Юн Ли - Revenant Gun

Jedao finished going over intelligence on antimissile defenses and suppressed a sigh. Lecturing statues would have been more fun. The statues might have been friendlier.

“We have a few advantages,” Jedao said, not because he thought they hadn’t figured it out, but because he believed in clarity. “First, our mothdrives look different on scan, and that will throw them. We can take advantage of that during the first engagement. Second, the Compact and the Protectorate are currently at peace, if an uneasy one, and the vast majority of you Kel ended up with one or the other. They won’t expect a Kel swarm to suddenly turn up and fight them. That’s something we only get to confuse them with once, but since it’s lying around it’d be stupid not to use it.”

One of the junior commanders asked about travel formations, which was a good question. “No,” Jedao said, “we won’t be traveling in formation to begin with. We don’t want them to know for sure that we’re Kel. Uncomfortable as it will be, it’s more important to preserve surprise.”

“Sir,” Talaw said. “If we’re attacked en route, what then?”

Another good question. Jedao was relieved that Talaw’s hatred of him didn’t preclude them from participating usefully in the briefing. “We’ll be avoiding the known listening posts to the greatest extent possible,” Jedao said, “but the beautiful thing about space is that it’s difficult to get pinned. If someone shows up, we sprint away. Our mothdrives will allow us to outrun most of what’s out there. It’s ignominious, but the calendrical spike takes priority. We’re not here to get into random brawls, especially considering our limited resources. You’ll get the order to fight in formation when the time comes and not before.”

Would Talaw argue with him for the sake of it? But all they said was, “I concede your logic, sir.”

Jedao was starting to like Talaw as well. So what if they hated him? It might be good for him to have someone to keep him from getting sloppy.

“All right,” Jedao said. “Infantry assignments. Although we have some boxmoths for personnel, I have assigned complements of infantry to some of the bannermoths and to the shearmoth to accommodate the regiments.” He smiled at the senior infantry colonel, Kel Muyyed. “I expect infantry to drill formations while we’re in transit.” Dhanneth had radiated grudging approval when Jedao came up with that, although he hadn’t come out and said so. “Per standard procedure, refuse the primary pivots during drill.” Leaving primary pivots unfilled would prevent the formations’ effects from activating. He doubted the colonels needed the reminder of the precaution, but Muyyed and the junior colonel nodded sharply.

Talaw again. “Do you intend an infantry assault in this first engagement, sir?” Skepticism.

“No,” Jedao said, “but it doesn’t do to get out of practice, just in case.” At some point they might have to take and hold territory; messy business if so. He’d rather deal with a fast raid than a protracted siege, or worse, planetary warfare. But the infantry were Kel, too. Giving them something to do would help them feel involved. “Anything else?”

No one else had any questions they wanted to admit to.

“Hexarch,” Jedao said, and bowed. People stiffened. He must have picked the wrong bow, but if Kujen wasn’t going to behead him for it, he didn’t much care. “I’m done.”

Kujen said, “I have no objections to the timetable you’ve laid out. If anyone has other questions, submit them through the usual channels.”

Jedao had no idea how “the usual channels” worked. Presumably Dhanneth could help him with that. Kujen was already striding toward the doors. Jedao remembered to salute the Kel, feeling horrible for them, then followed. Dhanneth hurried after him.

They could have been walking back through the same bizarre endless hallway with its extravagant ink paintings, except the walls suddenly opened up into an antechamber. The pale light revealed people working at terminals or banks of mysterious instruments. All of the people wore Nirai black-and-silver, in inconsistent styles of clothing: here a dress enlivened by a silver-mesh wrap, there a sleek tunic over trousers with a staggering number of pockets. A few of the Nirai glanced up at Kujen’s entrance, but no one bowed, or spoke to him, or did much to acknowledge that a hexarch had entered. In fact, several of them were arguing loudly over anomalies on a contour graph.

Kujen eyed Jedao, then snorted. “I’m not a Rahal, Jedao. I don’t feel this pressing emotional need to scrape people off the floor wherever I go.”

“I don’t believe you,” Jedao muttered.

Kujen had good hearing. “No one would get anything done around here if I insisted on that,” he said. “We have a schedule. Anyway, I wanted to show you your command moth.” Kujen made a gesture Jedao thought he could replicate with practice, and part of the far wall ceased to be visible.

The wall had either become a window or a massive display. The shearmoth hung there against a backdrop of stars. Knowing Kujen, the fact that it was attractively framed between two nebulae, a small blue-violet one and a larger one with interesting pink swirls, was deliberate. It looked even more impressive at this level of detail than it had when Kujen had shown him the original image: swept-back wings and careful curves, a triangular profile reminiscent of those of the bannermoths. He recognized the array of frontal protrusions that projected the shearmoth’s deadliest weapon, and the one for which it had been named, the shear cannon. Jedao longed to reach through the void and touch one of the protrusions, except he was afraid he’d leave smudges on the pristine surface.

Jedao thought to look up at Kujen. Kujen was smiling at whatever he saw in Jedao’s face. For once a soft light almost made the beautiful eyes human.

Of course he cares, Jedao thought, kicking himself for not realizing something so elementary. Kujen must have become a moth engineer for a reason. He was proud of the moth he had designed. And it made sense that Kujen didn’t want to interfere with his technicians. It wasn’t that the technicians mattered in themselves. It was the work they enabled him to do.

“You still haven’t named it, have you?” Kujen said.

“Kujen, I couldn’t,” Jedao said. “It’s your design.”

This was the right response. “I built it for you,” Kujen said wryly. “I can rattle off all the specifications and draw the blueprints with my teeth. I could even drive it somewhere if Navigation went into cardiac arrest, but that’s it. This moth was made to fight. That’s your domain.”

“Your mysterious assistant doesn’t want to name it?”

“Aside from the fact that my mysterious assistant comes up with the worst names ever, he refused to do anything of the sort.”

“What’s his name, anyway?”

Kujen startled. “He’ll tell you someday, maybe.” But Kujen sounded doubtful. “Since we’re on the topic of names, you should come up with something for the moth.”

Jedao couldn’t demur. That might offend Kujen. But he might be able to get information out of this—“ Revenant ,” he said.

Kujen grinned at him. “Feeling self-conscious, are we? Revenant it is.”

So much for that.

Dhanneth was studying the moth with great interest.

“Walk me through the specs again,” Jedao said. “I’m not even sure I know what questions to ask.”

“Some officers have a strong technical background,” Kujen said, “but it’s true that that wasn’t your particular specialty.” He looked like he was about to add something, then called up a diagram instead. Columns of text listed all the moth’s armaments. “I tried to label it clearly, but let me know if I got it wrong. I read all the analyses of Candle Arc I could find and most of them mentioned that you used superior invariant resources against the Lanterners, so I directed our research accordingly. Considering the fractured nature of the calendar at this time, it’s just as well.”