WHO: Justice of Toren One Esk Nineteen & Seivarden Vendaai WHAT: Waking up early WHEN: Monday, May 11th, ~4am WHERE: Athoek Station WARNINGS: References to death/murder, discussion of sex ethics
One Esk Nineteen woke precisely when she was supposed to wake up. Same as ever. However, she lay in a modest bed, rather than the small room she shared with the rest of One Esk, piled together limb over limb, cuddled together tightly. There was another person present. Pressed against each other, she had been aware of that immediately. Only as the strangeness unfolded, it shifted from familiar to discomforting. She reached to herself, which didn’t feel right. She couldn’t feel any other ancillaries, nor even herself.
Even as the data streamed into her head—pulse, rate of breathing, state of sleep, the relaxed comfortable signals within the unstressed sleeping body—her breathing accelerated. Alone. She was alone. She couldn’t be alone. She couldn’t. The data was right there, but something was wrong. The connection was wrong. Too much was wrong, and she didn’t have enough information to make sense of it.
None of that showed on her face, and slowing her breathing was a reflex at this point. Evenly, she glanced down at the arm wrapped around her torso. One Esk knew that arm. One Esk had seen that arm for twenty-one years before the lieutenant it belonged to had left her for command of Sword of Nathtas. Sword of Nathtas was destroyed. Justice of Toren had received its transmission, after it had died, of the last of its memories—including stuffing its captain into an escape pod.
She had heard nothing of that pod being found, much less of said officer being aboard her and taking One Esk Nineteen to bed. No matter what tribulation any of those processes had been, One Esk couldn’t account for any reason why the officer would be sleeping in the same bed with anyone—with her—without her gloves on. It was too much.
She slid softly out of the bed, dressed in undergarments. A quick scan of the room informed her it was not one of her cabins—at least, not how she had known them to be, the clothes and other possessions were all wrong, and the layout similar, clearly of Radchaai design, but not One Esk—and thus possibly they were on shore leave. It had the feel of Radchaai Station. If Justice of Toren was staying far enough away, that would explain the lack of connection with herself. Though, truly, honestly, she had no idea why or how all this could have happened without her knowing.
It hadn’t been the first time Justice of Toren had been ordered—forced—to kill her captain. Though she had liked this one terribly much, even more than her programming naturally inclined her to. And One Esk hadn’t pulled the trigger. That had been One Toren. Still, she was clearly more compromised than she expected, and all she was managing to do about it was to stand without shaking and with the same neutral expression expected of her at nearly all times, by nearly all officers.
And truly, had Lieutenant Vendaai—Captain Vendaai—changed so much in ten years? One of the few things One Esk had appreciated about her, throughout her time from baby lieutenant to decade lieutenant, was that she had never slept with any of her ancillaries. She certainly couldn’t substitute for Sword of Nathtas if that had been the kind of relationship they had.
She inquired with the Station AI whether there was a kitchen in which to prepare tea. Not the best tea, mind. It would get made too hot. But it was soothing to have something to do. The Station quarters were generous, and she was able to prepare tea in the very apartment she occupied. The familiar actions soothed her, even as she didn’t know what would happen once the officer was awake.
--
Seivarden was used to Breq getting out of bed before her on most days, so she only barely stirred to a slightly lesser level of unconsciousness at the movement. A few moments later, however, she heard Station’s voice in her ear. It was earlier than they usually woke, and it was usually Breq who woke her; Station only ever woke her if something was wrong or at least urgently requiring her attention, so she sat up abruptly, already reaching for her gloves on automatic pilot.
“What--” she began, and then froze when she saw Breq, braced on one hand against the bed, the other one paused in midair above the gloves.
No, not Breq. It was Justice of Toren still, but a different face, one that Seivarden hadn’t seen in years. Thousands of years, to be completely accurate, although in Seivarden’s memory it was less than that. Her brow furrowed. She hoped she was right; at this age, Breq didn’t have a high opinion of her, and misremembering her faces probably wouldn’t do her any favors. Remembering correctly, however, might help, or at least it couldn’t hurt. “One Esk,” she said. “Nineteen, isn’t it?”
This must be the portal’s doing. It had made Kell younger, once. This was a much bigger change, but then, Breq had lived a great deal longer.
--
She held the tea set evenly as the officer woke and reacted to her presence. Her face remained blank, and she stopped moving about the room. Ancillaries moved invisibly, ignored, until someone addressed them. Captain Seivarden had. “Yes, Sir,” she replied neutrally. It seemed like Captain Seivarden hadn’t asked — or been sent — her segment by request. Perhaps the familiarity of her old unit had been considered best for the only living eye witness to what had happened.
There was little for her to do. They didn’t have the relationship they had had before—not unless, internally she blanched at the thought, Captain Seivarden had been appointed captaincy of Justice of Toren. Her house was old and powerful and would not see her demoted. Though who could predict Anaander Mianaai’s choices. She could have blamed the captain for what happened. That wouldn’t yield as much information. Perhaps the leader of the Radch did but waited for her justice.
She hadn’t anticipated things getting worse after what happened at Garsedd. But she also hadn’t seen the Radch commit genocide before. She hadn’t committed genocide before. “Would you like tea?” One Esk Nineteen asked simply.
--
The ancillary’s face was neutral, and Seivarden didn’t know this particular face as well, but she knew Breq well enough to guess that she must be -- or must have been, when she’d first woken -- been unnerved by her surroundings. Not too unnerved now, or else she wouldn’t be humming. But Seivarden was a little at a loss for where to even begin with this, and given Station’s silence, she likely had even less of an idea. She hadn’t known Breq -- Justice of Toren -- at this time. It was up to Seivarden to figure it out.
“Yes, thank you,” she said, as she finally took hold of her gloves and pulled them on. “And it’s Lieutenant now… again.” She hesitated for a moment, and then added with a bow, “Commander.”
They spoke to each other very informally these days -- among other things, most notably sleeping in the same bed -- but Seivarden suspected it would be good for this younger version of Breq to know where they stood in terms of military command. It was at the very least important to establish that in no way did Seivarden have power over her, which One Esk Nineteen would probably expect.
