Free Ancillary Sword by Ann Leckie Page A

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.
    Whatever it was, it hadn’t been Tisarwat’s fault. Or mine. Everyone was relieved at that. Sitting in my quarters the next day, drinking tea—still from the rose glass, even I myself hadn’t yet rated the best dishes—Seivarden’s desire to ask me what had happened was palpable, but instead she said, “I was thinking about what you said the other day. About how I never saw you… I mean…” She trailed off, realizing, probably, that the sentence wasn’t going anywhere good. “Officers have their own quarters, so that’s easy, but I hadn’t even thought about if my Amaats… I mean, there’s nowhere private, is there, nowhere they could go if they wanted… I mean…”
    Actually, there were quite a number of places, including several storage compartments, all of the shuttles (though lack of gravity did make some things awkward), and even, with enough desperation, under the table in the soldiers’ mess. But Seivarden had always had her own quarters and never had to avail herself of any of them. “I suppose it’s good you’re thinking about these things,” I said. “But leave your Amaatswhat dignity they can afford.” I took another swallow of tea and added, “You seem to be thinking about sex a lot lately. I’m glad you haven’t just ordered one of your Amaats.” She wouldn’t have been the first officer on this ship to do that.
    “The thought crossed my mind,” she said, face heating even further than it already had. “And then I thought about what you would probably say.”
    “I don’t think Medic is your type.” Actually, I suspected Medic had no interest in sex to begin with. “Lieutenant Tisarwat is a bit young, and she’s not up for it right now. Have you considered approaching Ekalu?” Ekalu had thought of it, I was sure. But Seivarden’s aristocratic looks and antique accent intimidated her as much as they attracted her.
    “I haven’t wanted to insult her.”
    “Too much like a superior approaching an inferior?” Seivarden gestured assent. “Kind of insulting in and of itself, thinking of it like that, wouldn’t you say?”
    She groaned, set her tea on the table. “I lose either way.”
    I gestured uncertainty. “Or you win either way.”
    She gave a small laugh. “I’m
really
glad Medic was able to help Tisarwat.”
    In Lieutenant Tisarwat’s quarters, Bo Nine tucked in the blanket for the third time in the last hour. Adjusted pillows, checked the temperature of Lieutenant Tisarwat’s tea. Tisarwat submitted with drugged, dispassionate calm. “So am I,” I said.
    Two days later—something less than a third of the way to Athoek—I invited Lieutenant Ekalu and Lieutenant Tisarwat to dine with me. Because of the way schedules worked on
Mercy of Kalr
, it was my own lunch, Ekalu’s supper, Tisarwat’s breakfast. And because my Kalrs were scraping paintoff the walls in my quarters, it was in the decade room. Almost like being with myself again, though
Mercy of Kalr
’s decade room was a good deal smaller than my own Esk decade room, when I had been
Justice of Toren
and had twenty lieutenants for each of my ten decades.
    My eating in the decade room produced a sort of confusion of jurisdiction, with Kalr Five wanting very much to establish her own authority in what was normally the territory of the officers’ staffs. She’d agonized over whether to insist on using her second-best porcelain, which would show incontrovertibly that it was her meal and also show off the dishes she loved, or whether she should let Etrepa Eight and Bo Nine use the decade room’s own set, which would protect the precious porcelain from accidents but imply the meal was under Etrepa and Bo’s authority. Her pride won in the end, and we ate eggs and vegetables off the hand-painted dishes.
    Ekalu, who had served nearly