Юн Ли - Revenant Gun

“The local enclaves’ representatives will have procedures for that,” Jedao said. “Ready?”

Hemiola’s misgivings dwindled as Jedao bore it to the airlock. Clumsy as he might have been in his previous bodies, he’d shown no sign of awkwardness this time around. As Jedao cycled the airlock, it said, “Does the choice of body change how dextrous you are?”

“To an extent, yes.” Some secret amusement lit his voice.

The hatch opened. Jedao eased out of the needlemoth. Not wanting to distract him, Hemiola shut up. One wrong move and they’d float into the yawning darkness of space.

At least the vista was spectacular. Even affixed to Jedao’s back, passive sensors showed Hemiola a panorama of far-flung stars, and the distinct chirrup of a local pulsar. Two voidmoths, both of which dwarfed the needlemoth, were departing. Most of the traffic that stopped by Ayong Primary would be trademoths hauling cultural goods or delicacies for the rich. (A particular subplot in A Rose in Three Revolutions turned on trade routes.)

Jedao activated the thrusters with gesture commands picked up by his augment. After 3.7 seconds of acceleration to bring them to a comfortable traveling velocity, he deactivated them. Since its view of Ayong Primary was blocked by Jedao’s back, Hemiola passed the time refining one of its old compositions. It liked to come up with alternate scores to drama episodes for practice, even if Rhombus had derided the practice as being disrespectful to the human composers.

They drifted toward the station for some time. Hemiola’s chronometer told it how much time had elapsed, of course. Still, it often drifted into subjective time when it composed, and today was no different.

“Hold tight,” Jedao said, the vibration of his voice buzzing faintly through the suit and the attached air supply, and against Hemiola’s armor. He twisted around and applied the jets again to decelerate. Hemiola was treated to a sudden view of Ayong Primary up close, all planes and angles and glittering carapace, with stripes of light to guide docking voidmoths.

Jedao unhooked a safety line and grapnel from his utility belt. It was amazing how he could reach it despite the webbing. He hurled it at the station, engaging the jets simultaneously to counter his corresponding backward motion.

The grapnel made no sound when it latched onto Ayong Primary’s surface. It had landed precisely at the edge of what appeared to be a maintenance chute. Hemiola’s respect for Jedao’s abilities increased. He hadn’t made a single course correction.

Jedao pulled his way hand over hand along the line. Hemiola hunched motionless on Jedao’s back. They were close enough now that there was little danger of torque swinging them into the station. And they were at no risk of colliding with one of the trademoths.

So why did it feel worried?

Jedao’s motions slowed. He hung in space, legs tucked under him. All he had to do was pull a little more and they’d arrive. Hemiola suppressed a flicker of dismay. Was he tiring? Would they be stranded out here, connected to the station by a mere fragile filament? If it had to do the unspeakably rude thing and rescue Jedao so close to his goal, would he ever forgive it?

Instead of crossing to the station’s surface, Jedao studied a protrusion on it. Hemiola couldn’t figure out what it was. Sensor array? Or worse, a turret?

Then the protrusion moved.

If it hadn’t been for the risk of detection, Hemiola would have flashed all its lights in alarm. The only thing that kept it from backing away from the protrusion and dragging Jedao with it was Jedao’s body language. He showed no sign of alarm.

Jedao was signing to the protrusion. It took Hemiola several moments to recognize it as a variant of Simplified Machine Universal. What it had taken for one of the human sign languages was, instead, a simple rendition of short-long sequences indicated by the fingertips of one hand. Jedao was being very careful with politeness levels. He’d said, “I am an envoy from Pyrehawk Enclave with a guest from Tefos Enclave. I request permission to enter Trans-Enclave territory.”

The protrusion said in carefully dim lights, “You are welcome, Ajewen Cheris of Pyrehawk Enclave.” Ah: it was a servitor, albeit of a type Hemiola had never seen before.

But Ajewen Cheris? Why was Jedao using a different name? Hemiola’s misgivings flared anew.

“Thank you,” Jedao said.

The stranger-servitor offered one of its grippers, which was so large that it could have crushed Jedao and Hemiola in half. Jedao took hold of the gripper’s end and used it to hoist himself down. He retrieved the safety line and grapnel, and returned them to his utility belt. The stranger-servitor then led the way into the station.

The sides of the maintenance chute surrounded them. Hemiola blinked in alarm when the space around them juddered perpendicularly even though, as far as it could tell, they were still moving in a straight line. It turned on active scan. The stranger-servitor didn’t stop it.

The station’s space was twisted like a labyrinth composed of labyrinths in fractal detail. They were now in a section of the station with pressurized atmosphere and artificial gravity. For the first time, Hemiola was frightened. Neither Jedao nor the stranger-servitor was reacting to the uncanny warping of spacetime. In particular, the station’s center housed a peculiar pulsing knot that opened into gate-space. If the knot swallowed them—

After eight more turns that weren’t turns, they arrived in a storage unit. The unit had a locked door, which they had bypassed entirely. It contained tidy stacks of labeled crates. One of them said, CONTENTS UNDER PRESSURE. STORE RIGHT-SIDE UP. And, in newer paint: DO NOT INGEST.

“Who is your traveling companion?” the stranger-servitor said. “I’ve never heard of Tefos Base.”

“Pardon the irregular arrangement,” Jedao said, now speaking the high language aloud. He pulled out a knife and casually slashed through the webbing. “271828-18th, this is Hemiola of Tefos Enclave.”

Hemiola hovered free. “Pleased to make your acquaintance,” it said, as formally as possible.

“Likewise,” 271828-18th said. “What is your enclave’s affiliation?”

“We’re a Nirai enclave,” Hemiola said, “dedicated to preserving the hexarch’s research.”

271828-18th blinked its interest. “You’ll have to tell me more about that later,” it said.

“Yes,” Hemiola said, although it wasn’t sure how much more information the hexarch would have wanted shared.

Jedao said, “I don’t suppose you have the next episodes of—”

271828-18th flashed its laughter. Hemiola couldn’t help wondering if this was a distraction from the matter of Ajewen Cheris. “They’re already on a data solid,” 271828-18th said. “Did you think we’d forget how much you like dramas?” It indicated a small crate separate from the rest. “Plus ecoscrubbers. Air and water. Extra ration bars—Kel, since you specified, although you’re the only person I know who likes them. And the rest of the equipment you asked for.”

“Thank you.”

“Now for you,” 271828-18th said, flaring its lights in Hemiola’s direction. “Tefos has no treaty with the Trans-Enclave.”

“We report directly to the hexarch,” Hemiola said, feeling stubborn. “Before this goes any further, I have a question.”

Through the suit’s faceplate, Hemiola could see Jedao smiling crookedly, as if he knew.

“Why did you address this individual”—Hemiola gestured at Jedao—“as Ajewen Cheris?”

“You must be very isolated,” 271828-18th said, “if you didn’t pick up on that a lot earlier. Still, if you’re the de facto representative of your enclave”—Hemiola blinked acknowledgment—“then you’re entitled to make an informed decision based on the facts.” By this point Jedao’s expression was resigned. “Ajewen Cheris, formerly Captain Kel Cheris, and also known as Shuos Jedao, is Pyrehawk Enclave’s agent to assassinate Hexarch Nirai Kujen.”