The twenty-fifth day since Khiruev had invoked Vrae Tala. “That’s something you’ll have to take up with Jedao,” Khiruev said.
“You’re good at jeng-zai,” Janaia said, “but I know a bluff when I see one. I could have gone straight to him. But I thought I’d find out what’s going through your head first.”
“Why don’t you come right out and say it, Commander.” Inside the gloves her hands had gone clammy.
“Jedao had no idea about the Vrae Tala clause, isn’t that right?” Janaia said. “I thought at first that he had coerced you into it. But this last high table, there was no quarter-candle by your seat. I may be no friend of the fox’s, but he respects Kel custom. He always passes the cup at high table, he wears the notorious gloves, I daresay he knows our regulations better than we do. Except, of course, the ones that came into existence after we made a hash of executing him.”
“It was a command decision,” Khiruev said humorously, “and one a bit late to rescind. Do you wish to lodge an official complaint?” Who was Janaia going to go over her head to?
Janaia slammed her hand down on the chair’s arm. “Sir, I’ve served with you for fourteen years,” she said, her voice utterly level. “I’m Kel, you’re Kel, I’ll even follow you into a fox’s jaws. But I will serve you better if you help me understand what the hell we’re doing.” Funny how Khiruev had made the same argument to Jedao himself. “What is it that’s so important that you’re killing yourself for it?”
Khiruev opened her mouth.
“If you’re about to make a suicide joke, don’t. Sir.”
“Jedao thinks he can take on the hexarchs and win,” Khiruev said.
“Well, yes,” she said impatiently, “that kind of delusion is what landed him in the black cradle in the first place. But, I mean, he’s crazy. What’s your excuse?”
Khiruev peeled back her right glove just far enough to expose the skin of her wrist, so Janaia would understand the seriousness of her intent. The Kel only ungloved for suicide missions and lovers, as the saying went. Khiruev hoped Jedao’s plan wasn’t suicide, but in a sense, it didn’t matter. She was committed.
Janaia’s mouth compressed.
Satisfied that she understood, Khiruev settled the glove back in place. “Commander,” she said, “I trust you remember Raggard’s Basket.”
Kel Command had assigned Khiruev to deal with heresy at Raggard’s Basket. The orders had changed en route. The Rahal had been making a calendrical adjustment, and they had desired a fast resolution to the matter. In response to Rahal pressure, Kel Command authorized the use of fungal canisters.
Khiruev looked for a better way, but she couldn’t get around the punishing timetable. Since she could offer no viable alternative, she ordered the launch of the canisters. The resulting fungal blooms destroyed anything of human value in the world’s ecosphere. It was estimated that decontamination would take upward of a century. Khiruev had a vivid memory of the first spores coming to fruit when they encountered one of the indigenous sea snakes, fungus sprouting in spongy tendrils from beneath scales until they cracked purple-red, fungus clouding the amber eyes, fungus spilling out of the agonized mouths in bloated masses. Her chief of staff caught her watching the video over and over and made her stop.
“Yes,” Janaia said. “I remember Raggard’s Basket. I also remember that we had our orders.”
“I would like to think that it’s possible to construct a society where our orders don’t involve slaughtering our own people,” Khiruev said. The heretics hadn’t been the only ones on that planet.
“That’s always hard,” Janaia said. Her face did not change. “But I leave the philosophical considerations to you. My job is to fight where you point me. Tell me, do you think Jedao really has a chance, even if he isn’t going to backstab us all afterward? Even at Candle Arc he was only outnumbered eight to one. The odds are infinitely worse here.”
“Let me put it this way,” Khiruev said. “For four hundred years he’s convinced Kel Command not to kill him, despite a million good reasons. Kel Command isn’t known for being slow on the draw. And then he escaped. He may not win, but I am not seeing a better opportunity.” Khiruev met her eyes. “My disloyalty to Kel Command must be a terrible disappointment to you.”
Khiruev shouldn’t have put it to Janaia so directly, but Janaia only shrugged. “I must admit,” Janaia said, “this strikes me as a singularly bad time for an insurrection.”
“This is the hexarchate, Commander. There’s never a good time.”
“It’s going to be blood all the way down, one way or another. And you won’t be around to see the end of it.”
“Someone has to decide to throw the dice,” Khiruev said.
Janaia nodded curtly. “At least tell Jedao about the candles,” she said.
She cared about the oddest things. “Why is this so important to you?”
“Fourteen years. Tell him. Let him do the right thing by you.”
Fourteen years and Khiruev was wondering if she’d ever understood Janaia. “I’ll take it under consideration,” she said. “Dismissed.”
After Janaia had left, Khiruev returned to contemplating the watch. She opened up the back and stared at the unmoving parts. She was cold again, but she could get used to a little cold. It was only temporary, after all.
THERE WAS NO such thing as a routine battle, something Khiruev had figured out as a lieutenant decades ago. Even so, certain rituals made the chaos manageable. More accurately, they gave you the comforting illusion that the plan would have any relationship to reality when reality decided to stab you in the eye.
Khiruev had made sure to get to the command center as the swarm approached Minang System’s inhabited worlds. The swarm alternated between two defensive formations as they traveled, in case the Hafn proved capable of coming about more suddenly than they had in the past. The Hafn swarm was going just fast enough that the Kel had to go full-tilt to keep up, which couldn’t be an accident. But abandoning the chase wasn’t an option, either.
For the most part, Khiruev occupied herself reading increasingly confusing scan summaries and rereading staff analyses of Hafn movements. As Chief of Staff Stsan said in private, they amounted to carefully phrased variations of ‘fucked if we know what they’re about.’ It was too early to tell if the Hafn would make a stand at Minang, attack the wolf tower in passing, keep spearing into the Concerto March, or pull something completely new. Among other things, they hadn’t left any more geese lying around. Maybe they were running low.
What worried Khiruev more than the Hafn was the fact that Jedao hadn’t deigned to make an appearance. She couldn’t tell Jedao what to do, but Jedao’s apparent lack of interest was making the crew jittery. Janaia had glanced twice in the direction of Jedao’s empty seat before catching herself.
Khiruev didn’t have a pretext for sending Jedao a message asking him what the hell he thought he was doing, although she sent a restrained note anyway. It wasn’t against any regulation for Jedao to be off playing cards or polishing guns or taking a nap when they weren’t in combat. Anyway, it was an open question as to whether Kel regulations had meaning to an ex-officer in a rogue swarm. Note aside, it would be best if Khiruev acted like nothing out of the ordinary was going on, not that ‘ordinary’ meant much either, these days.
“Sir,” Janaia said when they were four hours out from the tower. Her executive officer glanced at her, then looked away, troubled. Even Muris was affected by the situation, it appeared.
“Yes, Commander?” Khiruev said.
“Where do you suppose all the geese are anyway?”
It was patently not what she wanted to ask. “Your guess is as good as mine,” she said.