by Yoon Ha Lee
“There used to be a display case in the archives,” Jedao said. “Would it be all right if I looked at that, at least?”
Hemiola didn’t see why not. “Of course.”
“If you’d show me the way? It’s been a few years.”
It couldn’t think of a reason to say no to that, either. It led the way through the shining passages. Jedao followed. But—“I have a question.”
“Ask,” Jedao said.
“How did you get past the calendrical lock?”
“I made friends with a mathematician,” Jedao said, with a hint of irony that Hemiola didn’t understand. He drew out the pendant, which was engraved with a raven in flight, and fingered it. “There’s an algorithm for fast factorization. The trick is, it relies on exotic effects—and those effects require a nonstandard calendar. So I brought along a computer designed to take advantage of the exotics, shifted the local calendar long enough for it to do its work, then used the solution it generated to crack the lock. It’s a solution Kujen wouldn’t have considered because of his attachment to the high calendar.”
They arrived at the part of the base where the records were stored. It was not a large room. In fact, the bulk of it was taken up by luxurious couches and chaises. The records themselves could be accessed through a dedicated terminal.
The one anomaly in the room was a shrine. At least, Hemiola always thought of it as a shrine, although it did not, to its knowledge, serve a religious purpose. It contained a booklet of badly yellowed paper, preserved in a transparent casket. None of the servitors had dared to take it out and flip through the pages for fear of damaging it. The hexarch had never paid it any heed despite the care he’d gone to to preserve it.
Jedao drifted over to the shrine and peered through the protective casket without touching it. “How to Care for Your New Snowbird 823 Refrigerator,” he read. “I’ve always wondered why Kujen kept this around. His first job maybe? I looked up the model and couldn’t find anything, but the heptarchate was a big place, and it might just be that old and obscure.”
“Surely you didn’t come here to research refrigerators?” Hemiola said. Whatever those were.
“Surely not,” Jedao said without really agreeing. He looked around at the unoccupied couches. “It’s changed so little.”
“We kept everything the same,” Hemiola said.
“Of course you did,” Jedao said. “Kujen always liked things to stay the same.”
“I had another question,” Hemiola said.
Jedao’s attention shifted from the display case to Hemiola with a promptness both gratifying and disturbing. “Go on.”
“I don’t suppose you brought any dramas with you?”
Jedao didn’t laugh. Instead, he said, very seriously, “I have a collection back on the voidmoth. My traveling companion, a servitor like yourself, thinks I have abysmal taste in entertainment, but maybe something will suit you. If there’s something in particular you’re looking for, maybe I can find it. I can’t make any guarantees, though.”
“That’s fine,” Hemiola said.
“You still haven’t told me what you want me to call you.”
“I’m Hemiola of Tefos Enclave,” it said, wondering which enclave the traveling companion came from and if it was one of the ones that had a treaty with the Nirai servitors. “Let me help you make a copy of the records.”
“Thank you, Hemiola,” Jedao said gravely. “Much appreciated.”
CHAPTER FOUR
KUJEN PROVIDED JEDAO with more briefing materials, then excused himself. Jedao tried to hide his impatience as he waited for the door to close. It wasn’t as if he could shoo a hexarch out.
The first thing Jedao did once Kujen was gone was locate the bathroom. Good: it had a mirror. His face was older, with the beginnings of wrinkles at the corners of his brown eyes. His hair was still black, with no white hairs, and he wondered cynically if he dyed it. He stripped and examined himself critically. At least this time he was prepared for the scars. As for the rest of his body, he didn’t know what to make of it: broader in the shoulders and chest, enough muscle everywhere to suggest he’d led a strenuous lifestyle. Jedao pulled a face at his reflection, then got dressed again.
After that, he spent a bemused few moments poring over the Kel code of conduct before discovering that he had significant portions of it memorized: seating arrangements at high table; hairstyle regulations—he was going to need to trim his bangs soon; the prohibition of sex between Kel, punishable by death. Instant learning, a trick Ruo would surely have envied. Too bad he couldn’t rely upon it for anything else. Then he settled in for a lot of reading.
