d have to do that,” the voice continued, now cheerfully apologetic. “But we’re not, we’re in Station Medi
cal, which means I’m in charge. So do you feel like you could eat something? Your soldiers are outside—they’re asleep right now, actually, but they’ve asked to see you as soon as you wake. You might want something to eat first, and actually you and I should discuss some things.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like that kef shunt. I don’t generally recommend their use. They’re too easy to circumvent and they don’t really solve the problem. Ah, I see whoever worked on you did try to supplement with other methods.” Likely in response to Seivarden’s growing nausea, on the doctor’s mentioning the shunt. Though that nausea was distant—blunted. Meds, no doubt. “But I’ll tell you the truth, Lieutenant, once you take the kef you don’t really care if you puke your guts out. That’s kind of the whole point. Maybe you’ve already discovered that? No? Well. Whoever installed your shunt and did that other work probably wasn’t any sort of specialist. Ship’s medic, yes? All respect to ship’s medics, they’ve got to be good at a lot of different things, and sometimes they have to do those things under a great deal of pressure. But this isn’t an area they’re generally up on. Still, in the end it probably doesn’t matter that much. Really, the only thing that has much chance of working is to develop the kind of habits that keep you away from it. Assuming you want to be away from it.”

  “I do.” Seivarden lowered her arm. Opened her eyes, looked at the doctor’s thin, cheerful face. “I’ve been away from it. Until now. I was going to sell the arrack. I knew I’d get more than enough for… for what I wanted, but then I thought, no, it’s Breq’s. And then I thought, damn it, I need a drink.”

  “Doubtless you did,” agreed the doctor. “Drinking yourself insensible so you don’t go back to kef may not be a particularly good idea, but it does show a certain admirable determination.” Seivarden didn’t reply. “I’m authorizing a day off work for you today, and I’m sending you home with a one-day self-determine for tomorrow. Which is to say, if you feel like you want to go back to work tomorrow, you’re cleared to, but if you’d rather stay home another day, you can do that, with no reprimand or loss of wages.”

  Seivarden closed her eyes. “Thank you, Doctor.”

  “You’re welcome. And try not to be too hard on yourself. I imagine everyone on the station wishes they could knock themselves insensible right now, and wake up with everything back the way it should be. Oh, and next time you feel like getting hammered, message me. That was some damn good stuff you puked all over yourself, I think it’s only fair I should get some, too. That hasn’t already been through you, I mean.”

  Seivarden slept all that day. The next morning she spent alone in the crate-bounded corridor end. Two and Four, not having been ill, didn’t have self-determines from Medical and went to work.

  For a while Seivarden sat on the ground, staring at the crates. Not moving, although she’d told her two Amaats that she felt much better, and would take the opportunity to call on Head of Security Lusulun, and Station Administrator Celar. They would not have left her alone if she hadn’t given them such assurances, if she hadn’t been bathed and dressed in her now-clean uniform before they went to work. Which Seivarden knew well enough. But now she was alone, she found herself unwilling to stand. “Maybe I’ll just go back to bed,” she said at length, aloud.

  Station said in her ear, “That would be very awkward, Lieutenant.”

  Seivarden blinked. Looked up, saw Horticulturist Basnaaid standing on the other side of the crates. “You seemed to be thinking so hard,” Basnaaid said, with a smile. “I didn’t want to interrupt you.”

  Seivarden sprang to her feet. “Horticulturist! It’s not an interruption, I wasn’t actually thinking about anything. Please, come in. Will you have some tea?” Four had made sure the flask was full before she’d gone to work. “This is really ridiculous, inviting you into a pile of boxes.”

  “I would have loved it when I was little,” said Basnaaid, coming in. “I’d love some tea, thank you. Here, I brought you some cakes. I didn’t know if the fleet captain had left anything edible.”

  “We’ve been getting by.” Seivarden managed to look as though the issue of what had been left behind didn’t trouble her. “Just. This is very welcome, and very kind of you, thank you.” She poured tea, and they sat on the ground.

  After a few sips, Seivarden said, “I noticed you were on the concourse the other day. You weren’t injured?”

  “Some bruises.” She gestured their unimportance. “You were the one who fell out that window.”

  “Oh, did you notice that?” Seivarden asked, lightly, almost as though she were her old self again. “Yes, that was exciting.” A surge of guilt, then, and despair, which she managed to keep off her face. “I was armored. And I hit flat on my back, so I’m fine.”

  Something must have showed on her face then, because Basnaaid said, “Are you sure?”

