Yoon Lee - Ninefox Gambit

In any case, in between sarcastic comments on the heroine’s taste in power tools (many servitors had definite opinions about power tools), the deltaform told Cheris that Nerevor was popular among the crew for her flamboyant style and the fact that she was unstinting with her appreciation when her subordinates did something well, even when it involved outsmarting her. Competitive but fair. For that matter, the servitors had no quarrel with her, and it said philosophically that the Kel were as well-mannered as Kel ever were. Cheris smiled wryly.

Jedao didn’t seem to be paying attention to their discussion at all. “I had no idea your taste in entertainment ran to romantic comedy,” he said quizzically during one of the pauses. “Romantic comedy with a rogue engineer, at that.”

“Oh, they all duel each other, too,” Cheris said. “Every episode the heroine makes a whole new calendrical sword out of paper clips and metaltape.” The dueling was the reason she liked this show. “The dueling is ludicrous, but the special attacks are really funny. Like that one just now with the galloping horses.”

The deltaform said that if someone summoned horses to attack it, it would just surrender.

“Given that they outmass you by lots, that would be sensible,” Cheris said. “Jedao, weren’t you a duelist? If you hate this, we can watch something else.”

Jedao laughed. “And here I was thinking that you have much better taste in dramas than my mother.”

She was disconcerted by the thought that Jedao had had a mother. She didn’t know anything about his family.

“I’m told someone murdered her while I was being interrogated,” Jedao said, as though he were reporting the number of cucumbers a battalion ate in a month. “My father was already dead. We were never close to begin with. My brother –” Suddenly the unsentimental voice became raw. “My brother shot his partner and their three daughters in their sleep exactly a year after Hellspin Fortress, then killed himself. And my sister vanished. Probably ran right out of the heptarchate. She was always the practical one.”

“I’m sorry,” Cheris said, because she couldn’t think of what else to say. The servitors blinked lights at her inquiringly, then subsided. They continued to watch the drama in silence.

As the episode wound down, Jedao said, “You’re not doing badly with Nerevor. She’s expecting your nerve to crack and it hasn’t yet.”

“Jedao,” Cheris said, “I’m stapled to a bigger threat. I’m worried about her, but when you get right down to it, my situation is already worse.”

“Good,” he said.

“Good what?”

“Be more assertive. You tend to defer to Nerevor. The problem with authority is that if you leave it lying around, others will take it away from you. You have to act like a general or people won’t respect you as one.”

Cheris frowned, but he was right. Feeling twitchy, she started doing some exercises. She was still dealing with having a stranger’s patterns of motion stamped into her. The more she thought about ways to compensate, the more she fell over her feet.

On the fourth day at high table, as everyone finished the cinnamon-ginger punch with floating pine nuts that was the day’s indulgence, Kel Nerevor leaned over and said, “I haven’t seen you sparring with anyone since you arrived, General.”

Nerevor had chosen day four – four for death, the unlucky lucky number that suicide hawks favored – for this conversational gambit. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to indulge me with a duel?” she went on. “Some of my officers have been speculating about your style.”

It would have been terrible protocol to refuse, although it wasn’t good protocol for Nerevor to ask, either. “I’ll oblige you,” Cheris said, because she liked dueling, “although I’m sure you’ve had more challenging opponents.” This was bound to be true even without Cheris’s current difficulty getting her body to cooperate. The servitors had told her that Nerevor enjoyed a fair deal of success as a duelist, and that her style was flashy and aggressive. She remembered Jedao’s words on authority and added, “In one hour.”

People were talking and eying her speculatively. Her clumsiness had not gone unremarked. Clumsy Kel were rare.

“This will be interesting,” Jedao said once she was back in her quarters. She was never going to get used to how big they were. She didn’t have to look at the general’s wings on her uniform most of the time, but there was no escaping the rooms. “I had hoped your coordination would recover faster than this.”

“Did your other anchors perform better in this regard?”

“Yes, but please don’t think this reflects badly on you. I have an idea of what’s going on, but it doesn’t help you, and if I’m right you’ll figure it out immediately.”

“I hate it when you’re cryptic.”

“Well, you might as well warm up.”

Cheris did so. Twelve minutes before the appointed time, she took up her calendrical sword.

When Cheris reached the dueling hall, Nerevor was already there. Nerevor’s calendrical sword had a burnished bronze hilt with scrollwork in green: elaborate, but a cindermoth commander was entitled to it. A fair number of Nerevor’s officers were there, including the Rahal captain-magistrate, Gara. Most of the Kel were intent. Shuos Liis had a seat near the front and was smiling openly. Cheris avoided looking at her.

“You’re exactly on time, sir,” Nerevor said. It was impertinent of her to make the observation, but she spoke with real delight.

Cheris raised an eyebrow. She couldn’t help appreciating the other woman’s forthrightness. “I trust best of five will do, Commander?”

“Of course, sir.”

Four servitors marked the corners of the dueling rectangle, birdforms rather than deltaforms. Cheris bowed slightly to each of them as she took her place across from Nerevor. Nerevor raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment. The servitors might not divulge their names to humans, but service was still service.

Numbers flashed backwards, then forwards, as Nerevor readied her stance and activated her calendrical sword. Hers was fierce yellow-white. It was too bad they couldn’t be allies. Under other circumstances Cheris would have enjoyed serving under someone with such obvious enthusiasm for the Kel cause.

Cheris’s sword was blue and red. The academy instructors had assured them that the colors had no meaning, but people liked to speculate anyway.

“Count of four,” Nerevor said.

The servitors made four clicks, perfectly synchronized.

Nerevor was fast. The blade leapt in her hand and took Cheris in a great slash across the chest while Cheris was still trying to work out what her feet were doing. The slash stung momentarily, but the blade wasn’t in lethal mode.

At least Nerevor didn’t humiliate Cheris with commentary, although her mouth pulled down in disappointment. She was unnecessarily cautious in the second round. Cheris suspected she was trying to squeeze out a more exciting victory. Although Cheris knew better than to slow down and think through her responses, she did it anyway. Her parries were soft and uncertain, and Nerevor tired of the exchanges and ran her through.

Well, this will be over with quickly, Cheris thought. She hated to make such a poor showing, even though Nerevor was legitimately better than she was. On the other hand, this was hardly the worst of her problems, so there was no use fretting over it. In a way, it was a relief to know herself so thoroughly outclassed.

As Cheris took up her position the third time, she smiled at Nerevor, feeling genuinely calm. Nerevor’s eyes slitted, and a line formed between her brows.

Nerevor came at her fast again. Cheris stopped thinking through moves and counters and footwork, and simply reacted. There it was, that funny thing with her balance, but she let herself keep moving, aware simply of the necessity never to stay still. Nerevor wanted a flashy exhibition of sword-skill, but Cheris had no intention of letting her have it. She pivoted neatly, slipped under Nerevor’s guard, and took her between the ribs at a precise angle.