She took the time to pull on the rest of her clothes, because it seemed like the polite thing to do, and then joined Breq (Amaat, it was going to be hard to stop thinking of her like that) in the kitchen.
--
The humming paused, just for a second too long, at the bow and the title. There was no one else around, no one else Lieutenant Seivarden could have been addressing. She was an ancillary. Ancillaries weren’t captains, much less fleet commanders. The fleet commander uniform was in the room, cut to a slightly different design than she was used to. But it had been recognizable. Not the easiest to believe, except that she had thought this room was being lent to Lieutenant Seivarden and the uniform had been a spare left by the absent occupant. Not that fleet commanders spent that much time on stations. But it had been the most logical assumption.
Not… this. Even Mianaai wouldn’t have turned course so rapidly and so far. Surely. Captains and fleet commanders had the ability to disobey her once. But after that, they were executed. Quickly. As quickly as their disobedience was known. Had something happened with communications? Did Miannai only want fleet commanders who had to obey her orders whenever someone left her side? She couldn’t be everywhere at once. But it was easy, quite easy, to access an AI’s central core and enter commands for any situation she could imagine. She had all their access codes. All of Justice of Toren’s access codes. It made almost no sense.
Everything was set up quickly enough. One Esk Nineteen hadn’t spoken. Under normal circumstances, that was expected because she was below notice. If Lieutenant Seivarden was giving her the due respect a fleet commander received, then it was her right. Either way, it was an easier option than talking. At least, for a short while.
She returned to the bedroom to dress, gloves and all, in quick military efficiency. The fleet commander’s colors and rank sat uncomfortably, even as the smooth familiar slipped lightly over her hands, but she didn’t have any other uniform, and having this conversation with bare hands was untenable. One Esk Nineteen returned, her face as neutral as ever. But she looked at Lieutenant Seivarden directly. “What do you mean, addressing me as commander?” One Esk asked. “Even were Lord Mianaai to appoint a ship as captain or commander, it wouldn’t be me. It would be One Toren.” She would still be One Esk.
She was deeply uncomfortable that they had woken up together. Her first assumption had been that Lieutenant Seivarden had abused her position, the way many had over the millennia she had been in service. That sort came along. But One Esk Nineteen felt no more comfortable that Lieutenant Seivarden would kneel to her. She didn’t even like Lieutenant Seivarden, but she would never force anyone to kneel to her, not even Lieutenant Seivarden. But whichever one owed an apology, it was not military protocol to offer it. Nothing was taken as abuse or having gone too far. Not unless the Lord of the Radch said otherwise.
Still she sat for the tea. They were civilized people. But sitting, One Esk Nineteen didn’t know what to do with the tea. She had never drank tea before. It wasn’t allowed for ancillaries, and she didn’t know whether that would have changed, even if this was all true. Which, she sensed from Lieutenant Seivarden’s internals, it was. She had access to Lieutenant Seivarden’s internals. The officer really was one of her lieutenants again. Amaat’s tits, Mianaai hadn’t ordered her to have each decade lieutenant kneel, had she?
--
There was the pause in humming. Seivarden had expected it, but it still made her insides twist. She kept her expression neutral, even though One Esk Nineteen could probably still see her internals.
“Ah,” she said, “That.” She paused. “It’s a long story, but the short version is… that Anaander Mianaai is at war with herself. Or… will go to war with herself, depending on when you’re…” She trailed off. There was no easy way to put this, and she didn’t know all of the details from Breq’s perspective, or what this version of her already knew. But she soldiered on. “Justice of Toren… the ship, most of the ancillaries, except for you, will be destroyed when you turn against her. One of her. And then, she will appoint you Fleet Commander to take out another of her. But we are rebelling against all of her.”
That was probably enough of a bomb to drop in one go. She stopped there and took a sip of her tea. “I’m sure Station can confirm at least some of this. She was around for the end of it.”
--
She leaned heavily into the internals. No one noticed or cared when a ship did it. That was done to anticipate and meet every need, every wish, many of them without needing to be spoken aloud at all. Captains had permissions as well, though humans were less skilled at parsing together what all the data meant. It was easier to experience Lieutenant Seivarden’s telling than to feel it herself. Some level of awkwardness was there, mostly oriented at her, but also trust, deep trust, deeper than made sense between a soldier and her ship. The ship’s loyalty was taken for granted.
The truth of what Lieutenant Seivarden said was all there in the data. Despite the uneasiness with her, her pulse, her eye movements, the patterns flowing through her body and over One Esk’s mind as she felt it were calming. In so much as reports of civil war and rebellion were able to be calming. Her face relaxed into non-expression even deeper, a knee jerk reaction to all that.
She was dead. Or rather most of her was dead. Will be dead? It was terribly unclear, the mix of past, present, and future tense. One Esk Nineteen reached again for Justice of Toren, for the rest of One Esk, for any other fragment of herself. All that came back was Lieutenant Seivarden and the quiet presence of another AI. The station they were on. It had to be. The question of whether or not she was expected to drink tea for the first time felt unjustly small.
Justice of Toren was gone. Gone or dead. Beyond her reach either way. She had never been so alone before, had never imagined it. She wanted the rest of her unit, she wanted at least one of them. It was—it had always been—the best part of being who she was. It meant never being alone and always having the rest of her to help. But no one could take her place. No one could hold her and comfort her. It was all gone.
Silently, One Esk Nineteen asked Station to confirm what Lieutenant Seivarden was saying. Just as silently, heard only to her, Station replied in kind and confirmed it had in fact happened. What it knew. She nearly trembled in the silence, for want of herself more than anything else. There was a logic to it, One Esk Nineteen supposed, in a terrible way. Once her core was gone, Mianaai had no way to force any orders upon her. But by the same token, what ones remained couldn’t be… Surely open rebellion wasn’t something ships were permitted to do. They could destroy whole planets. Had she committed genocide? Turning against one Mianaai? For another?
Matters of etiquette were flung down to such a severely lowered priority, it astonished her. Still, etiquette was the only way she knew how to continue to function in the moment, with its rules and guidelines as crutches. “Very well,” One Esk Nineteen declared. Rebellion didn’t wait for her to have an existential crisis. “What is it we need to do next?” Silently, she asked Station to make her an appointment with Medic or a station doctor, to check her for mental trauma. That had to be cleared up, whenever there was time.
