Commander Gherion had arrived with Tactical Two. “Commander,” Jedao said, “do me a favor and bite the Hafn’s heels, will you?” He accompanied this with a transmission of more specific instructions, which Khiruev studied to calm herself. “You should be safe from that really nasty attack you just saw.” He didn’t elaborate. “Modulate formation as you deem fit.”
“We’re on it, sir,” Gherion said. The tactical group narrowed and reshaped into Black Lens, which telescoped distance. Its effects were short-lived and it damaged the moths’ drives, which made it risky, but the dire cannon barrage swooped out and raked a cluster of fleeing Hafn. Tactical Two slowed immediately afterward and modulated into a shield formation.
More orders. Jedao was giving them in a steady stream, with brief pauses to adjust to the situation as it developed. Tactical One joined the pursuit. The Hafn continued to retreat. They left shattered moths behind them, and more of the web-mines, but not so many as before.
When the final Hafn units were out of the effective range of phantom terrain, not to mention the Fortress’s guns, the Fortress switched the terrain back on. Khiruev stiffened. She could guess what was going through Commandant Mazeret’s mind. Tactical Two and most of Tactical One were clear, but the rest of Jedao’s swarm was suddenly mired.
“Tactical Three through Seven, get your asses out of there,” Jedao said. “Abandon formation if necessary. That’s a direct order. You don’t want to be stuck here if the Hafn rally. I’d better have a chat with the commandant. Communications, raise her for me.”
The cindermoth, with its more powerful drive, was having reasonable luck getting clear of the terrain. Khiruev noted with relief that the plant-growths had dissipated. However, the other, smaller moths were less fortunate. Their tactical groups had dissolved out of formation, and probably would have even without Jedao’s permission.
Commandant Mazeret was a sturdy, pasty-skinned woman who held her shoulders stiffly. Khiruev could see the image from where she was sitting. Her expression was obstinate. “I don’t recognize you,” she said curtly, “but I assume from the Deuce of Gears that you’re claiming to be General Jedao.” Insultingly, she used the inanimate form of the second person pronoun. The high language had two, inanimate and animate, although it might be argued that the former applied to a general who was listed as a part of the Kel Arsenal—a weapon—rather than as a human officer.
“That’s me,” Jedao said, smiling his tilted smile at her, “had to take the first body available.” He couldn’t be unaware of the effect that this statement had on the crew, even if it wasn’t anything that they didn’t already know. “Commandant, I appreciate that the Fortress feels naked without any clothes on, but would you mind terribly switching the terrain off again, or clearing us a path? You’re interfering with our pursuit of the enemy.”
“Damn straight I mind,” Mazeret said, biting every word off. “This is General Khiruev’s swarm, not yours.” Touching that she was using the high language’s present/future tense. “Kel Command would have informed me if you’d been deployed.”
“Commandant,” Jedao said, no longer genial, “snuff the fucking defenses already. We can kill the Hafn, but not if we can’t catch the snakefuckers.”
“Then let General Khiruev do it.”
Jedao drummed his fingers, then said to Communications, “Recall Tactical One and Two. I don’t want them to get into trouble ahead of the main swarm.” To Mazeret: “I’m awaiting an explanation, fledge.”
Mazeret’s eyes slitted. “I see two threats here. One of them is already in flight. I’m dealing with the bigger predator.”
Jedao glowered at her, then laughed. “All right,” he said, “I suppose I deserved that. Hell of a way to let an enemy slink off, though. I don’t envy you the paperwork you’re going to have to submit to Kel Command.”
Khiruev looked at him in astonishment, although Mazeret’s obstinacy should have surprised her more.
“I advise you to surrender the swarm to its appointed general before you dig yourself in any further,” Mazeret said.
“Seriously, you’re not afraid of standing in my way?”
“You might be able to sieve the Fortress,” Mazeret said, not sounding any less hostile, “but I guarantee we will make you work for it. I know my duty.”
“You could be a crashhawk,” Jedao said, scrutinizing her, “but I don’t think that’s it. Tell me, Commandant, how long have you had Kel Command fooled?”
“Still digging,” Mazeret said icily.
“I’m going to have to send the Shuos hexarch an apology with candies for making one of his operatives blow their cover,” Jedao said. “What do you suppose his favorite flavor is?”
It was a preposterous accusation, but Khiruev had to wonder. Some Shuos infiltrators, especially the ones who could change their signifiers at will, were supposedly that good. Mazeret’s subordinates might be wondering, too. If she wasn’t a Shuos who had faked her way through a Kel career, or replaced the real Mazeret, the fact that she was defying Jedao meant that she was a crashhawk. Kel Command would never tolerate a crashhawk in charge of a nexus fortress.
Crashhawks weren’t automatically disloyal. Take Lieutenant Colonel Brezan, for instance. (Khiruev was almost certain that Brezan hadn’t known himself until Jedao showed up.) The only difference between an obedient crashhawk and an ordinary Kel was that the crashhawk had a choice, and Kel Command had better things to do than test the levels of formation instinct in personnel all the time, mostly for reasons of cost. Even so, crashhawks rarely survived to any position of prominence.
The Hierarchy of Feasts had worked free of the phantom terrain and was now orbiting the Fortress at a respectful distance from its guns’ effective range. The other Kel moths straggled after it, resuming formation as they came clear. The Fortress hadn’t opened fire on the bannermoths and scoutmoths. Probably even a crashhawk Shuos agent had second thoughts about a contest of guns with the Immolation Fox. Besides, it must have occurred to her that Jedao could have rigged the winnowers to go off if something happened to him.
“Are we going to fight about this?” Mazeret said.
“No,” Jedao said after a telling pause. “I came to fight the Hafn. You’re in the way, but you’re not my target.”
“Kel Command should have destroyed you after Hellspin Fortress.”
Khiruev had to admire the commandant for speaking so bluntly to somebody with Jedao’s kill count.
“It’s not an uncommon opinion,” Jedao said.
The Hafn were now out of scan range.
“I’ll have to get them another way,” Jedao said. “Good luck with Kel Command.” He signed off before Mazeret could answer.
Khiruev looked at him and couldn’t help thinking that for someone who had lost an opportunity to smash nails into the enemy, Jedao’s smile was worryingly pleased.
CHAPTER SEVEN
ACCORDING TO HIS augment, Mikodez had two minutes before the conference started. He had watered his green onion in the morning, just when his schedule said to, and was resisting the temptation to do so again because he didn’t want to kill it. He was also resisting the temptation, in advance, to suggest container gardening as a hobby for the Kel hexarch, even if it would be a good idea for Tsoro to learn to relax. Even—especially—given the latest news.
Forty-two years ago, Mikodez had become the youngest Shuos hexarch in almost three centuries. No one had taken him seriously then. Shuos hexarchs regularly backstabbed their way to the top. As a result, few of them lasted longer than a decade, if that. Two decades if they were particularly good. People took Mikodez more seriously now, but they still disregarded his advice on the salutary effects of a few well-chosen hobbies. Their loss, really.
“Incoming call on Line 6, top priority,” the grid informed him.
Mikodez leaned back and smiled. “Put it through.”