Chapters (36)
- Title Page
- Welcome
- 1
- 2
- 3
- 4
- 5
- 6
- 7
- 8
- 9
- 10
- 11
- 12
- 13
- 14
- 15
- 16
- 17
- 18
- 19
- 20
- 21
- Acknowledgments
- extras
- meet the author
- introducing
- Prologue: Julie
- Chapter One: Holden
- introducing
- Prologue
- 1
- By Ann Leckie
- Praise for the NEBULA, ARTHUR C. CLARKE, LOCUS, and BSFA award–winning; and HUGO, and PHILIP K. DICK award–nominated Ancillary Justice
- Thank you for buying this ebook, published by Orbit.
- Copyright
And that was the part of the Lord of the Radch who dealt with her reaction to Garsedd by insisting she had been right to lose her temper so extravagantly. “Yes, thank you, Lieutenant. I’d already worked that out.” Much as I’d wanted to know what the Lord of the Radch was up to, I hadn’t wanted to make Tisarwat talk about it. But she had volunteered. “I take it you have access codes for all the AIs in the system.”
She looked quickly down at her bowl. Mortified. “Yes, sir.”
“Are they only good for specific AIs, or can you potentially control any one you come across?”
That startled her. And, oddly, disappointed her. She looked up, distress plain in her expression. “Sir! She’s not stupid.”
“Don’t use them,” I said, voice pleasant. “Or you’ll find yourself in difficulty.”
“Yes, sir.” Struggling to keep her feelings off her face—a painful mix of shame and humiliation. A hint of relief. A fresh surge of unhappiness and self-hatred.
It was among the things I’d wanted to avoid, in avoiding asking her about Anaander’s aims in sending Tisarwat with me. I certainly didn’t want her to indulge in her current emotions.
And I found I was unwilling to wait much longer to find Lieutenant Awn’s sister. I took a last mouthful of porridge. “Lieutenant,” I said, “let’s visit the Gardens.”
Surprise, that almost distracted her. “Begging the fleet captain’s indulgence, sir. Aren’t you meeting with Captain Hetnys?”
“Kalr Five will desire her to wait until I get back.” I saw a flash of trepidation from her. And an undercurrent of… admiration, was it? And envy. That was curious.
Raughd Denche had said the Gardens were a tourist attraction, and I could see why. They took up a good portion of the station’s upper level, more than five acres, sunlit, open, and undivided under a high, clear dome. Entering, that was all I could see beyond a heavy-smelling bank of red and yellow roses—that high, black sky cut into barely visible hexagonal sections, Athoek itself hanging, jewellike, beyond. A spectacular view, but this close to vacuum there ought to have been smaller partitions, section doors. I saw no sign of them.