Jedao fell asleep without realizing it and woke to music. At least, he assumed it was music. Whatever it was, with its buzzing basses and plucked arpeggios, it had a beat too fast for marching to. He squinted at the ceiling and walls as he massaged the crick in his neck. Light glowed from the candlevines, since he hadn’t asked the room to turn them down. The grid informed him in a serene voice that the hexarch would be joining him for breakfast in twelve minutes.
“Shit,” Jedao said to the room. Why hadn’t it woken him earlier? He used up seven minutes taking a shower. Trying to do so while not looking too closely at his body, because it freaked him out, proved awkward. When he emerged, he discovered that someone had added more underwear to the dresser while he was asleep, also disconcerting. Disturbingly, the uniform had pressed and cleaned itself during the shower. Did it have instructions to eat him if he misbehaved? Despite his misgivings, he put it back on.
Combing his hair took no time, so he used the next four-odd minutes reviewing the speech he had put together for the Kel, in case Kujen planned to introduce him to them soon. It would go over as well as a bullet to the belly, but not giving a speech would be worse. He was sure the Kel liked speeches. After familiarizing himself with the strategic overview, the swarm’s status, and Kujen’s objectives, he’d spent a great deal of time making the speech as concise as possible without leaving anything important out.
Kujen arrived on schedule. The grid didn’t announce him; the door simply opened. Jedao had expected this. What he hadn’t expected was Kujen’s companion, a massive man even taller than Kujen was. His coal-dark skin made Kujen look even more pallid. He wore the Kel uniform with a certain matter-of-fact dignity. The four-claw insignia of a major gleamed from his left breast.
The major looked straight at Jedao. His eyes widened. Then he saluted, very correctly, although his gaze flickered to Jedao’s half-gloves. Shouldn’t the Shuos eye in his insignia explain everything?
Unless I’m a clone and the original is supposed to be dead? Jedao wondered. Had the major known the original Jedao?
The barest flicker in the major’s eyes suggested, if not distaste, a healthy ambivalence. Jedao groaned inwardly. He couldn’t blame the major, who no doubt hated being saddled with a stranger, but that didn’t mean he was looking forward to working with people who disliked him.
Kujen, decadent in a black satin jacket framing a gray brocade shirt, smiled down at Jedao. Silver rings glinted in both ears, and strands of pearls and onyx beads circled his throat. “I’ve brought you your aide,” he said. “Major Kel Dhanneth. I thought this would be a good time to make you a gift of him.”
The major’s expression didn’t waver, but Jedao said, “Kujen, I’m not sure people are gifts?”
“As idealistic as ever,” Kujen said fondly. “Suit yourself. Will you at least let the major join us for breakfast? Or are you going to consign him to Kel food? Since you care about details like that.”
Jedao finally remembered to return the Kel’s salute, feeling like an impostor. “Major Dhanneth. Er, at ease.”
“Yes, sir,” Dhanneth said in a rumble. Dhanneth’s eyes were no longer so wide, but they tracked Jedao with eerie intensity. Jedao wondered if he’d imagined that hint of distaste.
“Do you have an opinion on breakfast?”
The question threw Dhanneth. After a moment,
he said, “I will eat whatever you wish me to, sir.”
“I can’t argue with your priorities,” Jedao said, deciding that smiling at Dhanneth would only spook him. “Kujen, I assume you’re the one with preferences, so pick something.”
“You’re going to insist on eating at high table once we get underway,” Kujen said, “so we might as well indulge while we can.” He took the same seat he had yesterday and summoned up a menu.
Jedao pulled up a chair for Dhanneth, meaning only to be polite. Dhanneth raised an eyebrow, and Jedao was reminded that he theoretically outranked Dhanneth. “Go ahead,” Jedao said, since done was done. “Sit.”
“As you like, sir.” Dhanneth did so, and continued to regard Jedao intently.
No help for it. Jedao waited for Kujen to pause over some decision—the beverages?—then said, “What about staff?”
From Dhanneth’s sudden tension, he’d asked the wrong question, or a right one.
