Ancillary Justice (Imperial Radch #1) - Ann Leckie Page 0,76
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.”
“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.”
She meaning, of course, herself.
There had been no attempt to discover my sympathies. Perhaps—no, certainly—they were irrelevant. And I was already well along the path the other Mianaai had set me on. These few Mianaais, and the four segments of One Var thawed for her service, only made the Var deck seem emptier, and all the decks between here and my engines. Hundreds of thousands of ancillaries slept in my holds, and they would likely be removed within the next few years, either stored or destroyed, never waking again. And I would be placed in orbit somewhere, permanently. My engines almost certainly disabled. Or I would be destroyed outright—though none of us had been so far, and I was fairly sure I would more likely serve as a habitat, or the core of a small station.
Not the life I had been built for.
“No, I can’t be hasty with Rubran Osck. But your Lieutenant Awn is another matter. And perhaps she can be of use in discovering where Awer stands.”
“My lord,” I said, through one of One Var’s mouths. “I am at a loss to understand what’s happening. I would feel a great deal more comfortable if the hundred captain knew you were here.”
“You dislike concealing things from your captain?” Anaander asked, with a tone that was equal parts bitter and amused.
“Yes, my lord. I will, of course, proceed precisely as you order me.” A sudden sense of déjà vu overcame me.
“Of course. I should explain some things.” The sense of déjà vu grew stronger. I had had this conversation before, in almost exactly these circumstances, with the Lord of the Radch. You know that each of your ancillary segments is entirely capable of having its own identity, she would say next. “You know that each of your ancillary segments is entirely capable of having its own identity.”
“Yes.” Every word, familiar. I could feel it, as though we were reciting lines we had memorized. Next she would say, Imagine you became undecided about something.
“Imagine some enemy separated part of you from yourself.”
Not what I had been expecting. What is it people say, when that happens? They’re divided. They’re of