“I would feel better if the Hafn stuck to a routine.”
“The next time they consult me about their battle plans, I’ll pass that along.”
Your general had better know what he’s about, Janaia’s look said.
Khiruev smiled thinly at her, then returned to scrutinizing the scan readouts.
Three hours and five minutes out, Communications said, “Request from Minang Tower to speak to General Jedao, sir.”
“Forward it to the general,” Khiruev said. She checked the headers and was interested that a wolf tower was addressing Jedao by the rank he no longer held. Even if Jedao didn’t want to be in the command center, he might wish to deal with the call.
Six minutes passed. Communications looked up, expression distinctly unhappy.
“Let me guess,” Khiruev said, “the general hasn’t responded and the tower is repeating its request.”
“That’s it exactly, sir.”
While it was hardly outside the realm of possibility that Jedao had some way of hijacking a channel so he could talk to people without there being a record of it in the mothgrid, Khiruev doubted that the tower was playing any such games with them. “Forward the new request,” Khiruev said grimly, appending a second note asking for Jedao’s guidance. She began putting together alternate formation orders for the swarm, just in case.
Janaia had achieved the perfectly serene smile that meant she had weapons-grade reservations about their survival.
You and me both, Khiruev thought. Strategy had come up with three separate plans, to say nothing of contingency variations, for the defense of Minang System during the pursuit. Jedao had not approved any of them. Khiruev thought the second one might do in a pinch.
After another twenty-three minutes, the next transmission from Minang Tower wasn’t a request, dashing Khiruev’s hopes that Jedao was discreetly handling the matter. It came not long after Scan reported that the Hafn were changing course. If the Hafn kept on more or less in that direction, they would swing past Cobweb System, which had two settled worlds. And the Cobweb worlds weren’t the only ones out that way. The possibilities multiplied appallingly with each hour the Hafn weren’t stopped.
“Do we have any indication of”—she didn’t say ‘legitimate’—“Kel reinforcements in the area?” Khiruev said. Kel Command had to be working on the problem, although she had some idea of the logistical difficulties. After all, this very swarm had had to be scrambled for defense after General Chrenka’s assassination, and the Kel were often stretched thin.
“I can’t definitely identify any swarm formants,” Scan said.
Communications added, “Local defenses have been scrambled, judging by system traffic, but I have seen no indication of a swarm presence.”
“The message, then,” Khiruev said. “Forward it.”
Jedao’s reply came back almost immediately, text-only: Deal with it. Then, a set of coordinates: Prepare a welcoming party for the enemy here.
With what, the threshold winnowers that Jedao had so cleverly had them discard? Notably, Jedao had given a place but not a time. The fact of the Kel swarm’s presence wasn’t a secret, and hanging around to launch missiles would hurt. They carried some mines for situations where you could force an enemy through an approach, but the Hafn had been merrily ignoring calendrical gradients this whole time, so that didn’t work either.
“Communications,” she said. “General Khiruev to warmoth commanders. I want to know how many bombs we can place for remote detonation at the following location.” She gave the coordinates, and ran some calculations in consultation with a map of the system. “Head for this location.” Second set of coordinates, and a set of waypoints. Then: “General Khiruev out.” To Communications: “All right. While the commanders are dealing with that, let’s hear the tower’s message.”
The message opened with the hexarchate’s wheel insignia, then the gray Rahal wolf with its bronze eyes. The woman in the video looked like a standard-issue Rahal magistrate, from her immaculate upswept hair to the severe gray shirt with its bronze brooch. The bent stylus in her left hand was not, however, standard-issue, nor were the snapped pieces of two more on the desk before her. A knife’s braid-wrapped hilt was just visible at the edge of the video.
“This is High Magistrate Rahal Zaniin of Minang Tower,” the woman said. She had a slight melodic accent, not unattractive. Unsurprisingly, Khiruev couldn’t place it. “There’s a whole bunch of formulaic stuff for addressing traitors that I memorized back when I was in academy, but why don’t we forget about that so I can get to the point.”
Zaniin broke her stylus, scowled at it for a moment, then flung it aside. “I assume I’m addressing General Shuos Jedao and his swarm. I can only guess at your motivations, which are probably five parts head-game to one part let’s-use-the-Kel-as-punching-bags. It would be helpful if you’d agree to talk while there’s time, but since you’re not amenable, you get the soliloquy edition.
“One of the things they made me learn before they installed me in this overgrown clock was reading scan formants. It’s quite unambiguous. The Hafn are going there”—she stabbed with her finger, and the video was momentarily replaced by a map showing Cobweb System—“and you’re apparently determined to be here.” Another stab, this time showing Minang Tower represented by the standard wolf-and-bell icon.
“The tower and its associated stations have a population of approximately 86,000. Cobweb 4 is a fully inhabited planet, with about four billion people living there. Cobweb 3 is more like a glorified moon, but still, I don’t imagine the Hafn can be relied upon to leave it alone.” She appended more detailed statistics.
“As I said,” she resumed, “I don’t know what you’re looking to get out of this. But if you’re trying to preserve Minang Tower for some reason of calendrical warfare”—Zaniin’s voice was almost steady—“just ask your Kel. Some of them must be able to back me up. Master clocks are fucking expensive to build and calibrate, and dealing with clock desynchronization on your end wouldn’t be any fun either, I get that. But you can work around one clock. Our destruction won’t set you back much, even if the Hafn leap back here. Those people in Cobweb—there’s no other way to save them. Run the numbers, Jedao. Please.”
Khiruev thought this was the end of the message, but after a few moments the high magistrate went on. “It’s not hard to guess that you have nasty plans for the people who stuck you in a dark jar for four centuries,” Zaniin said. “Judging from the propaganda, you either think the whole system is rotten or you’re doing a bang-up job of faking it to make new friends. I kind of hope it’s the former.”
She picked up the knife, unsheathed it, and stabbed her table. “Because you know what? It is a shitty system. We have a whole faction devoted to torturing people so the rest of us can pretend we’re not involved. Too bad every other system of government out there is even worse. You know, they say at Candle Arc you kept Doctrine from rendering a Lanterner as an on-the-spot emergency remembrance. Of course, four hundred years and one big massacre later, I have to wonder if you remember it yourself.”
Her eyes flicked sideways, and she frowned. “The Hafn are still heading for Cobweb. Who knows, maybe they’ll change their minds. But you’re the only thing between the invaders and a lot of people who had nothing to do with all the things that happened to you during your unpleasant unlife.
“I’m going to have to turn myself in for having this conversation. In the meantime, if you have some working alternative for the world we’re stuck in, by all means show it to us without spelling it in corpses. High Magistrate Zaniin out.”