--
No more humming at all now. She was very distressed, which was understandable at such news. Later than she should have, Seivarden considered that Breq must be experiencing the loss of herself all over again, freshly -- not just in the telling of it, but the absence of connection to the rest of her. The Breq that Seivarden had known for awhile now had endured that for a long time. For the One Esk Nineteen sitting in front of her, it was all new.
And yet Seivarden was not sure that she was in a position to comfort her. Not physically, anyway, the way she usually did. Not until they had covered that part of the conversation, at least.
Silently, she queried Station about whether One Esk Nineteen was still able to see her internal data, and was relieved when Station responded in the affirmative. At least there was still that connection between them; she hoped One Esk Nineteen could find it comforting.
“None of that needs to be handled here,” she said gently. “We’re a long way, and time, from home. Actually, we’re on Earth. We’ve been here for a little while now -- almost two years,” she specified, after doing the calculation in her head. She paused briefly as she considered what other information should be offered right away, and what should be saved for later. “A strange sort of portal brought us here, through time and space. We were on Athoek Station, before -- that’s Station’s full name, and it brought her with us.” She smiled at the mention of Station, knowing the AI could feel-- or rather, see-- the affection she felt for her. “She also joined the rebellion with us, by the way. Quite the badass, this one.”
She patted the wall next to her affectionately. “Anyway, as to your question -- we don’t have anything that must be done right now. We have a shift at the bureau in a few hours, and then we were going to do maintenance around Station and inventory of supplies at our warehouse, but if you need time to take this all in, there’s definitely time for that. Or maybe we should start with a tour of Station?”
--
One world shattering revelation after another left One Esk Nineteen feeling like a baby lieutenant in antigravity training. Sure all new lieutenants had undergone such training before boarding her, but they hadn’t all done as well as their records suggested. As a troop carrier, she had plenty of new lieutenants that she taught how to be an officer. Lieutenant Seivarden among them. It wasn’t that One Esk Nineteen expected to know everything. Ships didn’t, being on the edge of the expanding Radch empire left a lot of questions and gaps unfilled about farther into civilization. Sometimes she learned more from her officers, but their knowledge was also limited—communications and correspondence. Along with the news she saw. Had seen.
Earth. It was not good news. Not that any of it had been good news—the way Lieutenant Seivarden felt about the rebellion suggested hope and some chance of success. But humans deluded themselves, and One Esk Nineteen had no doubts about the difficulties involved with taking any sort of liberty from Anaander Mianaai. She remembered cleaning the blood and brain matter off the floor and walls of the bridge. Not her. One Toren—not the segment that had pulled the trigger—had done that. But it had been her, part of her, part of what she was—had been—a part of.
Sure, One Esk Nineteen knew the basics about earth, anyone whose databases had included a basic history primer knew it was the original planet from which humankind had hailed, from which it had spread across space, until such time that people could forget that, if they didn’t bother, and make up their own stories of where humans came from. It was so old and obsolete she didn’t know when the last time anyone had bothered to visit the abandoned place. What were they—and a Radchaai space station—doing so far on the edges of space the newly civilized human colonies looked like the inner sphere of the Radch?
“Unless you have an explanation as to why I don’t remember any of this, not your pod being found, not being destroyed, not rebelling against the Lord of the Radch, nor even being on Earth, it would be best to start in Medical,” she declared. “Do we have anyone in Medical?” she inquired. Surely this needed a medical expert. One Esk Nineteen truly preferred not to have to do whatever legwork they needed to locate a medical professional and one that would believe all this as readily as her. Perhaps if they were given access to Lieutenant Seivarden’s internal data as they explained whatever was necessary to know.
No, she didn’t like not having anything to do. The need to locate and hire a medical professional was looking more and more appealing compared to the alternative of having nothing at all. And the prospect of a shift somewhere, something that would demand something of them, even if all it took was standing or cleaning or sewing, was the most calming bit of news.
--
“I have an explanation,” Seivarden said, a little hesitantly. “But it’s not one I fully understand. And we don’t have a Medic, but Station has better sensors in the med bay and there’s equipment in there. I think going there is a good idea, to make sure you’re alright.”
She hadn’t finished her bowl of tea, but Breq’s emotional state was far more urgent. She set down the bowl and got to her feet. “Follow me,” she said, and then added hastily, “I mean, if you’ll follow me? Sir.”
She wasn’t used to using formalities, and she wasn’t sure they were actually helping, but that had inadvertently sounded an awful lot like an order. And One Esk Nineteen didn’t know her well enough to know the difference.
--
One deep breath followed another. One Esk Nineteen hadn’t been paying much attention to her internals. Habits had taken care not to show any response physically, and that had been enough. It had been far easier soaking in the data from someone else than inhabiting her lone single unit. Her body was a familiar one, but it also hadn’t been exposed to stress like this since Justice of Toren had been implanted. The distress had carried over to her, but whoever her body had been hadn’t had to endure it. And One Esk Nineteen… One Esk Nineteen had had herself.
Carefully, paying more attention to everything she did than was generally required, One Esk Nineteen stood from the table, not having touched the tea. She had never read more about Earth, not to know anything more than its technology was terribly primitive compared to their own. What did they consider medicine? Station knew what to expect. And One Esk Nineteen had known. Disconnected from herself, she didn’t know everything she had known before. Her mind wasn’t big enough for that. It was frustrating to be so much less competent and knowledgeable without warning.
One nod communicated well enough she was following. One Esk didn’t mean to hum, it sounded off and wrong with only one voice, but it was hard to stop once she started. She didn’t feel up for singing the words. But she knew so many songs. She still remembered them. She still remembered the songs. It was a minor point with which to find comfort, but One Esk Nineteen did. She had been to stations before, and Radchaai stations were built in similar manners, so it was a familiar place to be. The circulating air felt fresher, less recycled, but it was a minor point.
Athoek System was a name One Esk Nineteen recognized, though not from any part of the Radch. The people there were still in the process of developing a weather system. It was slow going and difficult, but sometimes when things came together, they came together. After all, Lieutenant Seivarden was still alive, even if she spent some time in suspension. She picked up a private conversation with Station about the music of Athoeki peoples, and Station streamed a sampling of it for her. It was different from anything she had heard before, even if some of the motifs and rhythms weren’t altogether alien.
