Ancillary Justice (35 page)

“The citizen Seivarden Vendaai,” answered Station from the console, in its always even voice, “is in the Security office on sublevel nine.”

“Excuse me?”

“There was a fight,” said Station. “Normally Security would have contacted her family, but she has none here.”

I wasn’t her family, of course. And she could have called for me if she’d wanted me. Still. “Can you direct me to the Security office on sublevel nine, please?”

“Of course, honored.”

The office on sublevel nine was tiny: nothing more, really, than a console, a few chairs, a table with mismatched tea things, and some storage lockers. Seivarden sat on a bench at
the back wall. She wore gray gloves and an ill-fitting jacket and trousers of some stiff, coarse fabric, the sort of thing extruded on demand, not sewn, and probably produced in a preset range of sizes. My own uniforms, when I had been a ship, had been made that way, but had looked better. Of course I’d sized each one properly, it had been a simple thing for me to do at the time.

The front of Seivarden’s gray jacket was spattered with blood, and one glove was soaked with it. Blood was crusted on her upper lip, and the small clear shell of a corrective sat across the bridge of her nose. Another corrective lay across a bruise forming on one cheek. She stared dully ahead, not looking up at me, or at the Security officer who had admitted me. “Here’s your friend, citizen,” said Security.

Seivarden frowned. Looked up, around the small space. Then she looked more closely at me. “Breq? Aatr’s tits, that’s you. You look…” She blinked. Opened her mouth to finish the sentence, stopped again. Took another, somewhat ragged breath. “Different,” she concluded. “Really, really different.”

“I only bought clothes. What happened to you?”

“There was a fight,” said Seivarden.

“Just happened on its own, did it?” I asked.

“No,” she admitted. “I was assigned a place to sleep, but there was already someone living there. I tried to talk to her but I could hardly understand her.”

“Where did you sleep last night?” I asked.

She looked down at the floor. “I managed.” Looked up again, at me, at the Security officer beside me. “But I wasn’t going to be able to
keep
managing.”

“You should have come to us, citizen,” said Security. “Now you’ve got a warning on your record. Not something you want.”

“And her opponent?” I asked.

Security made a negating gesture. It wasn’t something I was supposed to ask.

“I’m not managing very well on my own, am I,” said Seivarden, miserably.

Heedless of Skaaiat Awer’s disapproval, I bought Seivarden new gloves and jacket, dark green, still the sort of thing that was extruded on demand, but at least it fit better, and the higher quality was obvious. The gray ones were past laundering, and I knew the supply office wouldn’t issue more clothes so soon. When Seivarden had put them on, and sent the old ones for recycling, I said, “Have you eaten? I was planning to offer you supper when Station told me where you were.” She’d washed her face, and now looked more or less reputable, give or take the bruising under the corrective on her cheek.

“I’m not hungry,” she said. A flicker of something—regret? Annoyance? I couldn’t quite tell—flashed across her face. She crossed her arms and quickly uncrossed them again, a gesture I hadn’t seen in months.

“Can I offer you tea, then, while I eat?”

“I would
love
tea,” she said with emphatic sincerity. I remembered that she had no money, had refused to let me give her any. All that tea we had carried with us was in my luggage, she had taken none of it with her when we’d parted the night before. And tea, of course, was an extra. A luxury. Which wasn’t really a luxury. Not by Seivarden’s standards, anyway. Likely not by any Radchaai’s standards.

We found a tea shop, and I bought something rolled in a sheet of algae, and some fruit and tea, and we took a table in a corner. “Are you sure you don’t want anything?” I asked. “Fruit?”

She feigned lack of interest in the fruit, and then took a piece. “I hope you had a better day than I did.”

“Probably.” I waited a moment, to see if she wanted to talk about what had happened, but she said nothing, just waited for me to continue. “I went to the temple this morning. And ran into some ship’s captain who stared quite rudely and then sent one of her soldiers after me to invite me to tea.”

“One of her
soldiers
.” Seivarden realized her arms were crossed, uncrossed them, picked up her tea cup, set it down again. “Ancillary?”

“Human. I’m pretty sure.”

Seivarden lifted an eyebrow briefly. “You shouldn’t go. She should have invited you herself. You didn’t say yes, did you?”

