The moth didn’t go away. Instead, it began singing to him, this time wordlessly, with harmonies complex and strange. Jedao wished that he could consult Hemiola, who not only understood music but composed it, which was magical as far as Jedao was concerned. Hemiola would have been a much better choice to negotiate with moths. But it had chosen not to accompany him on this journey, for which he was pathetically grateful. He didn’t want it to see him like this.
The moth was speaking to him again when his vision returned. The world sparked and stuttered back into existence, aligned with the othersense’s map of masses. Only after that did he register the restraints, and the faint lights, and the fact that he was—of course, so obvious—on a voidmoth of some sort. A small one, with cramped quarters, although not nearly as small as he was, in moth terms.
Cheris sat facing him. She had peeled a staggering number of Kel ration bars, with which she had made a not-exactly-miniature fort. He would have expected such behavior from Mikodez, not a former Kel. (For someone with a notorious sweet tooth, Mikodez had the eccentric habit of eating half a Kel ration bar for breakfast every morning. Why half? Who knew.) The mingled smells of the different flavors made Jedao gag, everything from honey-sesame and taro to anchovies and curried goat.
“You’re not hungry,” Cheris said with a lift of her brows. “That’s progress.”
At this point Jedao also noticed that, in addition to being trussed up, he was naked. He shrank from Cheris in spite of himself; he never liked people seeing the disfiguring scars that crisscrossed his chest, to say nothing of the one at the base of his neck and the one just below the palm of his right hand. Why couldn’t his older self have been more diligent about aesthetic repairs, and why hadn’t Kujen, who had admired beauty so much, made a few alterations?
“What the hell—” The words died in Jedao’s throat. He tried again; his voice shook. “Cheris, I tried to eat a person.”
“Yes,” Cheris said. “I saw.”
He turned his head to stare at the wall. Couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“You recovered,” Cheris said. “But—What are you, exactly?”
“Kujen said...” Jedao swallowed dryly. There was no point lying to her. She must know. “Kujen did some experimentation. I’m moth-derived.”
Cheris said something in response to that. Jedao blanked his face and pretended to listen when, in actuality, he was talking to the voidmoth. Cousin, he said, stumbling over the unfamiliar address, could you answer a question for me?
He didn’t have any guarantee that the moth, whatever it called itself, wouldn’t lie to him. After all, the Revenant had thoroughly deceived him; destroyed the people he cared about most. But the Revenant had sought freedom, and in the secret bitter heart of him he couldn’t blame it. Jedao had failed to save the mothlings even after it had begged him for their lives. Its betrayal was no more than what he deserved.
Of course, cousin, the moth said, still friendly. I must say, we should be introduced to each other, even if it isn’t a proper dance.
Jedao fought to cover his surprise. A dance?
Where do you come from, that you don’t know such elementary things?
I was raised by a rogue Nirai, Jedao said, because it was true.
Ah, the moth said, as if that explained everything. Possibly it did. In any case, I am—It said something in a compressed burst of harmonies, which Jedao struggled to repeat back to it. Very close, it said consolingly. I’m sure your accent will improve with practice. And you?
Jedao was not unaccustomed to being condescended to by moths. They call me Jedao, he said, bracing himself for its reaction. If it stopped talking to him—
Oh, you poor thing, the moth—Jedao labeled it Harmony in his head, just so he didn’t trip over its name every time he thought of it—said with dismay. I’d forgotten what peculiar senses of humor the Nirai have. Would you like me to call you something different?
The question caught him off-guard. Something different. He could be anyone he wanted to be—
Who was he kidding? Kujen had built him in the image of General Shuos Jedao. He would never escape Kujen’s mastering hand. No, that’s fine, he said.
Cheris interrupted at that point. “Jedao?” She must have been calling his name for some time.
His eyes focused on her. She was not tall, but she drew the eye, even clad in soft tan civilian’s clothes, including an incongruous formless cardigan for warmth. Her garb couldn’t hide the truth of her past profession, the subtle soldier’s muscle and the poised, efficient swiftness with which she moved.
“I’m sorry,” Jedao said, mostly sincere. “What did you say?” His temples twinged with the beginnings of a headache.
“Are you thirsty?”
He was. “Water, if you have it.”
She rose and brought a canteen to him, then tipped it to his mouth. He drank gratefully, spilling only a little. The waste bothered him. How much did they have in the way of water, or other provisions? How much space on Harmony was devoted to human necessities like food?
Then Cheris unshackled him from the restraints. They snicked softly. He imagined the clicking of monstrous teeth. He wasn’t sure this was a good idea; but he needed to use the lavatory at some point, and his body hurt all over. It would be a relief to be able to move again.
Cousin?
The Harmony was calling to him. Jedao attempted to say its name again, was greeted by a soft humming that he recognized, with blank astonishment, as laughter. Time for the question: How do moths usually heal themselves after battle?
They feed us, the Harmony said, which didn’t reassure him. It sounded matter-of-fact. It depends on how deep the damage goes. Carapace damage, externals, well, it’s inconvenient for the passengers but not such a big concern for us. If we get hurt, on the other hand—I was extremely hungry two years ago after that big battle at Terebeg. Took a lot of damage. But I was very brave. The moth’s tone was tinged with smugness.
This only answered half his question. But what do they feed you?
Oh, the Harmony said, abruptly solicitous, is that what your trouble was? Your human might not know what’s best for us, if she’s not an engineer. You’d think she’d listen to the servitor. They’re pretty knowledgeable. Before Jedao could repeat his query, it went on, Batteries, usually, charged with gate-space radiations. Tasty, if a little rich.
Jedao did not want to know what would happen if he exposed himself to foxes knew what sort of radiation or particles or whatever the hell. Now that he thought about the matter more calmly, it made sense that he ate differently than normal moths. Thanks so much, Kujen, for making me a freak on multiple axes. But he couldn’t express that to the Harmony, who had been courteous to him.
Meanwhile, Cheris brought him more water. “See?” she was saying. “You haven’t attacked me yet.”