And that history would make a difference. Without understanding it, how could Seivarden understand anything? Without that context, how could she understand why anyone had acted as they did? If Anaander Mianaai had not reacted with such fury to the Garseddai, would she have done the things she’d done in the thousand years since then? If Lieutenant Awn had never heard of the events at Ime five years before, twenty-five years ago now, would she have acted as she did?
When I imagined it, the moment that Mercy of Sarrse soldier had chosen to defy her orders, I saw her as a segment of an ancillary unit. She had been number One of Mercy of Sarrse’s Amaat unit, its senior member. Even though she had been human, had had a name beyond her place on her ship, beyond Mercy of Sarrse One Amaat One. But I had never seen a recording, had never seen her face.
She had been human. She had endured events at Ime—perhaps even enforced the corrupt dictates of the governor herself, when ordered. But something about that particular moment had changed things. Something had been too much for her.
What had it been? The sight, perhaps, of a Rrrrrr, dead or dying? I’d seen pictures of the Rrrrrr, snake-long, furred, multi-limbed, speaking in growls and barks; and the humans associated with them, who could speak that language and understand it. Had it been the Rrrrrr who had knocked Mercy of Sarrse One Amaat One off her expected path? Did she care so much for the threat of breaking the treaty with the Presger? Or had it been the thought of killing so many helpless human beings? If I had known more about her, perhaps I could have seen why in that moment she had decided that she would rather die.
I knew almost nothing about her. Probably by design. But even the little I had known, the little Lieutenant Awn had known, had made a difference. “Did anyone tell you about what happened at Ime Station?”
Seivarden frowned. “No. Tell me.”
I told her. About the governor’s corruption, her preventing Ime Station or any of the ships from reporting what she was doing, so far from anywhere else in Radch space. About the ship that had arrived one day—they’d assumed it was human, no one knew of any aliens anywhere nearby, and it obviously wasn’t Radchaai and so it was fair game. I told Seivarden as much as I knew about the soldiers from Mercy of Sarrse who boarded the unknown ship with orders to take it and kill anyone aboard who resisted, or who obviously couldn’t be made into ancillaries. I didn’t know much—only that once the One Amaat unit had boarded the alien ship, its One had refused to continue to follow orders. She had convinced the rest of One Amaat to follow her, and they had defected to the Rrrrrr and taken the ship out of reach.
Seivarden’s frown only deepened, and when I was done she said, “So, you’re telling me the governor of Ime was completely corrupt. And somehow had the accesses to prevent Ime Station from reporting her? How does that happen?” I didn’t answer. Either the obvious conclusion would occur to her, or she would be unable to see it. “And how could the aptitudes have put her in such a position, if she was capable of that? It isn’t possible.
“Of course,” Seivarden continued, “everything else follows from that, doesn’t it? A corrupt governor appoints corrupt officials, never mind the aptitudes. But the captains stationed there… no, it isn’t possible.”
She wouldn’t be able to see it. I shouldn’t have said anything at all. “When that soldier refused to kill the Rrrrrr who had come into the system, when she convinced the rest of her unit to do likewise, she created a situation that could not be concealed for long. The Rrrrrr could generate their own gate, so the governor couldn’t prevent them from leaving. They had only to make a single jump to the next inhabited system and tell their story. Which was exactly what they did.”
“Why did anyone care about the Rrrrrr?” Seivarden couldn’t quite get her throat around the sound. “Seriously? They’re called that?”
“It’s what they call themselves,” I explained, in my most patient voice. When a Rrrrrr said it, or one of their human translators, it sounded like a sustained growl, not much different from any other Rrrrrr speech. “It’s kind of hard to say. Most people I’ve heard just say a long r sound.”
“Rrrrrr,” Seivarden said, experimentally. “Still sounds funny. So why did anyone care about the Rrrrrr?”
“Because the Presger had made a treaty with us on the basis of their having decided humans were Significant. Killing the Insignificant is nothing, to the Presger, and violence between members of the same species means nothing to them, but indiscriminate violence toward other Significant species is unacceptable.” Not to say no violence is allowed, but it’s subject to certain conditions, none of which make obvious sense to most humans so it’s safest just to avoid it altogether.