“I didn’t say no.” Three Radchaai entered the tea shop, laughing. All wore the dark blue of dock authority. One of them was Daos Ceit, Inspector Supervisor Skaaiat’s assistant. She didn’t seem to notice me. “I don’t think the invitation was on my account. I think she wants me to introduce her to
you
.”

“But…” She frowned. Looked at the bowl of tea in one green-gloved hand. Brushed the front of the new jacket with the other. “What’s her name?”

“Vel Osck.”

“Osck. Never heard of them.” She took another drink of tea. Daos Ceit and her friends bought tea and pastries, sat at a table on the other side of the room, talking animatedly. “Why would she want to meet me?”

I raised an eyebrow, incredulous. “
You’re
the one who believes any unlikely event is a message from God,” I pointed out. “You’re lost for a thousand years, found by accident, disappear again, and then turn up at a palace with a rich foreigner. And you’re surprised when that gets attention.” She
made an ambiguous gesture. “Absent Vendaai as a functioning house, you need to establish yourself somehow.”

She looked so dismayed, just for the shortest instant, that I thought my words had offended her in some way. But then she seemed to recover herself. “If Captain Vel wanted my good will, or cared at all about my opinion, she made a bad start by insulting you.” Her old arrogance lurked behind those words, a startling difference from her barely suppressed dejection up to now.

“What about that inspector supervisor?” I asked. “Skaaiat, right? She seemed polite enough. And you seemed to know who she was.”

“All the Awers
seem
polite enough,” Seivarden said, disgustedly. Over her shoulder I watched Daos Ceit laugh at something one of her companions had said. “They
seem
totally normal at first,” Seivarden went on, “but then they go having visions, or deciding something’s wrong with the universe and they have to fix it. Or both at once. They’re all insane.” She was silent a moment, and then turned to see what I was looking at. Turned back. “Oh,
her
. Isn’t she kind of… provincial-looking?”

I turned my full attention on Seivarden. Looked at her.

She looked down at the table. “I’m sorry. That was… that was just wrong. I don’t have any…”

“I doubt,” I interrupted, “that her pay allows her to wear clothes that make her look… ‘different.’ ”

“That’s not what I meant.” Seivarden looked up, distress and embarrassment obvious in her expression. “But what I meant was bad enough. I just… I was just surprised. All this time, I guess I’ve just assumed you were an ascetic. It just surprised me.”

An ascetic. I could see why she would have assumed that,
but not why it would have mattered that she was wrong. Unless… “You’re not
jealous
?” I asked, incredulous. Well-dressed or not, I was just as provincial-looking as Daos Ceit. Just from a different province.

“No!” And then the next moment, “Well, yes. But not like
that
.”

I realized, then, that it wasn’t just other Radchaai who might get the wrong impression from that gift of clothes I’d just made. Even though Seivarden surely knew I couldn’t offer clientage. Even though I knew that if she thought about it for longer than thirty seconds, she would never want from me what that gift implied. Surely she couldn’t think that I’d meant that. “Yesterday the inspector supervisor told me I was in danger of giving you false expectations. Or of giving others the wrong impression.”

Seivarden made a scornful noise. “That would be worth considering if I had the remotest interest in what Awer thinks.” I raised an eyebrow, and she continued, in a more contrite tone, “I thought I’d be able to handle things by myself, but all last night, and all today, I’ve just been wishing I’d stayed with you. I guess it’s true, all citizens are taken care of. I didn’t see anyone starving. Or naked.” Her face momentarily showed disgust. “But those clothes. And the skel. Just skel, all the time, very carefully measured out. I didn’t think I’d mind. I mean, I don’t mind skel, but I could hardly choke it down.” I could guess the mood she’d been in, when she’d gotten into that fight. “I think it was knowing I wasn’t going to get anything else for weeks and weeks. And,” she said, with a rueful smile, “knowing I’d have had better if I’d asked to stay with you.”

“So you want your old job back, then?” I asked.

“
Fuck
yes,” she said, emphatic and relieved. Loud enough
for the party across the room to hear and turn disapproving glances our way.

“Language, citizen.” I took another bite of my algae roll. Relieved, I discovered, on several counts. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather take your chances with Captain Vel?”

“You can have tea with whoever you want,” said Seivarden. “But she should have invited you herself.”

“Your manners are a thousand years old,” I pointed out.

