Ann Leckie: She Commands Me and I Obey

Residents of Noage Itray could look up and see the ballcourt hanging ten miles overhead, four meters wide and fifty long from goal line to goal line. Stands stretched along each side, row upon row of seats slanting up and back. For the station's entire thirty-five-mile cylindrical length, buildings and gardens clung to its curving interior walls, bright with reflected sunlight. Noage Itray was the largest and wealthiest of the four stations in its Precinct — the second oldest of the four Precincts.

Under the ballcourt stands, proof of that antiquity, stood ranks of life-sized statues serving, crouching, springing to meet the ball. Elaborately painted wristguards, jewels on necks and arms, shimmered faintly in half shadow, each statue the result of the septennial elections decided on Noage Itray's Blue Lily ballcourt.

They were called the Hundred, though Her-Breath-Contains-The-Universe had counted three hundred and seventy-two of them. On game days flowers decked each statue. The air would be heavy with their scent and the muttered prayers of worshipers as they streamed past, into the stands. Today the space echoed coldly, the stale remains of incense barely perceptible, the Hundred staring into empty, silent space.

Back in a dim corner stood Her-Breath-Contains-The-Universe's favorite: a woman, rare but not unheard of. Her-Breath-Contains had entered Blue Lily Monastery at the age of four (he was older now, nearly twelve) and even then she had attracted his sympathy. She wasn't particularly pretty. She wore no jewels, only the short trousers of a ball player and an undecorated armguard that covered her from wrist to elbow, her hand curled into a fist to hold it in place. She wasn't jumping or crouching, only standing, her arms at her sides, her head tilted just slightly, as though she were listening to a voice only she could hear. But to Her-Breath-Contains she seemed imbued with personality. The name on the pedestal under her feet was She-Commands-Me-And-I-Obey. She had been a friendly face to a small boy missing his nurse, surrounded by strangers in a cold, unfamiliar place.

Every day one of the monks — or more usually a minor novice like Her-Breath-Contains — would stand in the portico with an offering of boiled fish and recite their names. By the time Her-Breath-Contains was nine he'd learned the entire list by heart, but she wasn't on it. So he had counted. Three hundred and seventy-one names, three hundred and seventy-two statues of deified ballplayers.

It troubled him that she was left out of the daily offerings. She had been abandoned, forgotten. It wasn't fair.

But Her-Breath-Contains knew her secret. If he stood just right, with his fingers on the base under her bare feet, and bowed his head just the right amount, he could hear what she heard — voices in a room three hundred meters from where she stood, where monastery officials often held conferences. As far as Her-Breath-Contains could tell, no one else knew the room was bugged.

The abbot Shall-I-Alone-Escape-Death had taken an unusual interest in Her-Breath-Contains' education. Had said to Her-Breath-Contains more than once, Knowing what another does not know gives you the advantage. Had implied more than once that having any advantage at all could be a matter of life and death. Her-Breath-Contains had only recently understood why the abbot should be at pains to teach him such things, but even as a small child he had taken the lesson to heart. Once he had made his discovery, he visited She-Commands-Me-And-I-Obey as often as he could, without raising suspicion.

Sometimes there was only silence. Other days dull, nearly incomprehensible theological discourse. Today it was about the Game.

"… woman they say. The Harime ship docked this morning." The voice belonged to Qefahl Brend, governor of the station, and the Precinct's representative to the Council of Four. Three days from now, the Game would either end or renew Qefahl Brend's tenure as tetrarch, depending who won or lost. Her-Breath-Contains had often heard his voice on broadcast. And though he wasn't supposed to know it, the tetrarch was Her-Breath-Contains-The-Universe's much older brother.

"Well," said the abbot Shall-I-Alone-Escape-Death. "If she's pretty no doubt she'll be popular in the Hundred." A short silence. Her-Breath-Contains stretched aching shoulders, where he stood bowed before She-Commands-Me. "What troubles you?" asked the abbot.

"Blue Lily is undefeated in the past ten elections, nearly undefeated in regular play. White Lily is good, but not as good as Blue Lily. It's obvious how the game will come out. The governor of Harime can have no illusions, he knows he's not going to be seated on the Council, he knows whoever captains White Lily will die at the end of the game. He might as well use this as an opportunity to be conveniently rid of someone. I knew the names of the four likeliest candidates. But instead we get… this woman."

"Ah. You dislike surprises."

"Surprises," said Tetrarch Qefahl Brend, "are a symptom of faulty information."

"Or faulty premises," said the abbot. "Shall I tell you what Seven-Brilliant-Truths-Shine-Like-Suns has discovered?" A pause. "He went to meet them as they disembarked. For the last year and a half this woman has played for an obscure Harime convent. Very small stuff, but she's a real ballplayer for all that. Seven-Brilliant-Truths-Shine-Like-Suns says she has the look of a fanatic." The voice of the abbot Shall-I-Alone-Escape-Death changed slightly, became a touch too smooth and even, a tone Her-Breath-Contains knew well. It meant the abbot was saying something beyond just what his words meant. "Our captain, the monk Seven-Brilliant-Truths-Shine-Like-Suns, is perhaps not as pious as he might be."

Whatever Her-Breath-Contains' brother the tetrarch had to say in response was lost. A voice among the Hundred startled the boy's head up, his heart racing. "You didn't waste any time!" Seven-Brilliant-Truths-Shine-Like-Suns said, his confident tenor echoing around the statues.

An unfamiliar voice answered. "Why waste time, Brother?" A woman's voice, the accent old-fashioned-sounding, the words oddly precise. It made Her-Breath-Contains-The-Universe think of singers, though he didn't think it was a singer's voice.

Seven-Brilliant-Truths laughed. Her-Breath-Contains stood still at the feet of She-Commands-Me-And-I-Obey, hardly daring to breathe. Seven-Brilliant-Truths was the hero of the minor novices. He'd had his teeth replaced with moissanite, which shone glittering in his dark face when he smiled, and he smiled often. He wore the humble monastic coverall as though it were the embroidered and jeweled gown of a tetrarch. He'd always been condescendingly kind, even indulgent, towards the boys of Blue Lily Monastery, but the thought of him finding Her-Breath-Contains like this, at his private devotions, and worse, eavesdropping, made Her-Breath-Contains’ face heat uncomfortably.

"Introducing yourself, I take it," Seven-Brilliant-Truths said to the woman, blessedly still unaware of Her-Breath-Contains-The-Universe. "Oh, glorious Hundred, numerous as suns, brilliant and brief as comets, children of the goddess, guarantors of Her mercy, I introduce to you Sister Ultimately-Justice-Shall-Prevail, who will join you three days from now."

The woman must be the captain of the White Lily team, from Harime Station. Her-Breath-Contains made a cautious movement, and the abbot Shall-I-Alone-Escape-Death spoke in his ear. "Of course we'll watch her."

The tetrarch Qefahl Brend made a dubious noise. "She's not the problem. Women…" Her-Breath-Contains shifted just a bit, lost the thread of the tetrarch's voice.