Ancillary Justice (Imperial Radch #1)(62)

Below, Anaander Mianaai said, “Lieutenant Dariet seems pro-reform.”

That puzzled me. But One Var had no opinion, of course, being only One Var, and it had no physical response to my puzzlement. I saw suddenly, clearly, that I was using One Var as a mask, though I didn’t understand why or how I would do such a thing. Or why the idea would occur to me now. “Begging my lord’s pardon, I don’t see that as a political stance.”

“Don’t you?”

“No, my lord. You ordered the reforms. Loyal citizens will support them.”

That Mianaai smiled. The other stood, left the decade room, to walk the Var corridors, inspecting. Not speaking to or acknowledging in any way the segments of One Var it passed.

Lieutenant Awn said, to Lieutenant Dariet’s skeptical silence, “It’s easy for you. Nobody thinks you’re kneeling for advantage when you go to bed with someone. Or getting above yourself. Nobody wonders what your partner could be thinking, or how you ever got here.”

“I’ve told you before, you’re too sensitive about that.”

“Am I?” Lieutenant Awn opened her eyes, levered herself up on her elbows. “How do you know? Have you experienced it much? I have. All the time.”

“That,” said Mianaai, in the decade room, “is a more complicated issue than many realize. Lieutenant Awn is pro-reform, of course.” I wished I had physical data from Mianaai, so I could interpret the edge in her voice when she named Lieutenant Awn. “And Dariet, perhaps, though how strongly is a question. And the rest of the officers? Who here are pro-reform, and who anti-?”

In Lieutenant Awn’s quarters, Lieutenant Dariet sighed. “I just think you worry too much about it. Who cares what people like that say?”

“It’s easy not to care when you’re rich, and the social equal of people like that.”

“That sort of thing shouldn’t matter,” Lieutenant Dariet insisted.

“It shouldn’t. But it does.”

Lieutenant Dariet frowned. Angry, and frustrated. This conversation had happened before, had gone the same way each time. “Well. Regardless. You should send Skaaiat a message. What is there to lose? If she doesn’t answer, she doesn’t answer. But maybe…” Lieutenant Dariet lifted one shoulder, and her arm just slightly. A gesture that said, Take a chance and see what fate deals you.

If I hesitated in answering Anaander Mianaai’s question for even the smallest instant, she would know the overrides weren’t working. One Var was very, very impassive. I named a few officers who had definite opinions one way or the other. “The rest,” I finished, “are content to follow orders and perform their duties without worrying too much about policy. As far as I can tell.”

“They might be swayed one way or the other,” Mianaai observed.

“I couldn’t say, my lord.” My sense of dread increased, but in a detached way. Perhaps the absolute unresponsiveness of my ancillaries made the feeling seem distant and unreal. Ships I knew who had exchanged their ancillary crews for human ones had said their experience of emotion had changed, though this didn’t seem quite like the data they had shown me.

The sound of One Esk singing came faintly to Lieutenant Awn and Lieutenant Dariet, a simple song with two parts.

I was walking, I was walking

When I met my love

I was in the street walking

When I saw my true love

I said, “She is more beautiful than jewels, lovelier than jade or lapis, silver or gold.”



“I’m glad One Esk is itself again,” said Lieutenant Dariet. “That first day was eerie.”

“Two Esk didn’t sing,” Lieutenant Awn pointed out.

“Right, but…” Lieutenant Dariet gestured doubt. “It wasn’t right.” She looked speculatively at Lieutenant Awn.

“I can’t talk about it,” said Lieutenant Awn, and lay back down, crossing her arms over her eyes.

On the command deck Hundred Captain Rubran met with the decade commanders, drank tea, talked about schedules and leave times.

“You haven’t mentioned Hundred Captain Rubran,” said Mianaai, in the Var decade room.

I hadn’t. I knew Captain Rubran extremely well, knew her every breath, every twitch of every muscle. She had been my captain for fifty-six years. “I have never heard her express an opinion on the matter,” I said, quite truthfully.

“Never? Then it’s certain she has one and is concealing it.”

This struck me as something of a double bind. Speak and your possession of an opinion was plain, clear to anyone. Refrain from speaking and still this was proof of an opinion. If Captain Rubran were to say, Truly, I have no opinion on the matter, would that merely be another proof she had one?

“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.”