Raven Stratagem (The Machineries of Empire, #2)



THE DAY AFTER the hexarchs’ council, Mikodez skimmed through a pile of reports examining Jedao’s responses to Hafn movements and making educated guesses about what he’d do next. The best one came from an analyst whom Zehun kept trying to fire. Zehun was correct, but the analyst in question came up with the best scenarios. Her latest suggested that Jedao had induced an army of ghosts to possess the swarm and that an assault on the laws of entropy was next. The woman was wasted in intelligence. She should be writing dramas, but Mikodez was too selfish to let her go.

None of the reports had suggested what Mikodez considered to be the obvious next step. Zehun had remarked that he was going to do as he pleased so no one was bothering to dissuade him. In the meantime, Line 3 was blinking bewitchingly at him. He’d instructed Zehun and Istradez not to interrupt him unless the interruption promised first-rate entertainment. Zehun had given him a very tolerant look. Istradez had laughed at him and threatened to pop in partway through to confuse matters.

“All right, I’m ready,” Mikodez told the grid. “Put the call through.”

A woman’s face, framed by a neat bob, appeared on the terminal. Mikodez wasn’t fooled. It looked like Jedao’s body had lost weight since Brevet General Cheris had reported in from her final assignment, not surprising given the circumstances. He considered telling Jedao to feed his stolen body better, although Zehun and Istradez would both have laughed at the thought of him, of all people, lecturing anyone on eating properly. Jedao’s uniform was in full formal, unnecessary but touching.

“Fair day, Jedao,” Mikodez said in a deprecated language. He hoped he was pronouncing it right. It had been a while.

Jedao blinked. “I haven’t heard Shparoi spoken in a very long time, Shuos-zho.” He was speaking the high language with the same Shparoi drawl he’d had when they first met, decades ago, at the black cradle facility.

Mikodez had always suspected that Jedao could shed the accent any time he cared to, based on his language evaluations from academy, but there was no need to press. For that matter, the use of -zho, an archaic honorific reserved for hexarchs (or heptarchs, back when), was pure affectation, a reminder of Jedao’s age. “I thought it would only be polite,” Mikodez said.

“That’s considerate of you, Shuos-zho, but I’m not sure I could speak Shparoi myself anymore. I’ll make the attempt if it pleases you, though.”

“Speak whatever suits you. I’ll figure it out. I make a point of keeping on hand interpreters who speak everything you ever did, even Tlen-Gwa.”

“I have to admit,” Jedao said, “I’m not entirely sure why you requested to speak to me. You’ve got to reckon that I’m not surrendering the swarm to Kel Command. It’s the only leverage I have left.”

Everything up to ‘I’m not surrendering the swarm’ was a nearly verbatim replay of an exchange that Mikodez had had with Jedao thirty-five years ago. If Nirai Kujen had told the truth then, Jedao himself no longer remembered the exchange. Jedao had only used a different word for ‘considerate,’ one less ironic than his original choice: remarkably little drift. For once Mikodez was inclined to believe Kujen, who had had an unhealthy obsession with controlling the contents of a dead man’s memory. There was a chance that Kujen had messed up and Jedao had found time to coach Cheris about the old exchange, or that Jedao himself was messing with him, but Mikodez doubted it.

“No,” Mikodez said, thinking that if he had been shoved into a black box with no one to talk to (but maybe Kujen) for the better part of four centuries, he wouldn’t be eager to go back in, either. “I didn’t expect any such thing.”

“You’re lucky I’m not in the Citadel of Eyes with you,” Jedao said icily. “If you wanted to shoot me, fine. There was no need to massacre my swarm to get at me. Soldiers, technicians, medics—they didn’t deserve to die.”

“Are you trying to make me feel guilty?” Mikodez said incredulously. “That only works on people with consciences, so both of us are immune.”

Jedao started to speak. Mikodez raised a hand, and Jedao subsided. “I realize you’re insane,” Mikodez said, “but look at the situation rationally. There isn’t a schoolchild anywhere who doesn’t know what you did at Hellspin Fortress. Not to mention your perfect battle record.”

“Not perfect anymore.”

“Stop being modest, my dear. The Hafn were routed, even if they failed to be obliterated. Anyway, we had some indication that you were slipping Kel Command’s control. The thought of you running off and randomly slaughtering another million people—more, if you put your mind to it—bothered me. In that context, sacrificing 8,000 people to be sure of putting down a ruthless and effective killer was a bargain.”

“Then why not leave me to rot in the black cradle?”

“Because we had to win back the Fortress of Scattered Needles, and—don’t tell Kel Tsoro about this bit, she dislikes me enough already.” True as far as it went. “Only one of the available Kel generals was deemed good enough to crack invariant ice and handle the situation, Kel Inesser. But Kel Command didn’t want to hand her that victory because she’s too popular with her own troops, and they think she’s a potential threat to them.”

Jedao’s mouth twisted. “Not that we’re on the same side, Shuos-zho, but has Kel Command ever in the past four centuries considered that it might be better not to field generals it doesn’t trust?”

“I’m not a soldier, so I don’t feel qualified to comment,” Mikodez lied. “It wasn’t a good solution, but it was a damn sight better than ceding the Fortress of Scattered Needles to Hafn control. It was also better than letting you charm your way out of captivity afterward. I admit we didn’t see your solution coming, even if everyone realizes that the Kel are expendable.”

Jedao didn’t fall for the bait. But then, his control had been moderately good during the previous conversation, and Mikodez was working his way up to the harder questions. “What do you seek to gain from this chat, Shuos-zho?” Jedao asked.

“I’m not going to tell you that I have your best interests at heart, because I don’t, and no one should believe a Shuos making facile remarks anyway.” He could tell that Jedao was refraining from making a sarcastic rejoinder. “But the fact remains that you’re a Shuos, even if Kel Command thinks you’re pretty in that uniform. That means you’re one of mine. Every time you hare off course, I’m responsible.”

“Shuos-zho, you don’t need to break it down into words of one syllable for me. They were teaching this stuff four centuries ago, you know.”

Mikodez quirked an eyebrow. “We’ll just agree that we both speak fluent Shuos and go from there.”

Jedao leaned back. “Are you looking for assurances? You’ll notice that I’ve aimed my guns consistently at the Hafn and not your moths or cities. That Shuos commandant of yours should have told you that I offloaded all my threshold winnowers. I know people are, shall we say, sensitive about them. Although maybe it’s a bit much to expect forthrightness from someone who spent her career under deep cover.” He smiled briefly, ironically.

“No, she was frank about that,” Mikodez said. He had instructed Zehun to find Mazeret the posting of her choice in return for her extraordinary service. “But Jedao, it can’t have escaped your notice that the only people who will ever ‘trust’ you are people who have no choice in the matter. You can’t expect to convince me of your sincerity. I’m not a Kel, and we were both trained to be paranoid.”

“I know,” Jedao said, very quietly. “But it doesn’t matter. I refuse to return to the cradle. There’s no light in there. If I have to run out of the hexarchate and turn mercenary, then fine. That’s what I’ll do.”

“You’ll kill a lot more people that way. You have a talent for it.”

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