“What have we been doing on Earth?” she asked Lieutenant Seivarden. Two years wasn’t a long time. If it were an occupation, the people would have started becoming ‘civilized.’ But a flight commander doing maintenance work and inventorying a warehouse wasn’t one leading an occupation. Or the local rebellion government. Or whatever else. Still, it was two years. Lieutenant Seivarden wouldn’t have been the lieutenant she chose for company, were she only allowed one, but even one of her least favorite lieutenants was better than having none at all.
--
Relief flooded Seivarden when she heard One Esk Nineteen (she was starting, vaguely, to think of her that way instead of as Breq) begin to hum again, and her shoulders visibly relaxed. Her stride eased, too, and when the question asked was one that was easy and probably not world-shattering (relatively speaking, at least) to answer, she even glanced over her shoulder to smile at One Esk Nineteen.
“We help to guard the portal, the one that brought us here,” she said easily. “It regularly sends people through from other worlds and times, and they aren’t always friendly. At least at first. Someone needs to be there to greet them, to tranquilize them if necessary, if they attack. That’s the shift at the Bureau we’ll be due for in two hours. We can find someone to cover us, if we need to, or I can go on my own. We can decide after we get you checked out in Medical.”
She put her gloved hands in her pockets. “Station was badly damaged when we arrived, so the other thing we’ve been doing since we got here is fixing her back up. And the warehouse I mentioned -- we started an organization to feed and house the homeless, help connect them with jobs. This world’s government does a terrible job of taking care of its people.”
--/
The instinct to stay quiet around officers, rather than simply reacting in a knee jerking fashion, kept One Esk Nineteen from demanding that they keep the work. It was a childish and petulant reaction. And she no longer simply had to deal with scheduling with herself, where she was aware of the rest of her’s emotional state and they hers. It was a simple matter to permit anyone under emotional duress to do what they needed to do, preferably far away from irksome lieutenants. It involved other people, and annoyingly, Lieutenant Seivarden was right. It was likely best decided after the assessment in Medical.
“Let's see what Medical reveals,” One Esk Nineteen said. It was a simple neutral statement. Not meant to be read one way or the other.
She pulled repair logs as they walked, as well as the camera view behind her, so that One Esk Nineteen was always watching them walk away, even as she kept an eye on the corridor in front of her. It was a lot to do all at once, but One Esk oriented herself with Lieutenant Seivarden and trusted the Lieutenant not to walk into walls. “I don’t know that I’ve known a government that does it well,” she declared offhandedly. The Radch included.
It wasn’t a rebellion. But it involved killing fewer people, and that was something.
--
“No,” Seivarden agreed. “I haven’t known a government to get it all right, either. But one thing that the Radch got right was making sure every citizen had access to food, shelter, clothing, and healthcare. None of those are guaranteed here. There are so many people without them.”
She arrived at the medical bay; the door slid open to admit them. Seivarden stood to the side of the door and gestured her in. “After you.”
--
The people who survived to become Radchaai citizens got those things, often in a location not of their choosing. With so many caveats, it was a sad matter, she thought, even in the Radch. But lacking food, shelter, clothing, and healthcare altogether wasn’t better. Homeless wasn’t a term that existed in the Radch. It simply didn’t apply. Earth sounded as primitive as its status in history promised.
One Esk Nineteen entered the medical bay and considered the options. Her body’s issues were only manifestations of how many revelations a being could take in a day. All in all, it was rather rational and reasonable. And One Esk Nineteen thought she was handling it awfully well. She took a seat in one of the chairs. “Station, if you would be so kind as to take the necessary scans and interpret them, it would be appreciated,” she requested. It wasn’t an order. She wasn’t sure the station had to obey her, and even so, it was better to be polite.
Station took it up. While it was working, One Esk Nineteen looked at Lieutenant Seivarden. She still remembered Sword of Nathtas’s memory of shoving her into a pod, away to safety. It was the last anyone had seen of Captain, now Lieutenant, Seivarden as far as she knew. “I am… surprised to hear you joined me in rebellion against Anaander Mianaai,” One Esk Nineteen ventured softly. “I wouldn’t expect anyone of House Vendaai to turn against the Lord of the Radch.” Nor Lieutenant Seivarden in particular, from all she knew of her. It was an understatement, if anything. But One Esk Nineteen had not forgotten, among all the other revelations, that they had shared a bed when she woke up. And neither of them had been wearing gloves.
--
Seivarden followed One Esk Nineteen inside and, for a moment, stood a few paces from the door with her hands in her pockets, watching. Then One Esk Nineteen turned her gaze on Seivarden, and it hit her, all at once, how different that gaze was. Lacking in the affection that Breq had acquired for her, reminding her of how little esteem Breq had held for her for the longest time. Feeling suddenly very small and ashamed, she looked down at the floor and then, for comfort, found a place to lean her back against the wall of the med bay, making physical contact with Station. It was something she did regularly, lean against or touch one of Station’s walls when she had conversations with her. Not the same as cuddling a moving, breathing, warm-blooded ancillary, but it made her feel better nevertheless. She took a deep breath.
“Well, my House is gone,” she said, even though that was really a very minor detail in the change of her loyalties. “After my ship was destroyed, my pod was lost. I woke up a thousand years later in a remote corner of space.” She avoided using the more insulting terms for where she’d woken up than she’d done initially. Yet another sign of how she’d changed. “Everyone I’d known was long dead. Only the AIs could even understand my accent. I… didn’t know what to do with myself. I left the Radch, ended up getting addicted to kef, nearly died in the snow one night on Nilt. But you found me, and kept saving my life -- literally jumped off a cliff for me, even though you hated me, even though I was being a little shit -- and you haven’t been able to get rid of me since.”
She managed a small grin at that last part, briefly meeting One Esk Nineteen’s eyes. Then the grin faded to a thoughtful, considering look, maintaining eye contact. Softly, she finished, “I suppose you’re going through something similar now, aren’t you? Waking up a thousand or so years later -- in our timeline, anyway, not Earth’s -- and everyone you knew is gone. Except for me.”
