Ancillary Justice (Imperial Radch #1) - Ann Leckie Page 0,81

was already seven hundred years dead. Probably longer. Not even…” Her voice trembled, and she stopped, staring ahead at some fixed point beyond me. “Even the ships.”

Even the ships. “Ships? More than just Sword of Nathtas?”

“My… the first ship I ever served on. Justice of Toren. I thought maybe if I could find where it was stationed I could send a message and…” She made a negating gesture, wiping out the rest of that sentence. “It disappeared. About ten… wait… I’ve lost track of time. About fifteen years ago.” Closer to twenty. “Nobody could tell me what happened. Nobody knows.”

“Were any of the ships you served on particularly fond of you?” I asked, voice carefully even. Neutral.

She blinked. Straightened. “That’s an odd question. Do you have any experience with ships?”

“Yes,” I said. “Actually.”

“Ships are always attached to their captains.”

“Not like they used to be.” Not like when some ships had gone mad on the deaths of their captains. That had been long, long ago. “And even so, they have favorites.” Though a favorite wouldn’t necessarily know it. “But it doesn’t matter, does it? Ships aren’t people, and they’re made to serve you, to be attached, as you put it.”

Seivarden frowned. “Now you’re angry. You’re very good at hiding it, but you’re angry.”

“Do you grieve for your ships,” I asked, “because they’re dead? Or because their loss means they aren’t here to make you feel connected and cared about?” Silence. “Or do you think those are the same thing?” Still no answer. “I will answer my own question: you were never a favorite of any of the ships you served on. You don’t believe it’s possible for a ship to have favorites.”

Seivarden’s eyes widened—maybe surprise, maybe something else. “You know me too well for me to believe you aren’t here because of me. I’ve thought so from the moment I actually started thinking about it.”

“Not too long ago, then,” I said.

She ignored what I had just said. “You’re the first person, since that pod opened, to feel familiar. Like I recognize you. Like you recognize me. I don’t know why that is.”

I knew, of course. But this was not the moment to say so, to explain, immobilized and vulnerable as I was. “I assure you I’m not here because of you. I’m here on my own personal business.”

“You jumped off that bridge for me.”

“And I’m not going to be your reason for quitting kef. I take no responsibility for you. You’re going to have to do that yourself. If you really are going to do that.”

“You jumped off that bridge for me. That had to be a three-kilometer drop. Higher. That’s… that’s…” She stopped, shaking her head. “I’m staying with you.”

I closed my eyes. “The moment I even think you’re going to steal from me again, I will break both your legs and leave you there, and it will be utter coincidence if you ever see me again.” Except that to Radchaai, there were no coincidences.

“I guess I can’t really argue with that.”

“I don’t recommend it.”

She gave a short laugh, and then was silent for fifteen seconds. “Tell me, then, Breq,” she said after that. “If you’re here on personal business, and nothing at all to do with me, why do you have one of the Garseddai guns in your pack?”

The correctives held my arms and legs completely immobile. I couldn’t even get my shoulders off the bed. The doctor came heavily into the room, pale face flushed. “Lie still!” she admonished, and then turned to Seivarden. “What did you do?”

This was, apparently, comprehensible to Seivarden. She spread her hands in a helpless gesture. “Not!” she replied, vehemently, in the same language.

The doctor frowned, pointed at Seivarden, one finger out. Seivarden straightened, indignant at the gesture, which was much ruder to a Radchaai than it was here. “You bother,” the doctor said, sternly, “you go!” Then she turned to me. “You will lie still and heal properly.”

“Yes, Doctor.” I subsided from the very small amount of movement I had managed. Took a breath, attempting to calm myself.

This seemed to mollify her. She watched me a moment, doubtless seeing my heart rate, my breathing. “If you can’t settle, I can give you medication.” An offer, a question, a threat. “I can make him”—with a glance at Seivarden—“leave.”

“I don’t need it. Either one.”

The doctor gave a skeptical hmph, and turned and left the room.

“I’m sorry,” said Seivarden when the doctor was gone. “That was stupid. I should have thought before I spoke.” I