4
In my quarters, Kalr Five, disquieted by the day’s events but of course expressionless, had my supper waiting for me—a bowl of skel and a flask of water, common soldier’s mess. I suspected Ship had suggested it to her but didn’t query to confirm that suspicion. I’d have been content eating skel all the time, but it would have distressed Five, and not only because it would have deprived her of the opportunity to filch tastes of non-skel delicacies, a cherished perquisite of serving the captain or the officers in the decade room.
While I ate, officerless Bo halfheartedly, nearly silently, scrubbed their allotment of corridors, still spotless as it had been this morning, but part of the day’s routine and not to be neglected. They were tired and worried. Judging from their sparse chatter, the consensus was that I’d abused Lieutenant Tisarwat so harshly she’d become sick. There were some grumbles of no different from the last one. Very carefully referentless.
Bo One, decade senior, checked their work, reported to Ship that it was complete. And then said, silently, fingers moving, “Ship.”
“Bo One,” said Mercy of Kalr. Who knew Bo One quite well, had heard all the grumbles. “You should take your questions to the fleet captain.”
When Bo One had gone to see Medic, less than five minutes after I’d left for my own quarters, Medic had told her the same thing. And this was the third time Ship had suggested it. Still, Bo One had hesitated. Even though by rights she was in command of Bo, with Lieutenant Tisarwat unconscious and my not having assigned anyone to replace her. Had therefore the right, the responsibility even, to approach me for information and instructions.
Ancillaries were part of their ship. There was, often, a vague, paradoxical sense that each decade had its own almost-identity, but that existed alongside the knowledge that every ancillary was just one part of the larger thing, just hands and feet—and a voice—for Ship. No ancillary ever had questions for the captain, or anything personal that needed discussion with an officer.
Mercy of Kalr was crewed by humans. But its last captain had demanded that those humans behave as much like ancillaries as possible. Even when her own Kalrs had addressed her, they had done so in the way Ship might have. As though they had no personal concerns or desires. Long habit, I thought, made Bo One hesitate. She might have asked another lieutenant to speak to me for her, but Seivarden was on watch and Lieutenant Ekalu was asleep.
In my purple and green quarters, I ate the last leaf of skel. Said to Five, “Kalr, I’ll have tea. And I want the paint off these walls as soon as you can manage it. I want monitors.” The walls could be altered, made to display whatever one wished, including visuals of the space outside the ship. The materials to do it were on board. For whatever reason, Captain Vel hadn’t wanted that. I didn’t actually need it, but I wanted the previous captain’s arrangements gone as completely as I could manage.
Expressionless, flat-voiced, Five said, “There may be some inconvenience to you, Fleet Captain.” And then a flare of apprehension as Ship spoke to her. Hesitation. Go ahead in her ear, from Ship. “Sir, Bo One wishes to speak to you.”
Good. Four more seconds and I’d have ordered her to report to me. I’d only been waiting to finish my supper. “I don’t care about the inconvenience. And I’ll see Bo One.”
Bo One entered outwardly confident, inwardly frightened. Bowed, stiffly, feeling awkward—ancillaries didn’t bow. “Bo,” I said, acknowledging her. Over in a corner, Kalr Five busied herself pointlessly with the tea flask, pretending there was anything at all to do before she could serve me the tea I’d asked for. Listening. Worried.
Bo One swallowed. Took a breath. “Begging the fleet captain’s indulgence,” she began, clearly a rehearsed speech. Slowly, carefully, broadening her vowels, incapable of entirely losing her own accent but trying hard. “There are concerns about the situation of Bo decade’s officer.” A moment of extra doubt there, I saw, knowing I’d been angry at Lieutenant Tisarwat’s even being aboard, Bo One feeling that she was in a precarious place just speaking to me this way, let alone bringing up the young lieutenant. That sentence had been very carefully composed, I thought, both to sound very formal and to avoid Lieutenant Tisarwat’s name. “Medic was consulted, and it was recommended the fleet captain be approached.”
