by Yoon Ha Lee
“You should have claimed the seat,” Mishke said. A nine-year-old argument. She’d always suspected that he would have liked to be part of the hexarch’s family, in a world after the hivemind’s demise. “It’s not too late now.”
“Because the choice of title makes so much difference to the average citizen?”
“No,” Mishke said. “You’re not listening.” He made an abortive gesture near his mouth. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? We never listen to each other.”
“Commandant,” Inesser said, “get to the hawkfucking point.”
“Declare yourself hexarch,” Mishke said. “Give up this protectorate nonsense. Join forces with Shuos Jedao.”
Inesser stared at him. “You’re out of your mind.”
“It is Jedao, isn’t it? I’ve read the intel too.”
“He hasn’t bannered yet,” she said reluctantly, “but there aren’t many other people it could be.”
“Well, then.” Mishke’s hands opened and closed. “I know you have your pride, General, but the only thing that will happen for sure if you fight the latest incarnation of the Immolation Fox is that a lot of people will die, and for what cause?”
Inesser snorted. “I’m not afraid of him.”
“I am,” Mishke said quietly.
“Now you’re hurting my pride.”
“I’m keeping an eye on the scouts’ reports too, you know. Jedao’s getting closer. I would prefer to keep him from annihilating Pearled Hopes the way he annihilated Isteia.”
“You think a madman will listen if I negotiate with him? Because that worked so well at Isteia.”
“Even a madman might appreciate the chance to preserve his forces instead of expending them against the oldest—sorry, second-oldest general in the hexarchate. Former hexarchate.”
Inesser glared at him. “It’s so good that I know you’re giving me this advice so that we can consider all options, because that way I don’t have to accuse you of treason.”
It was a measure of Mishke’s seriousness that he didn’t burst into scornful laughter. “We passed that point when you seized power, dear sister-in-law. Surely it didn’t occur to you that you’d be the only one with such ambitions. If a hawk, why not a fox? The hexarchate has never prospered under single leadership. But you might be able to convince Jedao to work with you.”
“This is,” Inesser said, “the first time since I met your sister that you have ever showed any confidence in my powers of persuasion.”
“Desperate times call for desperate measures.”
“Even if I threw in my lot with Jedao,” she said, “our people would never go along with it. Nor our allies.”
Mishke’s face shuttered. “I hope this battle doesn’t end in an ugly I-told-you-so.”
“Don’t worry,” Inesser said with gruesome cheer, “by that time we’ll both be dead anyway. Your duty, Commandant.”
“We’re Kel,” Mishke said dryly, “it’s what we all do.” With that he signed off.
“Don’t say it,” Inesser added to Miuzan the moment her brother-in-law’s face disappeared.
“I wasn’t going to say anything,” Miuzan said. She might even have been telling the truth.
Inesser’s attention returned to the tactical map. The most maddening part of any battle was the waiting. They’d laid in their preparations long before.
The asteroid belt beyond Terebeg 4 was seeded with several picket swarms to keep watch for the invaders. As Jedao’s own scoutmoths approached, the pickets would emerge from hiding to engage and destroy them, denying him reconnaissance, then scuttle back to the asteroids’ shelter. Jedao would be expecting this, but it was still worth doing.
Inesser had set up the system’s defenses around the necessity of countering the butchermoth’s gravity cannon. Geometry was both enemy and friend. They knew from the previous engagement that its effect propagated in a narrow cone, dissipating with distance. Luckily for her, Jedao only appeared to have one gravity cannon, and he’d only come in with one swarm. If she could attack him from multiple directions, only exposing a sacrificial swarm to bear the brunt of the cannon’s attack, they might have a chance.
Of course, if they were up against Kujen, who knew if they could rely on numerical superiority. If her luck was especially bad—and Kel luck tended to be—Jedao had reinforcements lurking out beyond the listening posts’ range, or even worse, stealthed and ready to swoop in. But planning could only take account of so much paranoia.
Besides the gravity cannon’s limitations, her main advantage was foreknowledge of Jedao’s intent. Historically he’d been known for anticipating his opponent and tying them up in knots. Here, however, he had a fixed target, which limited the amount of trickery he could get up to.
