Юн Ли - Revenant Gun

Jedao’s new theory involved Nirai experimentation that he didn’t recall agreeing to. Of course, in the heptarchate they didn’t need to ask your permission. He backed up two steps.

The Nirai’s gaze swept right to Jedao’s hands, which were in plain sight and not doing anything threatening. The Nirai’s eyebrows shot up. “I hate to break it to you,” he said, ignoring Jedao’s hostile body language, “but you’re going to start panics going around with naked hands.” He had a low, cultured voice, as beautiful as the rest of him. “I advise you to put on the gloves, although those will start panics, too. Still, it’s the better of two bad alternatives. And you ought to get dressed.”

Was the man a guest instructor? And if so, why wasn’t he wearing insignia to indicate it? “Excuse me,” Jedao said. “I’d rather not go around in Kel drag. If there are civilian clothes somewhere, I’ll put those on instead. Who are you, anyway?”

“My name’s Nirai Kujen,” the man said. He strode forward until he’d backed Jedao into a corner. “Tell me your name.”

That seemed harmless enough. “Garach Jedao Shkan.”

Kujen frowned. “Interesting... that far back, hmm? Well, it’s close enough for my purposes. Do you know why you’re here?”

“Look,” Jedao said, starting to be more irritated than frightened, “who are you and what is your authority anyway?” Granted that he was only a Shuos cadet, but even a cadet should be afforded some small protection from interference by random members of other factions.

Kujen laughed softly. “Look at my shadow and tell me what you see.”

Jedao had taken it for an ordinary shadow. As he examined it more closely, though, he saw that it was made of the shapes of fluttering captive moths. The longer he stared at it, the more he saw the darkness giving way to a vast crevasse of gears and cams and silver chrysalises from which more moths flew free. He raised his head and waited for an answer to the question he couldn’t figure out how to formulate.

“Yes,” Kujen said. “I’m the Nirai hexarch.”

Jedao revised his speech mode to the most formal one. “Hexarch? Not heptarch?” The name didn’t sound familiar. He scrabbled in his memory for the names of any of the heptarchs and could only remember Khiaz, who led the Shuos. What kind of experiments had they been running on him anyway to mess up his knowledge of basics?

“It’s complicated. Anyway, you’re here to lead an army.”

That made even less sense. The Nirai faction dealt in technology, including weapons, but they weren’t soldiers; that was the realm of the Kel. Besides which—“I’m not a soldier,” Jedao said. Not yet, anyway. Besides which, didn’t you have to serve for years and years to get from grunt to general?

Except he had a soldier’s body, and he’d listened for gunfire first thing.

Kujen’s mouth quirked at whatever he saw on Jedao’s face. “A real army,” Kujen said, “not a simulated one. Potentially against the hexarchate’s best generals.”

Jedao was going to have to start asking questions and hope that some of the answers started making sense. “‘Hexarchate’?” he asked. “Which faction blew up?”

“The Liozh, if you must know. The situation grew complicated very rapidly. The two major successor states are the Protectorate, which styles itself the heir to the old hexarchate, and the Compact, which was founded by radicals. Plus any number of independent systems trying to avoid getting swallowed by them or by foreign powers. I’ll show you the map, if you like. You’re to conquer the pieces so we can put the realm back together.”

Jedao stared Kujen down, difficult because of the height difference, to say nothing of the distractingly pretty eyes. He was already certain that Kujen had to be leaving out great swathes of detail. “How in the name of fox and hound did all of that happen?”

“You don’t remember?” A hint of dismay touched Kujen’s voice.

“Clearly not,” Jedao said, and felt the cold plunge of fear.

“I am in urgent need of a general,” Kujen said. “You’re available.”

Uh-oh. “Do you want to lose, Nirai-zho?” Jedao said. “I’m not a general.” So why had he gone for cover in this decidedly unthreatening setting? Admittedly, he imagined most generals spent time on their asses far from the front lines. “Playing games doesn’t prepare you to wage war.”

This must be a test for rabid megalomania.

“Well, get dressed anyway, and I’ll show you what you’re up against,” Kujen said. “And use my name. No one uses that honorific anymore.”

Jedao stared at him in desperation, wondering what to do. It was taboo to wear another faction’s colors. Spies did it in the line of duty, but that didn’t make it a good idea for him. On the other hand, defying a heptarch—hexarch—also struck him as a lousy idea.

“You earned the right to wear that uniform,” Kujen said. “Do it.”

Time to counterattack. “What’s a Nirai doing messing around with military affairs anyway?” Jedao demanded. Maybe that would distract Kujen from the uniform.

“I’m the last legitimate hexarch standing,” Kujen said. “The Protectorate is under the influence of an upstart Kel. The Compact, despite their pretensions of democracy, is under the sway of another upstart Kel. As I said, it’s complicated. And I’m sorry to inform you that the Shuos hexarch turned traitor and joined the Compact.”

As he spoke, Kujen retrieved the uniform and held it out to Jedao. “Come on,” he said coaxingly. “Unless you really mean to go around half-naked.”

Reluctantly, Jedao took the clothes and pulled them on. Then he stared at Kujen some more.

“I have some battle transcripts so you’ll have an idea of what to expect.”

“Are you sure you can’t scare up a competent general?” Jedao said. “Or a mercenary commander?” Mercenaries had been illegal in the heptarchate, but maybe the regulations had changed. Or Kujen, being a hexarch, could bend the rules. Companies sometimes operated around the borders. “I don’t—” He looked helplessly down at his hands. “Whatever you think I am, I can’t do this. My memories seem to be muddled. If you really, truly need a general, you ought to get one who knows what they’re doing.”

Kujen smiled crookedly. “I have strong reason to believe that you’re the only one who can help me.”

That was all very well in the dramas, but a bad sign when people talked to you like that in real life. Jedao had a brief, disorienting memory of sitting in a room watching one with—an oval-faced Kel woman and several robots? Except he didn’t seem to have a body, and he could see in all directions at once, which made no sense because he was pretty sure he only came with the standard-issue two eyes in front. Just as quickly as it had come, the memory dissipated.

Still, he might as well glean what information he could. “All right, Nir—Kujen, show me.”

Kujen drew him into a sitting room and snagged a slate off one of the tables. Then he played back a sequence of battles in three dimensions, which took some time. The first were land battles on a variety of maps, including an ambitious amphibious assault. The later ones occurred in space, some involving large swarms. One side was represented by blue, the other by red. It became obvious that Red was the same commander each time, and was the adversary Kujen should worry about: aggressive, devious, and good at dragging the opponent about by the heels.

“Well?” Kujen said.

“We’re fighting Red, right?”

Why did Kujen’s mouth twist like that? “Yes,” he said, without elaborating.

“We’re fucked,” Jedao said. “I don’t know if you can tell, but you have to have noticed that in that last battle, Red gouged Blue into pieces while outnumbered eight to one . I have a better idea. This enemy you’re so worried about? Invest in some good assassins.” There he went, sounding like a stereotypical Shuos, but it was good advice, dammit. “Unless you’re going to tell me that everyone in Red’s chain of succession is also that good.”