“Bo,” I said. My voice calm, yes, my mood never reached my voice unless I intended it. But I was out of patience for this sort of thing. “Speak directly, when you speak to me.” Kalr Five still puttered with the tea things.
“Yes, sir,” said Bo One, still stiff. Mortified.
“I’m glad you came. I was on the point of calling for you. Lieutenant Tisarwat is ill. She was ill when she came aboard. Military Administration wanted an officer here and didn’t care that she wasn’t fit to ship out. They even tried to hide it from me.” A lie that wasn’t, entirely, a lie. And every soldier and officer on every ship complained about the unthinking, ignorant decisions of Administration, none of whom knew what it was like aboard ships. “I’ll have some things to say about that, when next I have the chance.” I could almost see it clicking together in Bo One’s mind. Fleet captain’s angry at Administration, not our lieutenant. “She’ll be returning to her quarters tomorrow, and she’ll need a day or two of rest, and light duty after that until Medic says otherwise. You’re decade senior, of course, so you’ll be responsible for your soldiers and hold her watches while she’s out, and make your reports to me. I need Bo decade to take very good care of Lieutenant Tisarwat. I already know you will, but now you have my explicit order. If you have any concerns at all about her health, or if her behavior is odd—if she seems confused about something she shouldn’t be, or just doesn’t seem right in any way at all—you’re to report it to Medic. Even if Lieutenant Tisarwat orders you not to. Am I understood?”
“Sir. Yes, sir.” Already feeling she was on firmer ground.
“Good. Dismissed.” Kalr Five picked up the flask to finally pour my tea, no doubt composing the narrative she’d give the other Kalrs.
Bo One bowed. And then, with some trepidation, said, “Beg the fleet captain’s indulgence, sir…” Stopped and swallowed, surprised at her own daring. At my expectant gesture. “We all of us, sir, Bo decade, we want to say, thank you for the tea, sir.”
I’d allotted five grams per person aboard, per week (soldiers—even officers—wrung as much tea as possible out of very small rations of leaves) so long as my supply lasted. It had been greeted with suspicion at first. Captain Vel had insisted they only drink water. Like ancillaries. Was I trying to soften them up for something? To show off how wealthy I was? Granting a privilege that I could then deny for some satisfaction of my own?
But if there was one thing any Radchaai considered essential for civilized life, it was tea. And I knew what it was like, to be on a ship full of ancillaries. I had no need to play at it. “You’re very welcome, Bo. Dismissed.”
She bowed again, and left. As the door closed behind her, Ship said, in her ear, “That went well.”
For the next two days, Lieutenant Tisarwat lay on her bed, in her tiny quarters. Ship showed her entertainments from its library, all lighthearted things with songs that were bright or sweet by turns, and happy endings. Tisarwat watched them, placid and noncommittal, would have watched tragedy after tragedy with the same evenness, dosed as she was to keep her mood stable and comfortable. Bo fussed over her, tucking blankets, bringing tea, Bo Nine even contriving some kind of sweet pastry for her, in the decade room’s tiny galley. Speculation about the nature of her illness—no longer blamed on me—was rife. In the end, they decided that Tisarwat had been badly interrogated before being assigned to Mercy of Kalr. Or less likely, but still possible, she’d been the victim of inept education—sometimes, when a citizen needed to learn a great deal of information, she could get that by going to Medical and learning under drugs. The same drugs that were used for interrogation, and aptitudes testing. Or reeducation, a topic most polite Radchaai had difficulty mentioning at all. All four—interrogation, learning, aptitudes, or reeducation—had to be done by a specialist medic, someone who knew what she was doing. Though no one on Mercy of Kalr would ever say it aloud, hovering just under the surface of any conversation about her was the fact that at the moment Tisarwat looked very much like someone who had recently come out of reeducation. The fact that Medic and I had done whatever we had done without the assistance even of any Kalrs, and wouldn’t tell anyone what had happened, this also tended to reinforce the idea that reeducation was involved. But no one who had been reeducated would have ever been allowed to serve in the military, so that was impossible.