0316246689 (S) (14 page)

Once in the shuttle, she emptied the bag into a storage locker, and then kicked herself over to a seat and strapped herself in. “Station.”

“Lieutenant.”

“When Fleet Captain Breq arrived here and told the governor that… that the Lord of the Radch was at war with herself, you weren’t surprised, were you. At some point in the recent past the Lord of Mianaai visited your physical Central Access, didn’t she. And made some changes.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Lieutenant.”

Tisarwat gave a nervous, nauseated little
hah
. “And then another part of her came, later, and did the same thing. And they both made it so you couldn’t talk about it to anyone.” A breath. “She did it to
Justice of Toren
, too. Fleet Captain Breq knows what it’s like. I… the Lord of the Radch sent me here with accesses. So that we can make sure you’re on our side. But… but Fleet Captain Breq doesn’t want me to use them. Not unless, you know, you actually want me to.” Silence. “I
can’t promise that I can find all the things that they left, when they were here and trying to make certain you’d only obey them. I can probably only find the things one of them left. Because…” Tisarwat swallowed, increasingly nauseated. She hadn’t taken any meds before crossing over into the shuttle’s microgravity. “Because my accesses come from that one. But Fleet Captain Breq says I shouldn’t go doing things to you without asking. Because she knows how it feels, and she didn’t like it one bit.”

“I like Fleet Captain Breq,” said Station. “I never thought I’d like a ship. At best they’re polite. Which isn’t the same thing as respectful. Or kind.”

“No,” agreed Tisarwat.

“I don’t much like the conflict she’s brought here. But then again, it was already here when she arrived, really.” A pause. “I notice you’re moving things into your shuttle. As though you might need to leave quickly. Is there something going on?”

“You realize,” said Tisarwat, “that I can’t really trust you entirely. I don’t know who has accesses, who can compel you to reveal things. Or who else here
we
can trust.
You
know, I’m sure. You know nearly everything that goes on here.”

Three minutes of silence. Tisarwat’s nausea increased, and the blood pounded in her ears. Then Station said, “Lieutenant, what is it exactly that you intend to do, that Fleet Captain Breq insists you get me to agree to before you do it?”

“Let me grab some meds, Station. I’m feeling really sick just now. And then we’ll talk about it. All right?”

And Station said, “All right. Lieutenant.”

7

Two days later, strapped into my seat on the passenger shuttle from the elevator, Translator Zeiat apparently soundly asleep in the seat beside me, I heard from Lieutenant Tisarwat. “Fleet Captain. We’re on the shuttle.”
Mercy of Kalr
’s shuttle, she meant. She did not wait for me to ask for details. “We’re still docked with the station. But something’s wrong. I can’t quite pin down what it is, exactly. Mostly Station seems… odd.”

At my request
Mercy of Kalr
showed me the oddness Tisarwat referred to. Nothing, as Tisarwat said, that was obvious or definite. Just a reticence in the past several days that seemed uncharacteristic of Station. It would have been entirely unsurprising when we’d first arrived here, weeks ago. Athoek Station had been unhappy then, and that reticence had been a sign, I knew, that its attitude toward Station authorities was at the very least ambivalent, and very possibly outright resentful. A good deal of Station’s unhappiness had centered around the state of the Undergarden, severely damaged centuries ago, never repaired. My forcing the issue,
demanding Station Administration address the problems in the Undergarden, accounted for no small part of Station’s recent friendliness, I was sure. If it had turned reticent now, either we had done something to upset it—or more accurately Tisarwat had, since I had been downwell the past few days—or it found itself unpleasantly conflicted over something.

“Sir,” Tisarwat continued, when I didn’t reply immediately, “a few days ago—yesterday, even—I could have gone to Central Access and found out exactly what the problem was. But I can’t do that now.”

You could do quite a lot to control an AI if you had the right codes and commands. But some things—including, but not limited to, changing those codes, or installing or deleting accesses—had to be done in person, in Central Access. Tisarwat had spent quite a while in Station’s Central Access over the last two days. The place was heavily shielded, for obvious reasons. Only Station—and any person who was actually, physically present—could see inside it, and so I didn’t know in detail what Tisarwat had done. But of course, as with every Radchaai soldier, everything Tisarwat did was recorded. Ship had those recordings, and I had seen parts of them.

