Юн Ли - Revenant Gun

“No to the first,” Mikodez said. “Despite my reputation, and that of the Shuos in general, I prefer using reliable operatives. Which Kel Cheris is not. As for the second—” He paused. “Kujen used to be an asset to the hexarchate, if you define ‘asset’ in the coldest terms possible. He’s now a threat. That’s all there is to it.”

“Do you ever make a decision that isn’t calculated on some master abacus?” Inesser demanded.

Mikodez’s smile was curiously sad. “I gave up the right to personal sentiment when I took the job, Protector-General.”

“Do your people make a habit of keeping secrets from you?” Miuzan was saying to Brezan. “Because that’s going to kill us all faster than anything swanning around the successor states.”

“It was necessary,” Khiruev said doggedly.

The damn servitor was still futzing with the ashhawk-and-rose painting. Was it defective? Inesser wasn’t afraid of being spied on. She had accepted that the room would be monitored.

“We haven’t settled the question of what Jedao is doing running around alive, and with a body of his own,” Miuzan said.

Mikodez shrugged. “My bet is that isn’t Jedao at all. It’s just as likely that Kujen dolled up one of his pets to resemble Jedao in order to give orders. Did the swarm fight like one of Jedao’s?”

“They relied on superior weapons technology,” Inesser said reluctantly. “It’s hard to tell. He didn’t have to do anything clever to win because he was already pummeling the shit out of us.”

“Hell,” Mikodez said, “Kujen could have plucked out some promising general or tactical group commander and modded them. While I doubt he’d have chanced upon another Jedao or another you, it’s not like he needs a genius to use a gravitation cannon. And as much as Kujen likes sparring with people, he would want someone who follows orders.”

“It’s Kujen,” Inesser said, remembering the beautiful, clever-tongued pets Kujen had surrounded himself with. “He could design someone who could do both.”

“That too.”

“We should have stayed and hit him with a suicide strike,” Miuzan said.

“It’s too late for that,” Brezan said.

“Too late for a lot of things,” Inesser said, thinking that if she’d shot him in the back decades ago, they might not be here. Except she knew that a mere bullet wouldn’t do the trick. “If only Kujen had managed to trip down a flight of stairs during the years I heard nothing of his movements.” Brezan, who had never met Kujen or witnessed his dancer’s poise, didn’t get the joke. “If he’s rematerialized now, it’s because he thinks the situation threatens him. He won’t stop until we’re crushed beneath his heel.”

“Fine,” Brezan said. “What do you want me to do, pragmatically speaking? I can’t send more Cherises. There’s only one of her and she manifestly doesn’t pay attention to a thing I say.”

More of Cheris, what a horrifying thought. As if their world needed more crashhawks. Inesser reminded herself that, in the new regime, everyone would be a crashhawk. If the Compact had been able to make it work this past nine years, the rest of the Kel might manage it as well.

“No,” Inesser said. “If she fails, there will have to be another. Assuming she survives to tell us.”

“I took the liberty of putting the Compact’s mothyards on high military alert,” Brezan said, “since a great many people are debating the legitimacy of our arrangement.”

So damn young.

He wasn’t as naive as she’d supposed, for he went on, “That’s the easy part. No. We also fight Kujen by publicizing the fuck out of his existence. I don’t know what he looks like this time around, if the black cradle’s involved, but...”

Tseya sketched a bow in his direction. “Propaganda isn’t one of my specialties,” she said, mildly enough. But the tips of Brezan’s ears turned pink as if she’d reminded him of some intensely personal incident. “Still, you have Andan and I know a few myself. We can get the message out.”

“Even if people believe us,” Brezan said, “the hard part is going to be making sure they don’t torch any neighbors they don’t like for ‘acting strangely.’”

“You’re almost going about this the right way,” Mikodez said. “Don’t make it some boring public bulletin. That’s just going to get people to play Vidona. Just couch it in terms of drama. Kujen, paranoid bastard that he is, will get the message, and everyone else can enjoy the witty dialogue and pretty costumes.”

Tseya shook her head. “Why,” she said, too sweetly, “because you think a good drama can be brewed out of nowhere in thirty hours?”

“Make it a bad one,” he said. “It’ll piss him off more. Even someone who lurks as much as Kujen does has an ego.”

“Just for you, Hexarch.”

“Of course, Tseya.” His bland expression didn’t change.

Inesser caught Tseya’s eye and shook her head. Tseya didn’t need to be reminded twice. As tempting as it was to trade barbed remarks with Mikodez—Inesser knew how aggravating he was—they had to work together.

“I am doing my best to facilitate the alliance,” Brezan said. “But it will take time.”

“Remind people it’s that or see their homes blown up at random,” Ragath said.

“That’s half the problem,” Brezan said. “That’s already the world they know. I promised something different. I failed to deliver.”

“Why,” Inesser said, “giving up already?”

Brezan chuckled lowly. “Not while you’re alive.”

Constructive hostility. She could work with that, especially since all signs pointed toward Brezan honoring the terms of their agreement. Which was good, because it was what she had.

ON THE FIRST night after they left Station Ayong Primary, 1491625 took Hemiola aside for a chat. Cheris had gone to sleep, which consisted of leaning her chair back a fraction. It didn’t look comfortable.

The matter of Jedao-Cheris’s identity was, in fact, the first thing that 1491625 made clear to Hemiola. “She usually prefers to be called Cheris,” it said the moment Cheris’s breathing eased into the rhythm of sleep.

“Excuse me?” Hemiola said.

“‘Jedao,’” 1491625 said impatiently. “Her name is Ajewen Cheris these days, although most people will use Kel Cheris instead. And many people confuse her with Jedao.”

“I know a little about Shuos Jedao,” Hemiola said. “It wasn’t until Ayong Primary that I learned anything about Cheris.”

1491625 flickered a deprecating olive green. “You and the rest of the hexarchate. It was her choice, but some of us remember who she was before Kel Command sold her out.”

“Why didn’t she tell me herself?”

“Have you ever heard of the Mwennin?”

Hemiola indicated that it had not.

“Her people. Gone now, most of them. The Vidona rounded them up and exterminated them.”

“Revenge?” Hemiola said, with greater interest. Revenge was a motive it could understand.

“An example. Beyond the matter of names,” and 1491625 pulsed low-intensity lasers directly at Hemiola, so as not to disturb Cheris’s rest, “you are going to be watched every moment, everywhere you go. Because while Cheris is a kindly, trusting person—”

Hemiola expressed its skepticism.

“—for someone hosting the memories of an elite Shuos operative, anyway—”

That part Hemiola believed.

“She may think to win you over,” 1491625 said, “but I know better. You don’t go anywhere unless I accompany you.”