“Anyway,” Jedao said, “you’ll have to pardon me for a—” Jedao’s terminal flashed a code that Khiruev didn’t recognize. “Another one? I’d better see to this.” Khiruev jerked her chin toward the door, wondering whether she should withdraw, but Jedao said, “No, stay.”
The message started with a confusing snowfall of static and gradually coalesced into a woman with long hair and a habit of gnawing on the end of her stylus. Eventually they found out that she was Researcher Nirai Maholarion of Station Anner 56-5. More interestingly, the recording wasn’t an official report, but a compilation of notes she had made while debating whether to recommend to her superiors that her data be forwarded to the Kel, even if the Kel had loftier matters on their mind.
Jedao had her preliminary abstract image itself so Khiruev could get a good look at it. “We’ve had a few of these come in from various stations,” he said. “I can read basic scan, but these don’t look like any formants I’ve seen in 400 years. You got anything?”
The scan data weren’t Khiruev’s immediate concern. She had gotten distracted by the last part of the video, which showed Maholarion absently handing off a stack of data solids to a mothform servitor. She had thought that Mevru solids were obsolete, but maybe the Nirai used them for reasons of backwards compatibility.
“Just how reliable are your sources, sir?” Khiruev said. She was betting that, over in the command center, Communications had no knowledge of these notes, or the other reports Jedao had alluded to. And how had he suborned these people to begin with?
“They’re reliable enough to satisfy me,” Jedao said.
She could take the hint. Khiruev considered the scan readings, then paged through the accompanying analysis. “I’m impressed they detected this at all, even with state-of-the-art noise cancellation.” She highlighted the relevant portions of the paper.
Jedao looked politely blank. “I can’t read most of that notation.” He jabbed at an example.
Khiruev had been afraid of that. “It shows up in that paper you were looking at,” she said. “See?” She highlighted it in gold. As a point of fact, the treatise looked more difficult by orders of magnitude.
Jedao grimaced. “That wasn’t me. The servitors were having a side-argument about some theorem. I thought it meant they would be too distracted to pay attention to the ambush I was so cleverly setting in the game, so I let them have at it. No such luck, oh well.”
The mothform blinked in blue and purple this time, with a suspiciously smug flash of red.
“It could be some stray new astronomical phenomenon,” Khiruev said, “but the researcher seemed to think it might be a side-effect of the Hafn tearing around our space.”
“I hope it’s a scan glitch,” Jedao said, “but multiple reports from independent observers? We’re not going to get so lucky. Anyway, I’m going to pass that on to Scan and Doctrine and see what they make of it. This wasn’t what I wanted to talk to you about, however. Tell me, General, what do you know about Devenay Ragath?”
Devenay—suddenly Khiruev was concerned. “You don’t mean Colonel Kel Ragath?” she said. “I had heard that he was assigned to your campaign at the Fortress of Scattered Needles.”
“That’s correct,” Jedao said, “but I didn’t ask you what I know. I’m hoping you can tell me what’s in your brain.”
“He has training as a historian and he’s very well-regarded,” Khiruev said, “although I have never had the honor of working with him myself.”
“Hmm,” was all Jedao said to that. “Well, listen to this.”
It seemed to be a day for listening to things. In response to Jedao’s gesture, a video blazed up, displacing a summary of casualties in Tactical Group Four. The man in the video was definitely Ragath, with his long jaw, narrow eyes, and cynical slash of a mouth, but he wasn’t in uniform. Instead, he wore a dark brown jacket over a taupe shirt. Khiruev’s disquiet increased.
“This message is addressed to General Cheris,” Ragath said, “by a communications channel I trust she will find satisfactory.”
Khiruev was jolted into studying Jedao anew. That body had never belonged to Jedao to begin with. It had belonged to a Kel woman, who had probably never imagined that she’d end up hosting a traitor’s ghost.
The message was still playing. Jedao had trained his regard on Khiruev’s face, his expression coolly considering. Khiruev made herself go blank and returned her attention to the message.
“If the fox general has taught you anything,” Ragath was saying, “you’re wondering how I survived and where the trap is in this. I regret to say I owe the former to a couple of chance fuck-ups. I was supposed to be on the Badger’s Stripes when the bomb hit the swarm, but thanks to a riot on the Fortress I was delayed getting to my shuttle.”
Khiruev paused the message without Jedao’s permission. Jedao’s eyebrows rose. “Sir,” Khiruev said, “he must be a deserter.” She didn’t say crashhawk. “I don’t understand how—”
“Keep listening,” Jedao said, and unpaused playback.
“I left the Fortress at the earliest opportunity,” Ragath said. “It so happens that Kel Command frequently neglects to issue orders to the dead, something I imagine we both found handy. At this point, you’re wondering what I have to offer you. I wasn’t sure of that myself, once I learned that you’d survived. But if you’re doing what I think you’re doing, some of this information will help you. I will attempt to report in again if I find anything else you should know, but I don’t expect to live long. Devenay Ragath out.”
“He appended an exhaustive strategic overview of the local marches and their surrounds,” Jedao said. Maybe this was the source of Jedao’s mysterious intelligence network. “I have a feeling that’s not what’s on your mind, though.”
Khiruev decided that this was an invitation to broach the subject. “Sir, Ragath appears to be under the impression that you’re Brevet General Cheris.” Was that why Ragath had broken formation? Loyalty to a dead woman?
“His mistake,” Jedao said, “but I plan to use it. If you know anything about Kel Cheris”—the offhanded way he said her name was chilling—“then you know she was an expendable infantry captain. I regretted it when the bomb killed her, but it gave me the opportunity to escape the black cradle. I was in there for a very long time, General. I would do it again in a heartbeat.”
“She can’t have been as expendable as all that if she earned the colonel’s trust,” Khiruev said. “I’ve seen the list of Ragath’s decorations. He wouldn’t have done this lightly.”
“Was it trust, or the presumption of a shared grudge? Don’t answer that.”
“What exactly is it that Ragath thinks you’re up to?”
Jedao eased himself back against one of the pillows on the couch and motioned Khiruev to sit, which she did. It amazed her every time she came in here that these rooms, which she had inhabited so recently, had completely changed character with Jedao in them. The servitors were almost done clearing the game. Jedao grabbed a token stamped with a hexagon and flipped it in the air, catching it neatly.
“I imagine Ragath thinks I’m going to conquer the galaxy and make it into a place where your superiors don’t randomly bomb an entire swarm just to off one person,” Jedao said. He tapped the token against the edge of the table. “I wish I could say this was a low bar for reform. However, our regime’s history argues otherwise. Given his background, Ragath has to be aware of that.”
He flipped the game token a few more times, then set it down with a click. “We’re going to start offering people some choices.” The humor in his smile had an edge. “Our location is no one’s secret, partly because it’s hard to pretend cows are chickens, but partly because I want us to be seen.”