Ancillary Sword by Ann Leckie Page A

Nine hauled luggage out of the shuttle. Presumably the impetus behind Captain Hetnys’s question.
    “It’s only, sir,” she went on, when I didn’t answer immediately, “that lodgings on the station are quite crowded just now. It might be difficult to find somewhere suitable.”
    I’d already realized that the destruction of even a few gates would have rerouted traffic this way. There were several dozen ships here that had not expected to come to Athoek at all, and more that had meant to leave but couldn’t. Even though Anaander Mianaai’s order forbidding travel in the remaining gates couldn’t possibly have reached here yet, the captains of plenty of other ships might well be nervous about entering any gates at all for the next while. Any well-connected or well-funded travelers had likely taken up whatever comfortable lodgings might have been available here.
Mercy of Kalr
had already asked Station, just to be sure, and Station had replied that apart from the possibility of an invitation to stay in the system governor’s residence, the usual places were full up.
    The fact that my possibly staying on the station appeared to dismay Captain Hetnys was nearly as interesting as the fact that Station apparently hadn’t mentioned my plans to her. Perhaps it hadn’t occurred to her to ask. “I have a place to stay, Captain.”
    “Oh. That’s good, sir.” She didn’t seem convinced of it, though.
    I gestured her to follow me and strode out of the bay into the corridor.
Sword of Atagaris
’s ancillary fell in behind the three of us, with Kalr Five. I could see—
Mercy of Kalr
showed me—Five’s vanity over her ability to play ancillary, right beside the actual thing.
    The walls and floor of the corridor, like the docking bay, showed their age and ill-use. Neither had been cleaned with the frequency any self-respecting military ship expected. But colorful garlands brightened the walls. Seasonally appropriate garlands. “Captain,” I said after ten steps, without breaking stride. “I do understand that this is the Genitalia Festival. But when you say
genitalia
, doesn’t that usually mean genitals generally? Not just one kind?” For all the steps I’d taken, and as far down the corridor as I could see, the walls were hung with tiny penises. Bright green, hot pink, electric blue, and a particularly eye-searing orange.
    “Sir,” said Captain Hetnys just behind me. “It’s a translation. The words are the same, in the Athoeki language.”
    The Athoeki language. As though there had only been one. But there was never only one language, not in my considerable experience.
    “With the fleet captain’s indulgence…” As Captain Hetnys spoke, I gestured assent, not looking behind me to see her. Could, if I wished, see her back, and my own, through Kalr Five’s unsuspecting eyes. She continued. “The Athoekiweren’t very civilized.” Not civilized. Not
Radchaai
. The word was the same, the only difference a subtlety expressed by context, and too easily wiped away. “They mostly aren’t even now. They make a division between people with penises and people without. When we first arrived in the system they surrendered right away. Their ruler lost her mind. She thought Radchaai didn’t have penises, and since everyone would have to become Radchaai, she ordered all the people in the system with penises to cut them off. But the Athoeki had no intention of cutting anything off, so they made models instead and piled them up in front of the ruler to keep her happy until she could be arrested and given help. So now, on the anniversary, sir, all the children dedicate their penises to their god.”
    “What about the Athoeki with other sorts of genitals?” We’d reached the bank of lifts that would take us away from the docks. The lobby there was deserted.
    “They don’t use
real
ones, sir,” said Captain Hetnys, clearly contemptuous of the whole thing. “They buy them in a shop.”
    Station didn’t open the