Inesser conceded that Mishke had cause for nerves. She didn’t like unnecessary fighting. Only stupid Kel preferred to settle matters through bloodshed, although experience had shown her that this rarely stopped anyone. And Jedao was on the top of her list of people to avoid fighting. Unfortunately, that didn’t look like an option at this point.
After she had reviewed her orders and distributed them to the local swarm and yes, even her fucking brother-in-law the commandant, Inesser yanked out a chair and slumped down in it. What was the point of comfortable chairs if you didn’t allow yourself to sit in them once in a while, after all? “I wish I dared get drunk,” Inesser said.
“What, worried?” Miuzan said.
“Have I ever told you about the first time I met Jedao?” Inesser said.
Some of the staffers had heard the story, including Miuzan. But Tseya lifted her head and murmured, “Do tell.”
Miuzan sighed. “There we go...”
Inesser ignored her. She knew perfectly well that Miuzan’s recent moodiness had less to do with the possible end of civilization as they knew it and more to do with unfinished business with Brezan. “I was a lieutenant general at the time,” she said, “and as punishment for expressing in no uncertain terms that the black cradle should be blown up, they assigned me to work with his anchor.”
She still remembered Jedao’s anchor, a handsome specimen of a Kel whose life was being ruined because his wife turned heretic and he hadn’t denounced her quickly enough. In her quiet heart of hearts she spoke his name at pyre ceremonies, acknowledging the service he had given. Needless to say, Kel Command hadn’t bothered with any such thing after they euthanized him at the mission’s end.
“I thought you couldn’t speak to him directly?” Tseya said.
Ah, yes. Tseya knew more than most about the black cradle’s workings. “I couldn’t,” Inesser said, “but I never forgot he was listening. The ninefox shadow made that clear enough. And the Kel he was anchored to wasn’t particularly bright. The really good questions he asked about the op? Pure Shuos. It was like having a conversation whispered across a shrouded room. I could only guess at the silhouette at the other end, and its shape was ugly.”
“Let me guess,” Tseya said. “You’ve been looking for the chance to show him up ever since.”
Too bad Inesser hadn’t brought her embroidery with her, or she could have pitched it at Tseya. “Hardly,” Inesser said. “If I go the rest of my life without running into any iteration of Jedao, it can’t be too soon.”
“Well, you might get your chance,” Miuzan said. The other staffers were studiously avoiding looking straight at Inesser. “Shall I send for refreshments, sir, now that we’re done calling people for the moment? We might as well get eating out of the way sooner rather than later. To say nothing of tea.”
Inesser hated tea, not least because she associated it with meetings at ass o’clock, but she wouldn’t have dreamed of denying it to her people. “Go ahead,” she said. “Tell the kitchens to prepare something heartier than that bland soup they’ve been serving for the last week.” She caught Miuzan’s bemused expression. “What?”
“Well, sir,” Miuzan said, “if we’re going into our last battle we might as well be well-fed, is th
at the idea?”
“Do I need to make you write a paper on the importance of feeding your troops?” Inesser said. “Must be nice for that skullfucking bastard Kujen, not having to eat.”
“His anchor does, though, right?”
“Yes,” Inesser said, “but that’s a separate matter entirely. And I don’t imagine that’s by accident.” With that, she returned to reviewing the disposition of her defense swarms. Tedious as it was now, their lives would depend on it soon enough.
AS MUCH AS Inesser had hoped to devote time to preparations, she knew there would be unwelcome interruptions. Most of them she had anticipated. For instance, the governor of a certain moon kept trying to demand special treatment; Inesser fobbed her off on one of the staff.
She had sat down for a brief break and snacks when the call came. She prepared to ignore it. Miuzan was screening everything so that she could catch her damn breath.
Miuzan looked up from her slate, face grave. “This one’s above my pay grade, sir. And it’s requesting use of a secured line.”
