Юн Ли - Revenant Gun

At first the numbers didn’t mean much. With some thought, however, he could see the shearmoth’s capabilities in his head; he could visualize the maneuvers it was capable of, how it would dance at his command. “How many of these do you have?” he asked, although he had already guessed the answer.

“Just the one,” Kujen said with what Jedao interpreted as real regret. “You don’t know what I had to do to source the materials needed to grow the mothdrive components. You’ll have to keep in mind that the shearmoth’s mothdrive and maneuver drives have better power to mass ratios than your bannermoths do, even if it’s larger. Don’t outrun them.”

Obligingly, Jedao looked up the profiles for both drives and was impressed by the differences. He ran some computations to compare the power draw over a spread of different accelerations. After a while he became aware of Kujen’s narrowed eyes. “Did I get something wrong?” he asked.

“No,” Kujen said after a subtle pause. “You homed right in on the intersection of those curves.”

Jedao had done that part in his head. Curious, but if the past years had magically fixed that part of his brain, he wasn’t going to say no to that either. “It had to be there somewhere,” he said. “If you assume the curves are approximated by—” He demonstrated.

“So I see,” Kujen said in a voice so dry that Jedao was reminded that he was lecturing the Nirai hexarch on mathematics elementary enough that he had probably figured it out as a small child. “Well, while the Kel have always preferred to throw you at strategic problems, it won’t hurt to round out your education. Considering the number of calendrical heresies flourishing out there, it can only help to develop your mathematical skills.”

“I would like that,” Jedao said, and was rewarded by Kujen’s half-laugh, half-smile.

“In the meantime,” Kujen said, “let’s deal with the practicalities. Set your uniform insignia. I had thought you’d remember, but since you don’t—the Kel like everything to be done according to protocol.”

“Set? Shouldn’t there be pins for this stuff?”

“I really wish I’d had a better way to check what you do and don’t remember,” Kujen muttered. “The uniform will respond to your voice. Just tell it your name and rank and it will read the rest from your profile.”

Jedao did, and was surprised by the general’s wings above the Shuos eye, two things he didn’t remember earning. A full general, at that. Would that have made Ruo envious?

“Even if I’m forty-four,” Jedao said, incredulous and not a little regretful about the lost years, “that’s rather young.” The idea of appearing before the Kel in this uniform was daunting enough. Appearing before them while claiming to be a general— their general—seemed like it would invite them to put holes in him. He heard they had good aim.

“The Kel respect rank,” Kujen said. “They’ll respect yours.”

Will they now , Jedao thought. Only one way to find out. “These are real Kel,” he said, “serving on real moths, fighting a real war. And you’ve decided that for this to work, I have to be a real general for you.”

“That sums it up, yes.”

A bad situation. Nevertheless, he needed to stay alive long enough to figure out how to tilt the odds not only in his favor, but in favor of the Kel who would be coming into his care. “I don’t care how hacked up this hept—hexarchate of yours has become,” Jedao said, “or how good this shearmoth is. A swarm of 108 moths, however impressive, doesn’t leave us room for error. The only way this is possible is if I get good fast and we fight dirty.”

On impulse, Jedao saluted Kujen. The motion came disturbingly naturally. He said, in formal Kel fashion, “I’m your gun.” He felt he ought to commemorate the occasion somehow, even if the occasion was not remotely sane.

Kujen’s eyes lit. “I knew you’d come back to me,” he said. It wasn’t until much later that Jedao figured out what he meant by that.

THE MORNING AFTER Cheris disappeared, taking the needlemoth with her, High General Kel Brezan was woken by a stranger in his bedroom on the cindermoth Hierarchy of Feasts . At first he thought a servitor had gotten confused about the time, because who in the name of fire and ash served tea at this hour? He’d made use of his uncomfortable new rank for once and ordered that no one disturb him for anything other than an emergency, because he needed a good night’s sleep before tackling the world’s problems.

Brezan had gone through the usual routine before going to sleep, including unwinding his chest wrap, because in times of crisis, chaos, and dire emergency, routines were all that kept him going. He might be the highest-ranking Kel remaining in the hexarchate, but that didn’t mean he wanted to remind the military of their hazy prejudice against a man who hadn’t had the fortune to be born a manform. Lose-lose situation all around: sex changes weren’t difficult, just time-consuming, except the Kel disapproved of those too, some stupid puritan streak. So he endured as he was. He hardly noticed it these days. Besides, given all the other reasons a Kel might have to hate him, he doubted his being a womanform made a damn bit of difference. In the meantime, he kept up the small fashion cues that clued in random people as to how he wanted to be regarded, like haircut and (when off-duty, which was going to be never again) style of jewelry.

“It’s an emergency,” a harsh, low voice said just as Brezan registered the sound of the doorway whisking shut.

Brezan startled awake and fumbled uselessly for his sidearm. He wasn’t paranoid enough to sleep with it on, a fact that he was starting to regret, even if he doubted he could have hit the intruder anywhere useful. More likely shoot himself in the foot or, if the universe was feeling particularly unjust, get the damn gun shot out of his hand again . He was never going to live that down.

The candlevines in the room brightened in response to the stranger, who wasn’t a stranger after all. It was one of the Kel sergeants who worked in Communications, a chubby woman with a habit of telling filthy jokes to anyone who’d stand still for them. Except Brezan had the feeling the woman wasn’t a Kel at all, not if she’d broken into his room.

“Hello, High General,” the woman said. She bore a tray with a steaming cup of tea.

“Are you a Shuos?” Brezan said. Might as well not waste any time.

“Very good,” she said.

“What’s your real name?”

She came forward, just slowly enough not to be threatening. “You’re asking the wrong question. It’s Shuos Emio, by the way. And you should have the tea. No poison, unless you count a few extra stimulants. You need to be awake for this conversation.”

“What,” Brezan said sarcastically, “I’m not awake enough already?” He kicked the sheets off and sat up, feeling weirdly vulnerable in his nightshirt and uncombed hair.

“Oh, you don’t need the stims for me ,” Emio said. “But the hexarch needs to talk to you and you’ll need all your wits for that.”

“Hexarch” meaning Shuos Mikodez, one of the last people Brezan wanted to talk to. “He couldn’t call through regular channels?”

Emio gave him a look. “I can’t make you take this seriously,” she said, disturbingly casual, “but it’s in your best interests to. Because I have two pieces of news for you, and the hexarch will be your best friend dealing with them both.”