Ancillary Justice (Imperial Radch #1) - Ann Leckie Page 0,57

I said, “I think it might have turned out differently.”

“You’re not one of thousands!” Strigan leaned forward, unexpectedly vehement. Seivarden started out of her sleep, looked at Strigan, alarmed and bleary.

“There are no others on the edge of choosing,” Strigan said. “No one to follow your lead. And even if there were, you by yourself wouldn’t be enough. If you even get as far as facing Mianaai—facing one of Mianaai’s bodies—you’ll be alone and helpless. You’ll die without achieving anything!” She made a breathy, impatient sound. “Take your money.” She gestured toward my pack, leaning against the bench I sat on. “Buy land, buy rooms on a station, hell, buy a station! Live the life that was denied you. Don’t sacrifice yourself for nothing.”

“Which me are you talking to?” I asked. “Which life that was denied me do you intend I live? Should I send you monthly reports, so you can be sure my choices meet with your approval?”

That silenced her, for a full twenty seconds.

“Breq,” said Seivarden, as though testing the sound of the name in her mouth, “I want to leave.”

“Soon,” I answered. “Be patient.” To my utter surprise she didn’t object, but leaned back against a bench and put her arms around her knees.

Strigan looked speculatively at her for a moment, then turned to me. “I need to think.” I gestured acknowledgment and she rose and went into her room and shut the door.

“What’s her problem?” asked Seivarden, apparently innocent of irony. Voice just slightly contemptuous. I didn’t answer, only looked at her, not changing my expression. The blankets had marked a line across her cheek, fading now, and her clothes, the Nilter trousers and quilted shirt under the unfastened inner coat, were wrinkled and disheveled. In the past several days of regular food, and no kef, her skin had regained a slightly healthier-looking color, but she still looked thin and tired. “Why are you bothering with her?” she asked me, undisturbed by my scrutiny. As though something had shifted and she and I were suddenly comrades. Fellows.

Surely not equals. Not ever. “Business I need to attend to.” More explanation would be useless, or foolish, or both. “Are you having trouble sleeping?”

Something subtle in her expression communicated withdrawal, closure. I wasn’t on her side anymore. She sat silent for ten seconds, and I thought she wouldn’t speak to me anymore that night, but instead she drew a long breath and let it out. “Yeah. I… I need to move around. I’m going to go outside.”

Something had definitely changed, but I didn’t know quite what it was, or what had caused it.

“It’s night,” I said. “And very cold. Take your outer coat and gloves and don’t go too far.”

She gestured acquiescence, and even more astonishingly, put on her outer coat and gloves before going out the two doors without a single bitter word, or even a resentful glance.

And what did I care? She would wander off and freeze, or she would not. I arranged my own blankets and lay down to sleep, without waiting to see if Seivarden came back safe or not.

When I woke, Seivarden was asleep on her own pile of blankets. She hadn’t thrown her coat on the floor, but instead hung it beside the others, on a hook near the door. I rose and went to the cupboard to find she had also replenished the food stores—more bread, and a bowl on the table holding a block of slushy, slowly melting milk, another beside it holding a chunk of bov fat.

Behind me Strigan’s door clicked open. I turned. “He wants something,” she said to me, quietly. Seivarden didn’t stir. “Or anyway there’s some angle he’s playing. I wouldn’t trust him if I were you.”

“I don’t.” I dropped a hunk of bread in a bowl of water and set it aside to soften. “But I do wonder what’s come over her.” Strigan looked amused. “Him,” I amended.

“Probably the thought of all the money you’re carrying,” observed Strigan. “You could buy a lot of kef with that.”

“If that’s the case, it’s not a problem. It’s all for paying you.” Except my fare back up the ribbon, and a bit more for emergencies. Which, in this case, would probably mean Seivarden’s fare as well.

“What happens to addicts in the Radch?”

“There aren’t any.” She raised one eyebrow, and then another, disbelieving. “Not on the stations,” I amended. “You can’t get too far down that road with the station AI watching you all the time. On a planet, that’s