--
Backup ancillaries were stored in stasis from one engagement to the next. Usually only one unit per decade was kept awake at all times. If an annexation were particularly small, One Esk Nineteen supposed it had likely happened to some ship that some portion of its ancillaries were kept in suspension. Still, a period of a thousand years was about as long as Justice of Toren had existed. No unit had been stored that long. If it weren’t productive, it would be terminated and a new one made.
It meant the rest of her that she had known, all the other ancillaries, were probably long gone. That meant they hadn’t been murdered, but it wasn’t much comfort given she had been murdered, all of her except one unit. Dead. Dead. How many times could she die? (it had always been a high number because even with body armor ancillaries were frontline troops and killed regularly).
Easier if stranger was the story of what had happened to Lieutenant Seivarden. Families rose and fell. That House Vendaai fell one day was not shocking—only that Seivarden would live to experience it. The shifts were usually more gradual on the timescale of human lifespans. The rest fell from everything One Esk Nineteen had already been told. Her orders prioritized the lives of her officers over her own, and given she had down to a single officer, given she abruptly was down to one now, One Esk Nineteen didn’t want to lose her. One miserly officer was far better than none.
“I don’t see why you had to go and set a trend of waking up a thousand years later, Lieutenant,” One Esk Nineteen deadpanned. “It is rather irksome and irritating to have to learn of my own murder and subsequent rebellion secondhand.” Not as aggravating as having been murdered in the first place. But still. She couldn’t do anything about that.
“Though I have also left the Radch, I will try not to follow your example with regard to kef,” she commented, “I’ll face oblivion soon enough as it is.” Her own. And not just her small unit’s oblivion but with it the entirety of Justice of Toren. It was a heavy burden to carry, the entirety of her own existence. Justice of Toren had never been under the impression it would live forever. Even spaceships one day were destroyed, converted into stations, and wiped or replaced when of no more use. But it reasonably could have continued on for a few thousand more years. A hundred or two hundred years, compared to that, was rather little.
--
The corner of Seivarden’s mouth quirked. “It was unintentional, sir,” she said, pleased that One Esk Nineteen felt good enough to joke. She shook her head, and added lightly, “Don’t worry. You won’t need drugs when you’re working towards revenge on the Lord of the Radch.”
She pushed away from the wall and came to stand a little closer. “How is she doing, Station?” she queried the AI, unable to tell how the process of scanning her was going, or what the results were.
--
A thousand years was a long time to wait to take revenge. But spaceships were more patient than humans. It had been one of many reasons to seek justice or vengeance. Such a sense of purpose would be good to have. The lack of one removed another point of stability from her life. That personal sense of loss didn’t justify what her broad overarching purpose had been for all her life, waging war on people who had the misfortune of neighboring Radchaai space. No purpose was better than that one. Unease wasn’t as terrible as murder.
One Esk Nineteen sat slightly straighter, paying attention to what Station would say. “Though I am not a doctor,” Station led in its neutral voice. One Esk Nineteen still picked up the slightest of pauses, usually imperceptible to humans but telling to an AI. “Your physical state is within the norm for humans, One Esk Nineteen,” Station addressed her, not Lieutenant Seivarden. Curious. “Heart rate and sweating is elevated compared to your previous baseline results, but I cannot draw full conclusions from that given the change in body.” Everything was stated as neutrally as AIs stated everything.
But Station was right. She didn’t know what her other body was like compared to this one. Some bodies had higher heart rates due to physical and genetic factors independent of the mind occupying it. It was being cautious and thorough. One Esk Nineteen could have raised that issue as a reason to doubt Station’s conclusions. “I would recommend avoiding strong physical or further emotional stressors,” it continued. She waited for it to say something else, to prohibit her from working or worst of all simply to rest and not be permitted to do anything. One Esk Nineteen doubted that being stuck only with her thoughts and all she had learned this morning was good for her.
Her attention shifted to look at Lieutenant Seivarden. One Esk Nineteen raised one brow, as if to say See? I’m fine. She could attend her shift. If anything, it seemed likely to be more boring than exploring the ancient climes of forgotten history.
--
Seivarden merely looked back at her in amusement. “You were the one that wanted to come to medical, Commander,” she reminded her. For her part, she had not been significantly worried for One Esk Nineteen’s health. Unless the portal had taken her from a time when she’d been injured, she hadn’t expected the change to have been damaging in itself.
“Work is usually pretty boring,” she offered. “Like being on watch on a ship. Long hours of nothing and then brief periods of excitement. Obviously you’re under no obligation to go, considering the circumstances; you never signed yourself up for it. But if you want to, we can… try to avoid talking about anything else that would stress you out.”
That would be a challenge, but she was up for it. Whatever was best for One Esk Nineteen’s health. “We could bring a deck of cards, or something.”
--
One Esk Nineteen shook her head. It was strange to do around an officer, but it demonstrated her thoughts on that statement even while she listened to the rest of what Lieutenant Seivarden had to say. She was already multitasking the most a single body could handle generally, unaided by an AI core. “I’m sure you were woken in Medical and would have been taken straight there, had it happened otherwise,” One Esk Nineteen said. “It would have been a sign I was not okay if I had avoided it.” She wasn’t, entirely speaking, okay. But she was functional and handling it rather well, she thought.
“You’ve just described most of my existence, Lieutenant,” One Esk Nineteen pointed out. There was a fair amount of work that qualified as doing ‘nothing’ so far as humans thought about it: cooking, cleaning, maintenance, sewing, and other domestic work. But guard duty was common enough on the tail end of conflicts. And this one sounded as though no one was going to be killing anyone during their shift. “The portal needs guarding as much today as any other day,” she added.
“You can fill me in on what I need to know about this time and place,” One Esk Nineteen said. It veered close to an order but narrowly avoided it. Even if she had the authority, One Esk was not used to giving orders. “I’d rather not make a fool of myself in front of whoever else is here.” It was such a long time ago, there had to be different standards and customs.
--
As strange as it was to be back to formalities, they did seem to be serving their intended purpose of allowing One Esk Nineteen to grasp that she had power now, mostly in the sense of personal autonomy, and also in the sense that she commanded respect from both Seivarden and Station. Seivarden was glad to see it, and unsurprised that she was ready to go to work. Even at this age, Breq disliked being idle.