“This swarm was originally commanded by a lieutenant general and two brigadier generals,” Kujen said. “I had to remove the lieutenant general, so the swarm is yours now.”
“Remove” didn’t sound good. Unfortunately, he’d already screwed up by mentioning the matter in front of Dhanneth, who needed to perceive his leadership as being united.
Huh. How did I know that? More evidence of the years of experience he couldn’t remember?
“That being said,” Kujen murmured, eyelashes lowering as he looked sideways at Dhanneth, “you will have access to staffers, yes. It would be difficult to manage a swarm of this size otherwise. And you should rely on the major for assistance. He is well-versed in these matters.” He returned to the beverage list and made a pleased noise when he spotted something promising. He put in the order. The grid acknowledged in its usual calm voice.
Jedao wanted to talk to Kujen in private before he stepped into any more minefields, but it would be unkind to send Dhanneth away unfed. “Do you know why you’re here?” he asked Dhanneth, meaning besides the obvious.
Dhanneth’s brows lowered. “I’m awaiting your orders, sir, like everyone else.”
“Two things,” Jedao said. Might as well get this over with. “They’re related. I’m going to need advice on how the Kel do things. This is because my memory is damaged.”
Kujen’s head came up, but he didn’t intervene.
“As you say, sir,” Dhanneth said. His shoulders had tensed, but the motion was subtle. If Jedao hadn’t been watching for a reaction, he might have missed it.
Jedao had expected more of a reaction than that. He couldn’t imagine that the Kel usually went around with brain-damaged generals. “And another thing,” he said. Maybe this question would tell him something more useful. “These gloves seem to hold some significance to you. Tell me about them.”
He hadn’t expected such a strong response to a question about a regulation item of clothing. You’d think he’d asked Dhanneth to kill himself with a wooden spoon. Dhanneth looked at him, then at Kujen, then at him again.
“For love of stars above,” Kujen said to Jedao, “I didn’t expect you to be so direct about it.”
“What the hell is it about these gloves anyway?” Jedao demanded.
“You might as well tell him,” Kujen said to Dhanneth. His cynical tone suggested he’d known this would happen. What was he trying to prove?
Dhanneth squared his shoulders. “Sir,” he said quietly, “stop me when I’m saying things you already know. You’re the last person to wear that style of glove in the Kel military. Before—before you died.”
“I feel alive, thanks,” Jedao said to cover his discomfort. “Unless I’m a clone?”
“No,” Kujen said. “Plenty of parents choose clones or clone-mods to produce children. But genetics isn’t prophecy, and you wouldn’t have the original’s personality and skills. After you died, I was able to revive you and reinject you with the memories that Cheris hadn’t purloined. That’s all.”
So much for that theory. Jedao said, “I thought all seconded personnel—” Something from the Kel military code flickered at the edge of his consciousness, then evaporated before he could bring it into focus.
Dhanneth hesitated, then said, “Seconded personnel adopted gray gloves after what you did, sir. Because of the connotations.”
Suddenly Jedao suspected that he was going to enjoy this discussion even less than Dhanneth was. “Say it straight out. What did I do?”
“Hellspin Fortress,” Dhanneth said, as if that explained everything.
“Why, what happened with the Lanterners?” Oh no. “They went heretic at a bad time?” But what did that have to do with him? Maybe he’d been sent to fight them? “I lost humiliatingly against them?” Except hadn’t Kujen said—
Dhanneth closed his eyes. “You don’t know?”
“Let me,” Kujen said impatiently. “The Lanterners demanded autonomy. Kel Command assigned you to put them in their place. That eight-to-one battle? That was the Battle of Candle Arc, against the Lanterners. After that you harried them to their last stronghold, Hellspin Fortress. But Kel Command had pushed you too hard, and you snapped. You took out the Lanterners, all right, but you also blew up your own swarm.”
Jedao stared at him. “I what?” Don’t get distracted. Get the facts. The way Dhanneth’s jaw was set, he believed the story, incredible as it sounded. That worried Jedao. “How many died?”
