Free Ancillary Sword by Ann Leckie

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. Orreeducation, 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