She checked the time on her implant; they had a little over an hour before the start of their shift. “We should head back to the kitchen and have breakfast,” she suggested, “And I, at least, need a shower before we head to the bureau. We’re expected there at 6, takes about ten minutes in transit.”
Her eyes lit in amusement as something occurred to her. “And I suppose it’s my day to drive, since you’ve forgotten how to drive Earth vehicles. Not to mention that you don’t look anything like your Earth driver’s license anymore.”
--
One Esk Nineteen stood up. “Thank you, Station,” she said aloud. It could have been transmitted silently, but it deserved verbal recognition. She wasn’t used to wasting much time, so she was fully prepared to get down to the business of getting ready for the day.
“How difficult could it be?” One Esk Nineteen asked. She was trained on Radchaai technology, but she had interacted with hundreds of kinds over the years. None of it had stumped her. She needed to obtain another Earth driver’s license. If necessary, she could forge one.
As they walked, she considered the uniform and where they were. “Is this what I usually wear to one of our shifts?” One Esk Nineteen asked. A military uniform could be inappropriate, either as the wrong uniform or because she was ridiculously a civilian in this place. There had been other clothes in the bedroom. The one bedroom. She had yet to see another individual on Station, but the two of them shared a single bedroom. Even for military personnel used to small or shared quarters, it was a bit much.
--
“It’s not difficult,” Seivarden said, clearly enjoying teasing her, “And I can teach you, but it’s also illegal to drive without the license. We can see about getting you a new one while we’re at the Bureau.”
This was likely just temporary, but she hadn’t said that yet and she didn’t know how much more stress that would add to the load One Esk Nineteen was already carrying. She wasn’t sure if the Bureau would be willing to make another license, and even if they were, could they get away with asking that question without One Esk Nineteen finding out she was likely to become Breq again in a few days to a few weeks? The latter seemed unlikely, but they could try. Maybe she could send them a private message about it beforehand.
She glanced over at the clothes, even though she had already taken note of them. “No,” she said. “We generally dress like civilians here, although if you wanted to wear that I don’t think anyone would care. And this world… doesn’t have the same customs about gloves, but I still wear mine usually.”
--
One Esk Nineteen had rarely been anywhere that wasn’t under military jurisdiction. Just a few stations on the edge of Radchaai space. Nowhere truly civilized. Not that this planet was anywhere close to civilized by Radchaai standards. But under civil law. “Very well,” she said blandly, as though it were a generous dispensation. One Esk Nineteen had never transited anywhere under an officer’s control. They didn’t bother when they had ancillaries.
She weighed the possibilities. “It would be notable,” One Esk Nineteen declared. Both the uniform and the gloves. She had always worn both and imagined the two together was more notable than either on its own. Without knowledge of Earth’s cultural norms around clothing (other than “do not wear gloves as often”), One Esk Nineteen lacked the information to decide which issue was more memorable. That Lieutenant Seivarden wore gloves and no uniform suggested an answer. But One Esk Nineteen was careful not to generalize. “Which would be stranger — the gloves or the uniform?” One could go, and she could handle the discomfort of the other. It was only a minor matter.
--
Seivarden considered that. “For a shift at the Bureau, neither would be particularly strange. The folks that come through the portal are all sorts. They don’t bat an eye at any of it. Even the fact that you have a different face than yesterday won’t get too much attention. But in general, outside of Station and the Bureau… I think the uniform would draw the most attention. But we haven’t really been wearing military wear since we got here, so it’s hard to say.”
She led the way back into their room, and moved to check on the tea; it was still just barely an acceptable temperature. That immediately became her first priority, to drink it before it got too cold. She picked up the bowl and drank deeply. “Thanks for making tea,” she added, after she’d swallowed. “Are you hungry? There’s plenty of skel, and also some Earth food if you’re interested in trying it.”
--
One Esk Nineteen accepted Lieutenant Seivarden’s assessment. If she dressed the way she had been dressing before, an outfit people had seen before, it seemed less likely to draw attention. And the gloves? She preferred to keep the gloves on. Waking up without them, near someone else, had been enough of a strange occurrence. She didn’t want to give the lieutenant the wrong sort of impression either. That was easiest done using that simple gesture.
“Yes, I am hungry,” One Esk Nineteen said. Usually this was the time she would eat breakfast, before the officers were awake for theirs. “Skel is fine.” It had been a staple long enough that she didn’t want to see the balance of her nutrition destroyed. Anyone could live on skel and little else. Tea, if they were Radchaai.
The tea was a situation she still didn’t know how to handle. “I’ll make the skel. You can prepare more tea, if you’d like,” she said neutrally. That was the easier decision. In all likelihood, Lieutenant Seivarden would prepare it for herself, and it could be pushed off until later. Cooking was a familiar task, especially cooking skel. The familiarity of it, in a Radchaai kitchen, was calming. It reminded her of some of the childhood nursery rhymes she had learned over the years. Children loved to sing about food.
--
“Sure,” Seivarden said, even though she’d planned on making breakfast herself. She suspected that One Esk Nineteen simply wanted something normal to do, or perhaps would find it too strange to have breakfast made for her. Then she noticed that there was only one bowl of tea already prepared. In the midst of everything else, that particular detail had escaped her attention earlier. “Do you want some tea, too?”
She knew ancillaries were not supposed to drink tea. She didn’t know if it would be too much stress on One Esk Nineteen to accept it now, but it seemed important to at least give her the choice, the knowledge that it was allowed here even if she didn’t want to change all of her ways just yet.
--
What One Esk Nineteen had wanted was not to be forced to determine the tea situation. That was why she had suggested Lieutenant Seivarden make it. Had she simply set up tea with two bowls, One Esk Nineteen could have pretended that was what she had expected and drink it like nothing was out of the ordinary. The question annoyingly brought the matter front and center. Logically, One Esk knew it was the unnatural sounding matter of Lieutenant Seivarden attempting to be mindful and polite. But that lay counter to the fact it was all laid out for her to ascertain the way forward under direct observation.