“Manners are manners,” she said, indignant. “But like I said, you can have tea with whoever you want.”

Inspector Supervisor Skaaiat entered the shop, saw Daos Ceit and nodded to her, but came over to where Seivarden and I sat. Hesitated, just an instant, noticing the correctives on Seivarden’s face, but then pretended she hadn’t seen them. “Citizen. Honored.”

“Inspector Supervisor,” I replied. Seivarden merely nodded.

“I’m hosting a small get-together tomorrow evening.” She named a place. “Just tea, nothing formal. I’d be honored if you both came.”

Seivarden laughed outright. “Manners,” she said again, “are manners.”

Skaaiat frowned, nonplussed.

“Yours is the second such invitation today,” I explained. “Citizen Seivarden tells me the first was less than entirely courteous.”

“I hope mine met her exacting standards,” Skaaiat said. “Who failed them?”

“Captain Vel,” I answered. “Of
Mercy of Kalr
.”

To someone who didn’t know her well, Skaaiat probably looked as though she had no real opinions about Captain Vel. “Well. I admit I intended to introduce you, citizen, to friends of mine who might be useful to you. But you might find Captain Vel’s acquaintance more congenial.”

“You must have a low opinion of me,” Seivarden said.

“It’s possible,” said Skaaiat, and oh how strange it was to hear her speak with such gravity, as I had known her twenty years ago but different, “that Captain Vel’s approach was less than entirely respectful toward the honored Breq. But in other respects I suspect you’d find her sympathetic.” Before Seivarden could answer, Skaaiat continued, “I have to go. I hope to see you both tomorrow evening.” She looked over at the table where her assistant sat, and all three of the adjunct inspectors there stood, and left the shop behind her.

Seivarden was silent a moment, watching the door they had exited from.

“Well,” I said. Seivarden looked back to me. “I guess if you’re coming back I’d better pay you so you can buy some more decent clothes.”

An expression I couldn’t quite read flashed across Seivarden’s face. “Where did you get yours?”

“I don’t think I’ll pay you
that
much,” I said.

Seivarden laughed. Took a drink of her tea, another piece of fruit.

I wasn’t at all certain she’d really eaten. “Are you sure you don’t want anything else?” I asked.

“I’m sure. What
is
that thing?” She looked toward the last bit of my algae-covered supper.

“No idea.” I hadn’t ever seen anything quite like it in the Radch, it must have been recently invented, or an idea imported from some other place. “It’s good, though, do you want one? We can take it back to the room if you like.”

Seivarden made a face. “No, thanks. You’re more adventurous than I am.”

“I suppose I am,” I agreed, pleasantly. I finished the last of my supper, drained my tea. “But you wouldn’t know it to
look at me, today. I spent the morning in the temple, like a good tourist, and the afternoon watching an entertainment in my room.”

“Let me guess!” Seivarden raised an eyebrow, sardonic. “The one everyone is talking about. The heroine is virtuous and loyal, and her potential patron’s lover hates her. She wins through because of her unswerving loyalty and devotion.”

“You’ve seen it.”

“More than once. But not for a very long time.”

I smiled. “Some things never change?”

Seivarden laughed in response. “Apparently not. Songs any good?”

“Pretty good. You can watch back at the room, if you like.”

But back in the room she folded down the servant’s cot, saying, “I’m just going to sit down a moment,” and was asleep two minutes and three seconds later.

It would almost certainly be weeks before Seivarden even had an audience date. In the meantime we were living here, and I would have a chance to see how things stood, who might side with which Mianaai if things came to an open breach. Maybe even whether one Mianaai or another was in ascendance here. Any information might prove crucial when the moment arrived. And it would arrive, I was increasingly sure. Anaander Mianaai might or might not realize what I was any time soon—but at this point there was no hiding me from the rest of herself. I was here, openly, noticeably, along with Seivarden.

Thinking of Seivarden, and Captain Vel Osck’s eagerness to meet her, I thought also of Hundred Captain Rubran Osck. Of Anaander Mianaai complaining she couldn’t guess her opinion, could rely on neither her opposition nor her support, nor could she pressure her in order to discover or compel it. Captain Rubran had been fortunate enough in her family connections to be able to take such a neutral stance, and
keep it. Did that say something about the state of Mianaai’s struggle with herself at the time?