“A million people altogether,” Kujen said. “Granted, we don’t care about the Lanterners”—Jedao was disturbed by the cavalier way Kujen said this, heretics or not—“but it makes the number easier to remember.”
The next question was going to be even uglier. “When was this?” He should have asked this earlier, when he learned the high calendar had destabilized.
“Four hundred and eight years ago.”
The edges of Jedao’s vision grayed. “Listen,” he said, “you can vivisect me for speaking out of turn, but you’re fucked in the head if you think the correct response to a psychotic mass-murdering traitor is to bring him back from the dead and hand him another army.”
“My options were limited,” Kujen said calmly. “I don’t just need someone good, I need someone spectacular. And you were available.”
Kujen didn’t get it. Granted, no one expected a hexarch to care about petty moral qualms. Jedao tried again. “I cannot imagine that Kel Command was stupid enough to knowingly field a general whom they suspected of being one million deaths’ worth of unstable. Were there any warning signs?”
His voice was shaking. He didn’t want to believe any of this. For that matter, he wasn’t sure what he wanted Kujen to say in response. Was it better to have a definite sign that you were about to lose your mind and slaughter people, or was it better to be taken by surprise? Of course, he imagined the people about to be targeted would appreciate a warning.
“Hexarch,” Dhanneth said after casting Jedao a worried look, “perhaps we could discuss this after breakfast.”
Jedao was impressed. In Dhanneth’s position, he wouldn’t have wanted to draw attention to himself.
“No, we’d better get it out of the way,” Kujen said. “There were no signs. You were an exemplary officer. We think it was the stress, but no one knows for sure. And with the holes in your memory, you can’t tell us yourself.”
Abruptly, Jedao hauled himself to his feet and walked to the other side of the room. He was tempted to punch the wall, but Kujen wouldn’t appreciate that, and it would upset Dhanneth, who had done nothing wrong. The fact that he was Dhanneth’s superior was ludicrous, but that wasn’t Dhanneth’s fault either.
On the other hand, Jedao now had some idea why Dhanneth was both hostile and trying to suppress signs of it. Because he’d been assigned as the aide to a mass murderer. Dhanneth couldn’t possibly have wanted the job.
Kujen approached him slowly, as if he expected him to bolt. “Jedao.”
Jedao didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing.
“Jedao,” Kuj
en said, “you’re not to blame. You don’t remember it anyway.”
“If I did it,” Jedao said, “then I’m responsible whether or not I remember it. I assume that—” Actually. “Did I die in battle, or was I executed, or did I choke on a fishbone?”
“Executed.”
You’d think he would remember some of this, any of this. Jedao closed his eyes. Fragments came back to him: wrestling with Ruo, and the sharp, sour smell of the other cadet’s sweat; disassembling a sniper rifle while the instructor shouted in his ear; a silent room steeped in darkness. But the execution? He had no idea.
“Talk to me, Jedao.”
“Aren’t you worried that I’ll strangle you?” He hadn’t meant for that to slip out.
Kujen took hold of his shoulder and turned him around. His eyes were earnest. “I am one of very few people who will never judge you for anything you’ve done, or will do, whether you remember it or not,” he said. “Because it is impossible for you to shock me. As for my safety, I have my defenses. You needn’t worry on my behalf.”
Jedao wasn’t sure he liked that. “But you’re a hexarch.” New thought: “Where’s your security?”
Kujen shook his head. “So young. Come on, let’s eat. The servitors have been setting out the food.”
The argument worked. Jedao had no appetite, but that was no reason to starve Dhanneth. (He wasn’t worried about Kujen’s ability to fend for himself.) Numbly, Jedao returned to his seat.
The servitors arranged the food carefully. They were robots in the shapes of various animals, with grippers and limbs and blinking lights, about half his size, with the ability to levitate. Jedao wondered how much of the conversation they had overheard, and what they thought of the whole mess. Neither Kujen or Dhanneth took any notice of them, so he assumed he should do the same. Still, Jedao was obscurely disappointed in Dhanneth.