“Sure,” she replied in her flat tone. The same word Lieutenant Seivarden had said. Their accents were similar enough, given they hailed from around the same time. But her tone removed any sign of emotion. She stayed on task with making breakfast and didn’t look the lieutenant’s way.
--
Seivarden seemed to have upset or annoyed her with the question, but she supposed that was bound to happen sooner or later. Really, all things considered, it was likely to happen multiple times, and possibly a miracle it hadn’t happened yet. Given that One Esk Nineteen was supremely unenthusiastic about Seivarden, to the point that she’d purposefully made life aboard the Justice of Toren harder for her, they were bound to butt heads eventually.
“Great,” Seivarden responded cheerfully, making the best of it. She prepared the tea, which didn’t take as long as the skel, and so she had a moment to move to gather her clothes for the day. As she was doing so, it occurred to her that the likelihood of them spending the night together was relatively low. Not outside the realm of possibility, if One Esk Nineteen could feel comfortable enough with her to be comforted by her presence, but at least to start with she might prefer to have her own space. Quietly, Seivarden set aside a few more sets of clothes to take with her into another room.
Then she sat down at the table with her bowl of tea, looking into it a little broodily until One Esk Nineteen joined her.
--
One Esk Nineteen casually browsed Earth’s public network. She first found her way to local news websites, covering only a portion of the dominant continent. Apparently, this was a year when governance potentially changed. They determined who ruled by popularity contest, with voting and all. Well, not voting by all, just those the society preferred to vote. It was a familiar matter, regardless of government structure. There was also a variety of sports and entertainment and many ways for people to stay in communication. And she had an account in one of them.
The skel was ready, so she put her investigations on hold and carried their breakfast to the table. Lieutenant Seivarden held her bowl of tea. It meant the other one was for One Esk Nineteen. She ignored it for a moment, despite the fact Seivarden had made it quite well and it was at the proper temperature.
Lieutenant Seivarden was brooding. They were both brooding. Given how long she had been connected to Lieutenant Seivarden’s internals and witnessed her many lovers and the normal course of human emotions aboard a ship, it was not difficult for One Esk to recognize it had to do with her. She was the factor that had changed. Even people who didn’t know the lieutenant could have guessed as much. She leaned into the internal data but wasn’t entirely sure what to make of it. “What’s on your mind, lieutenant?” One Esk Nineteen asked. It was a peculiar question for an ancillary to ask, but it was within the rights of a commanding officer. She felt like an imposter speaking in such a fashion. But she didn’t figure quiet discomfort was best.
--
Seivarden tried to return her expression to neutral when One Esk Nineteen reappeared, but she already knew it was a losing battle. Station had confirmed One Esk Nineteen still had access to her internal data, and Seivarden didn’t want to change that. She hadn’t really known whether to expect One Esk Nineteen to ask about it outright, but it was still basically Breq. Of course she asked.
She took a sip of her tea before answering, considering the words carefully. “Just thinking about how… to make you more comfortable,” she said after a moment. It wasn’t a lie, just a careful phrasing. She gestured to the room. “For example, perhaps you’d like your quarters to yourself?”
--
One Esk Nineteen picked up her own bowl of tea as a matter of having something to do with her hands. Eating her breakfast had felt awkward while listening. She blew across the surface needlessly and returned her attention to her lieutenant. Enough had changed she didn’t immediately understand what was going on with her. It was a frustrating reality, but One Esk Nineteen couldn’t do much about that.
She took a sip of tea. It tasted similar to how it smelled, though the smell was stronger than the taste. She breathed in through her nose for the second sip. The two senses complimented each other. The quarters being hers surprised her, but One Esk Nineteen only had more questions about their relationship than ever. No matter what Lieutenant Seivarden said, she wasn’t sure it was going to reflect well on her. But this mood? How much emotional discomfort did the thought of sleeping somewhere else — her own quarters, One Esk Nineteen suggested — cause Lieutenant Seivarden?
Given all the years of repairing Lieutenant Seivarden’s uniforms, bathing her, meeting her every request while ignoring what she knew would have made the experience more relaxing, given that One Esk had needed to intervene with tea to prevent the baby lieutenant from shooting a helpless person who had already surrendered and been selected to be turned into an ancillary, she wasn’t sure she should care about that. However, disregard for her in the past didn’t make conscious disregard for a person in front of her just. One Esk Nineteen considered how to ask her next question, uncertain where that tread.
Why did Lieutenant Seivarden sleep in her quarters? Given that Lieutenant Seivarden had already changed clothes, she spent a notable number of her nights there. Just what was the relationship they had had? That Seivarden still knew and felt and probably longed for that One Esk Nineteen knew nothing about, felt uneasy considering, and didn’t particularly want to prod tenderly at. Etiquette permitted her to ignore it. But etiquette was often used for the ease and comfort of whoever held the power in a situation. “What is our relationship a thousand or so years in my future?” One Esk Nineteen asked, resigned to the need to have the conversation that neither of them was likely to enjoy.
--
Seivarden had tried, obviously not effectively, to dodge the emotional part of this conversation for the sake of ‘avoiding stressors’. But it was fair that One Esk Nineteen needed the context to answer her question. And she supposed -- or hoped -- that the details of their relationship wouldn’t cause too much stress. At the moment, she was the one stressing out about how to define the relationship they had, which was not easily definable even by the Radchaai’s standards.
She chewed on her bottom lip, and then began. “When we were in Athoek System, not long before we came here, you were… at a low point, physically injured and emotionally stressed, and missing having your other selves around for company.” That was probably oversimplifying it, especially since Breq had undoubtedly been missing her other ancillaries (not to mention her ship, her core) for a much longer time. But it was easier to describe the events, and anyway, the particular details didn’t matter. “Our ship, Mercy of Kalr, asked me to sleep beside you in your hospital bed. It made you feel better, so I just kept… coming back.”
She spread her gloved hands helplessly. “I was already… emotionally invested. Most of the ship’s officers thought I was… kneeling to you, but I’m not. I mean, I would have, but it wasn’t what you wanted.” Her cheeks felt a little hot, and she struggled to find the right words. “It’s just… companionship. Emotional support. Cuddling. That’s all.”