With Station’s agreement, Tisarwat had deleted (or radically changed) any accesses she’d found. And then, when she’d left, she’d destroyed the mechanism that ought to open the doors in response to an authorized entrance code, broken the manual override and its accompanying console. Removed a panel inside the Central Access wall and shoved a dozen thirty-centimeter struts she’d taken from Undergarden repair materials into the door machinery in such a way that when she left, and the doors closed behind her, they would not open again. All this, still, with Station’s agreement. Tisarwat
could not have done half so much without Station’s help, in fact. But now, when Tisarwat might have liked to compel Station to explain itself, she could not. Had, herself, made that impossible.

“Lieutenant,” I said, “we don’t need accesses to know what’s wrong. I’d say Station has received orders concerning us that it can’t tell us directly about. Either someone’s used an access you didn’t know to disable, or else speaking directly to us would betray some relationship that’s important to Station. Or would betray the extent of your alterations to Central Access. But it is warning us something is wrong, and we’d be well-advised to pay attention. You made the right call, moving to the shuttle. What about Basnaaid and Uran?”

“They’ve elected to stay, sir.” I was unsurprised. And perhaps it was the safest choice. “Sir,” Tisarwat continued, after a pause, “I’m… I’m afraid I did something wrong.”

“What do you mean, Lieutenant?”

“I… those ships that came into the system, they haven’t approached. We couldn’t miss that, if they had. So
she’s
not on the station. And I don’t think System Governor Giarod or the station administrator are able to give Station any orders it couldn’t tell me about. Not without some kind of access code from… from
her
.” From the other Anaander. “And she wouldn’t have messaged an access like that, she’d only give it in person. So if Station’s upset, maybe it’s with me. Or maybe I did something that hurt it. Or if something else is wrong, we can’t get in to fix it anymore.”

Unbidden, Ship showed me Tisarwat’s fear—near panic—and self-hatred. An almost physically painful regret. Though her apprehensions were on their face entirely reasonable, her emotional state struck me as extreme, even considering that. “Lieutenant,” I said, still silently, Translator Zeiat still asleep
strapped into her shuttle seat beside me. “Did you do anything Station didn’t agree to?”

“No, sir.”

“Did you manipulate Station into agreeing to anything?”

“I don’t… I don’t think so, sir. No. But, sir…”

“Then you did your best. It’s certainly possible you made a mistake, and it’s worth keeping that possibility in mind. It’s good that you’re thinking of that possibility.” In
Mercy of Kalr
’s shuttle, Bo Nine kicked herself over to where Tisarwat clung to a handhold. Pulled away the patch of meds at the back of Tisarwat’s neck, just under her dark-brown uniform collar, and replaced it with a new one. If anything, Tisarwat’s self-hatred and anxiety increased, with a fresh surge of shame. “But, Lieutenant.”

“Sir?”

“Be easier on yourself.”

“You can see all that, can you?” Bitter. Accusing. Humiliated.

“You’ve known all this time that I can,” I pointed out. “You certainly know that Ship can.”

“That’s different, isn’t it,” replied Tisarwat, angry now, at me and at herself.

I nearly retorted that it wasn’t different at all, but stopped myself. Soldiers expected that kind of surveillance from Ship. But I was not, after all, Ship itself. “Is it different because Ship is subject to your orders, and I’m not?” I asked. Immediately regretted it—the question did nothing to improve Tisarwat’s emotional state. And the issue of Ship being subject to orders was one that I had only recently realized might be a sensitive one for Ship itself. I found myself wishing I could see better what Ship was thinking or feeling, or that it would be plainer with me about what it felt. But perhaps it had been
as plain as it could be. “This isn’t the time for this particular discussion, Lieutenant. I meant what I said: be easier on yourself. You did the best you could. Now keep an eye on the situation and be ready to move if it seems necessary. I’ll be there in a few hours.” Should have been there already, but the passenger shuttle, as often happened, was running late. “If you need to move before I get there, then do.”