“Oh, don’t you start.” Inesser took the slate from her. Froze. The headers claimed that the call had come from one Ajewen Cheris, using crypto keys she’d provided Brezan upon their parting. Inesser was momentarily distracted by a wave of ambivalence: on the one hand, it could hardly be argued that the crashhawk Cheris still deserved the Kel name; and on the other hand, once a Kel, always a Kel. “Well. Isn’t this unexpected. Colonel, what’s the status of the incoming swarm?”
Miuzan gestured at the display. “Still incoming, nothing new.”
Damn. Then Cheris and Brezan’s gambit had failed. That, or Kujen and Jedao had been assassinated, only to leave some ambitious would-be warmonger in charge of their swarm. She hated the thought of having to include a whole new player in her calculations, but she couldn’t dismiss the possibility out of hand, either.
“Open the line,” Inesser said, and prepared herself for bad news.
“Protector-General Inesser,” the woman said, “this is Ajewen Cheris. I have a status update that I felt you should hear directly.”
“Then speak,” Inesser said. Cheris’s drawl sent chills down her spine; she remembered Jedao’s previous anchor developing one as well. “If you’re going to tell me that Kujen and Jedao still have designs on the hexarchate, that’s not news.”
Cheris wasn’t fazed. “As you’ve surmised, the operation failed.”
“I’m surprised, honestly,” Inesser said. What Kel Command had done to Cheris would have had the side-effect of making her a superb assassin. “Yet you escaped?”
“Well, that’s the interesting part,” Cheris said grimly. “I shot Jedao twice in the forehead and once in the chest. It didn’t kill him. He started coming after me, security was alerted, I left. Whatever the hell is running around with Jedao’s face on that moth, either it’s not human or Kujen has figured out a way to give his general real immortality.”
“It was too much to hope that the state of the art would stay still on that front, given Kujen’s interests,” Inesser said. “You’re sure he didn’t just bleed out an hour after you were gone?”
“I left bugs on the command moth. Who knows how long they’ll survive, but as of the last check-in, Jedao’s still walking around.”
Inesser frowned at Cheris. “Well, this complicates matters.”
“There’s still a chance,” Cheris said. “Brezan will have informed you about the formations that can kill Kujen”—Inesser confirmed this with a curt nod—“but you still have to get past the gravity cannon. Let me help. I have a stealthed needlemoth. I can tip the balance in your favor, but I will need access to your battle plans.”
Inesser hadn’t forgotten how Cheris had toppled the hexarchate entire. At the same time, she couldn’t afford to ignore any resource. “A compromise,” she said. “Come to my headquarters at the Fortress of Pearled Hopes. We can confer here.” She had no intention of admitting to Cheris that Hexarch Mikodez had loaned her a strike force of several shadowmoths, themselves capable of stealth, although in all honesty both Cheris and Kujen had to have guessed their presence.
“These are my coordinates,” Cheris said. “I would prefer that you refrain from shooting me down once I unstealth.”
Cheris’s easy acquiescence meant she was up to something. Still, the gamble had to be taken. “Very well,” Inesser said. “Two of my scoutmoths will escort you to the Fortress.”
“That will be acceptable,” Cheris said. “Ajewen Cheris out.”
Miuzan had grabbed another slate and had already made the arrangements. “Scoutmoths on their way to intercept,” she said. “You don’t really intend to—?”
“We’ll treat her courteously,” Inesser said, “as far as that goes. But no, I don’t plan on letting her run around loose on the Fortress. My brother-in-law would have a fit.” She amused herself with the momentary image of Mishke’s reaction. “Prepare a security detail. We may be obliged to work with her, but that doesn’t mean we should let down our guard. And do keep her capabilities in mind. Kel Brezan may be convinced of her fundamental benevolence, but I’m skeptical.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
TEREBEG SYSTEM. JEDAO’S swarm had already had to alter their approach several times. He’d ordered scoutmoths ahead of them to gather information. Each time, picket swarms had emerged from the asteroid belt beyond Terebeg 6 and harried them. Thanks to carelessness, his first casualties had been three scoutmoths that hadn’t dodged quickly enough. More names in the long litany of names; but he couldn’t afford to linger over them now.