It felt wrong to sum up something so important to both of them like that; she felt like she wasn’t doing it justice. But at the same time she didn’t know if she wanted to go into depth about the emotional intimacy that had evolved. And her internal data would show the strength of her emotions on the matter, although, as she’d learned, ships were stupid about noticing when people cared about them. So at some point she might have to make that clearer, but this didn’t feel like the right moment.
--
A lieutenant, even a favorite lieutenant, was a poor substitute for herself. It was not the same as holding and being held. One body holding her was nothing compared to having all nineteen other segments in her unit all together, a level of physical sensation and intimacy felt by all of them — and all of them feeling it from the others, and all of them feeling the others feeling each other — that simply could not truly occur any other way. One Esk Nineteen ached then for that feeling. But she had felt it before she awoke, hardly that long ago. So it was manageable. More, she ached for herself, her future self, that did not have such comfort.
This future where one ship was made a fleet commander certainly involved more active meddling on ships parts. For this Mercy of Kalr — Justice of Toren was familiar with the god Kalr but hadn’t heard anything about the ships named after her — to speak directly to a lieutenant like that… was highly peculiar. Which One Esk Nineteen supposed she was too. No other ships had been mentioned as being here, so that wasn’t the present issue.
“Ah,” she said first. An acknowledgment of the unusual relationship Lieutenant Seivarden had described. It wasn’t altogether unheard of between people. Not everyone wanted sex, and when those people held positions of power, they could choose to refrain from such activities easily enough. One Esk Nineteen didn’t know whether that was the case for her in the future. But she didn’t want Lieutenant Seivarden to kneel to her. And not simply because of their relationship as One Esk Nineteen knew it.
“Kneeling… is normal among the Radch, especially aboard ships,” One Esk Nineteen spoke cautiously. “It frequently does entail willingness and desire on the part of both parties. But Lieutenant, when one party holds the power of life and death over the other, consent cannot truly be granted. I would like to think” — having participated in the genocide of billions of people, it was a hypocritical boundary to put on her ethics, Justice of Toren was aware, but she hoped that action had not doomed her to make such egregious crimes again and again and again, and this was not the time to handle that quandary — “that I would not accept anyone under my command kneeling to me.”
“It wouldn’t be right, just as it isn’t right the times that officers have ordered segments of me to kneel to them,” she explained. Lieutenant Seivarden had never been one of those officers. Thankfully. It had been something that truly would have sunk One Esk’s opinion of her to the depths. The desire for sex was natural, just as was the absence of it. But that did free anyone of the obligation to seek sex in an ethical manner. She was sure, whatever her reasons, it hadn’t been that Seivarden was unappealing.
--
Of course. Of course One Esk Nineteen would respond to that -- to Seivarden all but baring her heart -- with a lecture on the dynamics of sex and power. She sounded so much like Breq that in spite of herself, it made Seivarden smile.
“I know,” she said gently. “I mean, I know all that now. And even back when I was an asshat, I was only interested in sleeping my way to the top, not abusing anyone below me.” The smile lingered on her face, and she shook her head affectionately; this was the staunch moral character that Seivarden had fallen in love with. “But it’s more than that. You just didn’t want it. Not from me, not from anyone. And that’s fine,” she said, with emphasis. “I’ve had, and still have, taken other lovers -- enthusiastically consenting, all of them. You’re still… the most important person in my life, and always will be.”
She took a sip of her tea, and looked at One Esk Nineteen in a warm and hopefully reassuring way. “But you’re a different person, even though you’re the same one. I know that. If you find my presence comforting, I’m here. But if you need your own space, I’ll go. The only thing I’ll ask of you is honesty.”
--
Honesty. She wasn’t used to having conversation with anyone but herself. Ships could talk to each other, but generally they had exhausted conversation. Instead, they sent messages as needed and that was that. Some officers spoke with ancillaries beyond orders, but it generally wasn’t much. Even the officer who had taught One Esk to sing had wanted accompaniment. Not saying things aloud, not saying them directly, was what communication of a ship’s thoughts and opinions were. Usually, they weren’t even noticed, which was why it was acceptable.
“I am…” One Esk Nineteen did not like saying it aloud. But she could not easily promise to be honest. It wasn’t a simple proposition. “Unused to honest conversation with anyone besides myself.” She drank more tea as another pause. It was shorter than eating a spoonful of skel which had to be chewed. “I will try,” she declared. “I cannot offer you any better.” It was not as much as anyone might want from someone that mattered to them. But the very fact she knew she meant more to Seivarden was more than she had ever received in her lifetime.
She considered Seivarden’s statement, her repeated statement of concern about whether or not One Esk Nineteen preferred her quarters alone or with Seivarden, neither of which was her preferred option. But she didn’t have any other parts of herself. And she couldn’t count on them suddenly arriving. “As per sleeping arrangements,” she said, “I am not yet sure.” Quite possibly, whatever she tried would be miserable. Then she could try the other way, which was also likely to be miserable. So it was possibly best to try it each way and see which one was less terrible.
--
Seivarden’s smile remained, slightly faded just because it would have been unnatural to maintain, her expression still warm. “Fair enough,” she said, referring to both statements. “I suppose we’ll figure it out as we go.”
She finally dug into her skel; there was only so much more time to get eat before they had to leave for work. It had been a difficult conversation and probably a lot for One Esk Nineteen to take in, but Seivarden found herself feeling better having put it out there. It felt like it had been the right thing to do. “Any other questions for me, about… anything? Or should I start telling you more about Earth?”
--
It was nearly a relief that Lieutenant Seivarden spent some time eating her skel. One Esk Nineteen knew she wasn’t obligated to speak and immediately answer any question she asked, but the years of servitude were not quickly or easily undone. And she had served Lieutenant Seivarden specifically. But she ate some of her skel as well before answering the question. One Esk Nineteen drew out the wait just a bit, just because she could. It was a choice she could freely exercise.
Too long would have been plain rude. “I have more questions, but they can wait,” One Esk said. “Pretty soon we’re going to be traveling on some foreign terrestrial mode of transportation across a planet I am unfamiliar with to work with people I know nothing about. It’s more urgent to learn about that.” And on a less personal scale, it was at least as important.
She also discovered her future self’s music collection and began playing part of it at random at a low volume in her implants while she listened.