Mikodez met Zehun’s pitiless eyes and drew a long breath. “He goes after the idealists. The ones who dream about fixing our government. A few always slip through academy, although the dangerous ones are those who develop the notion during their careers. As a bonus, he finds one who not only thinks that a sufficiently big gun will get rid of all the impediments, but that they can reform him. At that point, all Jedao has to do is play into the fantasy.”
“All right,” Zehun said, “that’s good enough for our purposes.”
“Jedao hasn’t tried to subvert you recently, has he?”
“What, as if he’d tell me anything useful I could pass on to you? You should be so lucky.” Zehun removed a cookie from the top of the fort and nibbled at it, then winced. “Anyway, based on this, what should we be doing differently?”
“Too bad we can’t find some creative ways to divert more funds from the damn Andan. We’re going broke as it is.” Mikodez drummed his fingers on his knee. “It can’t hurt to order additional checks on the regions Jedao’s passed through. Although I can’t imagine he’d have the time to be up to much, even if he can ditch tons of the paperwork that Kel Command would make a general do. Speaking of which, I’m tempted to play hooky from mine.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Zehun said. Their gaze became hooded for a moment. It caught his attention because Zehun was normally more composed than that. “Mikodez. You do know you’re staring right at a long-term solution to the succession problem.”
“We’re not discussing this now,” he said, very pleasantly.
Zehun’s expression flickered, but they acceded.
Mikodez wasn’t looking forward to the conversation when it resurfaced. This would do for now. Instead, he asked, “I know we’ve had similar fiascoes, but how many out-and-out secessions?”
“Three big ones. The first was that Andan-Rahal revolt during Heptarch Liozh Henezda’s reign, which the Liozh put down in an impressively short period of time. Then there was that one Kel general whose name I can never pronounce. She allied with some foreign powers that we gnawed into pieces after. The last was another Kel general.” Zehun smiled cynically. “People forget formation instinct hasn’t always been around.”
“Do you think secession is Jedao’s play?”
“I doubt it,” Zehun said. “He’s one of us, Mikodez. Both assassins and soldiers like to operate from ambush. Whatever he’s doing, he’s working hard to make sure it’ll blindside us. We’re going to have to get ahead of him somehow.”
“I’d say that we have numbers on our side,” Mikodez said, “except for Hellspin Fortress. Alas, leaning harder on the Kel is unlikely to accomplish anything but make them crankier. Still, we need someone to rout the Hafn so the shadowmoths can make their strike without leaving us open to unsavory foreigners. In the meantime, we’re going to train one eye on the political realm and see what that gets us.”
Zehun rubbed their eyes, and then he realized how tired they must be. “I still feel like he’s toying with us,” Zehun said.
“Yes, that’s the point,” Mikodez said ruefully. “Now I know how everyone else feels.”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” Zehun said, but they were smiling.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
KHIRUEV RECEIVED COMMANDER Janaia’s request after the third time the Hafn refused battle. They were eight days out from Minang System with its wolf tower. Khiruev was painfully aware that she had turned up her terminal’s displays brighter than anyone else in the command center. Everything around her looked as though someone had painted it over with shadows.
Irritatingly, Jedao was playing jeng-zai against the mothgrid again. Khiruev, who could see the score, wished he would lose just once. Jedao appeared to be absorbed contemplating his hand.
Janaia prodded her terminal for the twelfth time in as many minutes, then muttered under her breath. She wasn’t the only one frustrated with the Hafn’s continued flight. The Kel wanted battle.
“They’d better make a stand somewhere, sir,” Janaia said, her annoyance at the situation overcoming her desire to speak to Jedao and Khiruev as little as possible. “Do you suppose the master clock in the tower will be a sufficiently inviting target?”
“They’ve certainly arrowed straight toward it,” Jedao said. “Aside from the Rahal billing us for any damage to it, the calendrical destabilization if the Hafn wrecked it wouldn’t do us any favors. Even if their objective is elsewhere, they might bomb it in passing.”
Khiruev was scrutinizing a map. It didn’t take much military acumen to determine that something was amiss, but she couldn’t undermine Jedao in front of the crew. After being driven away from the Fortress of Spinshot Coins, the Hafn swarm might have been forgiven for withdrawing toward the border. Instead, they had persistently zigzagged farther into the hexarchate.
Khiruev could only think of two compelling reasons for this behavior. One, this swarm was a decoy for a second invasion force, in which case Jedao was leaving the Fortress open to a second attack. True, the Hafn ability to turn phantom terrain against hexarchate forces was no longer a secret, but that didn’t mean they hadn’t prepared other tricks. The other explanation, which she kept returning to although she wished she could scrub it out of her brain, was that Jedao wasn’t just herding the Hafn, he was colluding with them. Hafn movements were too convenient, considering the plans that Jedao had already confessed to.
As the Hafn neared the Kel military outpost at Tercel 81-7178, Khiruev waited tensely for any indication that they were slowing or circling around. Nothing.
Afterward, Khiruev went to contemplate her shelves of disassembled machines. She picked up the watch Jedao had admired, trying not to think about the gnawing sensation inside her, as though her bones were shuddering apart. When she was around other people she could set it aside, but here it nagged at her. She put on music, a plaintive zither piece. That didn’t help either.
When Commander Janaia requested to see her, Khiruev was grateful for the distraction, even if it was likely bad news. The wording of her request was both correct and unrevealing. Khiruev put the broken watch back on the shelf, then indicated that Janaia should see her in twelve minutes.
Janaia came by almost exactly on time, unusual for her. It filled Khiruev with foreboding. Khiruev had set the door to admit Janaia automatically. “At ease,” Khiruev said, emerging to greet her.
There were faint lines around Janaia’s eyes. “Permission to speak freely, sir,” she said.
“Granted,” Khiruev said. “You may sit, if you like.” She nodded toward a chair.
After a significant look at the chairs, Janaia sat. “I’m surprised the fox let you keep your gadgets.”
“Perhaps,” Khiruev said, “he thought I could use the reminder of my failure.”
“So it was you after all.”
The music box. Kel Lyu and Kel Meriki, sprawled dead. Khiruev had essentially pointed the needler at them herself. She’d written notifications to their families that she’d never be permitted to send. The one time she’d brought it up with Jedao, Jedao had quashed the idea on the grounds that it would get those families in trouble with hexarchate authorities. Which Khiruev had known, but she couldn’t stop wishing otherwise. “I didn’t think it was any secret,” she said.
“It’s done,” Janaia said, unsentimental. “But that isn’t what I came to talk to you about. It’s the twenty-fifth day, sir.”