  For a moment Seivarden looked at her. And then, unable to help herself, she said, “No. No, I’m not fine.” Was silent then, as she struggled for control over herself. Succeeded, finally, only a few tears to wipe away. “I fucked up. And it wasn’t… I mean, there are fuck-ups and then there are fuck-ups. Sorry. Mess-ups.”

  “I’ve heard people swear before, Lieutenant. I’ve even done it myself.” Seivarden tried to smile. Nearly managed it. “I heard,” Basnaaid continued, “that you were in Medical the other night.”

  “Oh,” Seivarden said. “Somebody thought I needed looking after.”

  “No, but now I’m wondering if Station wouldn’t have suggested I visit you, if I hadn’t already been on my way.”

  “Station! I’m nothing to Station.” Remembered the tea in her hand. Took a drink while Basnaaid watched, puzzled. Worried-looking. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I just… I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” She considered taking another drink of tea, but couldn’t quite manage it. “Actually, Station was kind of amazing. I’ve always… you know, when you spend a lot of time with ships, you start to think of stations as kind of… I don’t know, kind of weak. But it threatened to suck all the air out of the room if the Lord of Mianaai didn’t agree to its terms. It’s holding her captive in the governor’s residence. Here I am going, Oh, stations are weak but Station was a fucking badass. I was having trouble believing it was Station talking.”

  “I had to do something, Lieutenant.” Station, in Seivarden’s ear, and Basnaaid’s. “You’re right, it’s not the sort of thing I’m used to doing. I tried to imagine what Fleet Captain Breq would do.”

  “I think you hit your target, Station,” said Seivarden. “I think the fleet captain would be… she’ll be pretty impressed when she hears.”

  “Is the fleet captain…” Basnaaid. Hopeful. Hesitant. “Is she coming back?”

  “I don’t know,” replied Seivarden. “She very deliberately didn’t tell me what her plans were. Didn’t tell me what T… didn’t tell me anything. In case. You know. Because actually, my chances of doing what I came here to do were pretty fucking slim.” Tisarwat’s chances were slimmer, but Seivarden didn’t know that. She swallowed, hard. Set down her bowl of tea. “I let her down. I let Breq down, and everything was depending on it, and she’s never let me down, not even when I thought she had. The things she’s done, the most terrifying, dangerous things and hardly blinking, and me, I can’t even get from one minute to the next of just living. Wait.” Tears welled. “Wait, no, that’s not right. I’m feeling sorry for myself again.”

  “I don’t think much of anyone could stand comparison with the fleet captain,” remarked Basnaaid. “Not that way, anyway.”

  “Your sister, maybe.”

  “In some ways, maybe,” agreed Basnaaid. “Lieutenant, when did you eat last?”

  “I had breakfast?” Seivarden replied, doubtfully. “Maybe? A little?” Looked over at the almost-full dish of skel Two had set out for her. “A little.”

  “Why don’t you wash your face and we’ll go get something to eat? Places are opening up again, I’m sure we could find something good.” />
  “I promised my Amaats I’d go see the head of Security, and the station administrator. Although the more I think about it, the more I think it would be best not to look like I’m interfering in station business.” She hesitated. Suppressed a frown. “I definitely need to appeal my assignment.”

  “All right,” Basnaaid said, “but trust me, you want to eat something first.”

  16

  They found a shop in a side corridor, open, serving not much more than noodles and tea. “Thank you, Horticulturist,” Seivarden said to Basnaaid, sitting across from her, when she’d finished her lunch. “I didn’t realize how badly I needed that.” She unquestionably felt a good deal better than before she’d eaten.

  Basnaaid smiled. “My life always seems hopeless when it’s been too long since I’ve eaten.”

  “No doubt. In my case, though, all my problems are still there. I suppose I’ll just have to find some way to deal with whatever happens next.” And then, remembering, “But what about you? Are you safe? It seems like nobody’s told… nobody’s told the Lord of Mianaai about you, or about Citizen Uran. Which means they haven’t told her everything that happened with Captain Hetnys. In fact, from what I’ve seen, people I’d have expected to have plenty of motivation to tell her, not to mention clear opportunities, seem to have actively avoided it.”

  Basnaaid ate the last of her own noodles, set her utensil down. “You’ve been doing work in the Undergarden?” Seivarden gestured acknowledgment. “Level one wasn’t depressurized when you left. That didn’t happen until the Lord of the Radch arrived here herself.” Seivarden frowned. Basnaaid continued, “It hasn’t been on the news, of course, partly because up until a day or two ago the news was all about the fleet captain, but when Sword of Gurat gated up to the station, it wasn’t paying attention to where the passenger shuttle was.”