The hardest part would not be fighting the enemy. According to his staff, Inesser was likely to be guiding the defense of Terebeg herself, and she would meet him in battle for the express purpose of crushing his swarm. Jedao remembered the expressions on their faces: half-faith that he’d crush Inesser first, half-resentment that they were obliged to follow him. He longed to tell them that he had no intention of mass-murdering them, but even if Kujen wasn’t listening, he doubted they’d believe him.
No: the hard part would be convincing Kujen to make an appearance in the command center. This Jedao thought he could achieve. All evidence suggested that Kujen feared the infantry most, not the moth Kel. He wasn’t entirely wrong—but he wasn’t entirely right, either.
Jedao sat at the command center’s heart. He had arranged the displays to his satisfaction. He’d gotten good at switching them around when he needed access to some different morsel of information. Under other circumstances, he would have awarded himself a minor commendation for resisting the urge to fiddle with the displays while waiting for the action to start.
“Communications,” Jedao said, aware of Dhanneth standing at his side like a shadow in search of morning. Dhanneth had insisted on returning to duty. Jedao didn’t like it, but he had judged that indulging Dhanneth would make him feel better. “Anything from Terebeg?”
“A lot of low-level chatter,” Communications said “There was a spike in system traffic when they noticed us, but that’s no surprise. To them either. They knew we were coming eventually.”
Where by “eventually” he meant on Hellspin’s anniversary.
“Thank you, keep me apprised of any new developments,” Jedao said. “Dig around and find me some maps of their capital city, if you would. Something to supplement the intel the infantry’s been staring at all this time.”
“I should be able to scare something up, sir. There will be basic maps that people consult using their augments. Those won’t be encrypted.”
“Good,” Jedao said. “I want to talk to Tactical One and Tactical Two.”
Communications correctly interpreted this as meaning that he wanted a conference set up with Commanders Talaw and Nihara Keru as the principals, and the tactical groups’ other moth commanders as lower-priority participants.
“They’re being awfully uncooperative, aren’t they?” Jedao said without preamble. “But then, I didn’t expect them to charge at us.”
<
br /> Scan had only picked up the occasional faint whisper. It was obvious to anyone with half a brain, however, that Inesser had concealed her defense swarms behind Terebeg 4 and its moons. Certainly she’d had enough time since detecting his approach to reposition her units. What worried him more was the possibility of ambushes from shadowmoths.
“They can’t be blamed for exercising sound tactical judgment,” Nihara said.
“Yes,” Jedao said. “That’s all right. Sound tactical judgment isn’t going to save them.” From the corner of his eye, he saw someone carefully not-flinch. “They’re prepared for us to fly straight in. Of course, all the defenses they’ve thrown up are so unwelcoming, they’d be surprised if we did that with no preliminaries. So that’s exactly what we’ll do.”
This was the part of the charade he hated most, and which he couldn’t reveal that he hated—not because of Inesser, but because of Kujen. If only he didn’t have to deploy the winnowers. He didn’t see any way to prevent a panic. At this point, he had no choice but to trust that Inesser and her people would be able to handle the situation.
“We have weapons enough to scare them,” Nihara said, callously professional. “Surely it’s just a matter of chewing them up as they come at us.”
“You do have such a colorful way of putting it,” Jedao said.
“Then we should begin,” Talaw said.
“Fine,” Jedao said, his tone artificially bright. “Thank you, commanders. Let’s get started, indeed. Communications, open a line to all units. All units banner the Deuce of Gears inverted.” The emblem glowed from a brand-new subdisplay, as if he needed the reminder. Irritably, he dismissed it.
“Do you wish to address the enemy, sir?” Commander Talaw said.
“Oh, why use words,” Jedao said. “Weapons are a more universal language anyway.” He avoided looking at Dhanneth. “We have the threshold winnowers.”
The atmosphere in the command center chilled. His signature weapon, but to deploy it so soon, before they reached the Fortress of Pearled Hopes or the planet it protected? And against their own people? Jedao had not looked up how many people had family or comrades or friends in Terebeg, on the grounds that he shouldn’t be seen to care. True, the Protectorate was vast—but the system, as the new center of government, had particular significance to the Kel.