I didn’t look to see how she responded. On the passenger shuttle I unstrapped myself and pulled myself around the seat to where
Sphene
sat, behind me. “Cousin,” I said, “it seems likely we’ll be leaving the station on short notice in the near future. Do you prefer to stay, or to come with us?”

Sphene
looked at me with no expression. “Don’t they say, Cousin, that as long as you have family you’ll want for nothing?”

“You warm my heart, Cousin,” I replied.

“I don’t doubt it,” said
Sphene
, and closed its eyes.

When the passenger shuttle docked with the station, I immediately sent Five and Eight, along with
Sphene
, to
Mercy of Kalr
’s shuttle, and walked with Translator Zeiat to the lifts that would take us to the station’s main concourse, and the governor’s residence. “I hope you enjoyed your trip, Translator,” I said.

“Yes, yes!” She patted her upper chest. “Though I do seem to be having some indigestion.”

“I’m not surprised.”

“Fleet Captain, I know it isn’t your fault, what happened to Dlique. Considering, you know,
Dlique
. And”—she glanced down at her white coat, its only interruption Translator Dlique’s silver-and-opal memorial pin—“it was very
thoughtful of you to hold a funeral. Very… very
generous
of you. And you’ve been so very obliging. But I feel I must warn you that this situation is
very
awkward.”

“Translator?” We stopped in front of the lifts—had to stop, because the doors did not open as we approached. I remembered what Tisarwat had said, that Station had been oddly reticent lately. Nothing she could pin down. “Main concourse please, Station,” I said, as though I hadn’t noticed anything amiss, and the doors opened.

“You may not know”—Translator Zeiat followed me onto the lift—“in fact, you probably
don’t
know, that there have been… concerns in some quarters.” The lift doors slid closed. “There was not… universal enthusiasm at the prospect of treating Humans as Significant beings. But an agreement made is an agreement. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“I would.”

“But recently, well. The situation with the Rrrrrr. Very troubling.” The Rrrrrr had appeared in Radch space twenty-five years ago, their ship crewed not only by Rrrrrr, but humans as well. The local authorities had reacted by attempting to kill everyone aboard and take their ship. Might have succeeded if the decade leader assigned to the job hadn’t refused her orders and mutinied.

But some centuries before that, the Geck had successfully argued that since the Presger already acknowledged humans as Significant and thus worthy of admittance to an agreement—and most importantly not a legitimate target for the Presger’s bloodier amusements—then logically the close and equal association of the Geck with the humans living in their space proved they, also, were Significant beings. Every Radchaai schoolchild knew this, it was hardly possible the
officials who’d ordered the destruction of the Rrrrrr didn’t, or didn’t understand what the implications of that would be, if word of the attack on the Rrrrrr ship ever got out: that the Radch might be entirely willing to break the treaty that had, for the last thousand years, kept humans safe from the depredations of the Presger.

“It didn’t help, you know,” Translator Zeiat continued, “that the Rrrrrr’s association with Humans, who very clearly treated them as Significant beings, essentially forced the issue of whether they were Significant. The Geck as well. This was something that had been anticipated, you understand, and had from the start been an argument against making any agreement with Humans at all, let alone the question of their Significance. Difficult enough. But Humans—not just Humans, but Radchaai Humans, discover the Rrrrrr, in circumstances that make their implications for the treaty obvious, and do what? They attack them.”

“More implications for the treaty,” I agreed. “But that situation was straightened out, as quickly as we could.”

“Yes, yes, Fleet Captain. It was. But it left some… some lingering doubts as to the intentions of Humans toward the treaty. And you know, I do understand the
idea
of different sorts of Humans. In the abstract, as I said. I must admit I do have some trouble really
comprehending
it. At least I know the
concept
exists. But if I tried to go home and explain it to
them
, well…” She gestured resignation. “I wouldn’t even know how to begin.” The lift door opened and we stepped out onto the white-floored concourse. “So you understand how very awkward this is.”

“I have understood how potentially awkward this is since Translator Dlique met with her accident,” I admitted. “Tell
me, Translator, was Translator Dlique sent here because of this doubt about human intentions toward the treaty?” She didn’t answer immediately. “The timing, you understand, and your appearance so soon after.”