Into the uneasy quiet, Communications said, “Minang Tower has forwarded us scan relay data from the listening posts in the region, sir.”
Four billion people and change.
Khiruev recovered the information she had sought earlier all too easily. The Sundered Spheres swarm under Major General Kel Jui had been brought up from the Rosetta March. Kel Command had pulled General Inesser off High Glass; they must be desperate. High Glass was one of the most dangerous borders, and Inesser was not only the hexarchate’s senior general, she was also widely considered one of the most formidable. Whoever was taking her place at High Glass had better be good.
Khiruev called Strategy. “Colonel Riozu,” she said, “double-check me on this.”
After several minutes, the lieutenant colonel sent back an annotated map that matched the one in Khiruev’s head. There was no way for Sundered Spheres to rescue Cobweb. They were simply too far away.
Khiruev tapped in a message to Jedao. Request clarification of orders, sir.
Jedao’s response took longer this time. Do you want to win? Don’t interrupt me again. I will be there when I can.
Yes, Khiruev thought, but what are we winning? No matter. She’d led swarms before she met Jedao. She could do it again.
“Approaching designated waypoint in thirty-eight minutes,” Navigation said in a colorless voice.
Communications had collated the warmoth commanders’ inventory of bombs and passed that over to Khiruev’s terminal. Khiruev had another terse discussion with Riozu. “General Khiruev to all moths,” she said, and instructed them to leave a frightening number of their bombs at the location that Jedao had indicated earlier, to be detonated at Khiruev’s command. “All moths assume grand formation Knives Are Our Walls. Commander, refuse the primary pivot until we see what’s coming at us.”
Janaia inhaled sharply—she would have preferred to stay in a two- or three-formation shield modulation sequence—but gave the necessary orders.
“Minang Tower again, sir,” Communications said. “They’re forwarding updated scan reports.”
“I’m impressed they’re still talking to us,” Khiruev remarked.
“Talking at us is more like it,” Janaia said.
Weapons reported that the bombs had been deployed. Meanwhile, Scan was unequivocal. The Hafn had turned around and were headed back toward Minang.
All right. The Hafn had been trying to lead the Kel away from Minang, specifically from the ambush that Jedao was, in his turn, setting for someone. Did this have something to do with the scan anomalies that Jedao had been receiving reports of? And if so, why did Jedao feel the need to be so coy about it?
“They’re not going to run into those bombs,” Janaia said. “Or run full-tilt at us, if it comes to that.”
Khiruev smiled at her. “No one’s asking them to.” She asked Navigation for the Hafn’s projected arrival time. Navigation answered. More waiting. Minang Tower continued to send scan updates.
“Hafn swarm increasing acceleration,” Scan said, and reported the new estimated time of arrival.
Forty-nine minutes before the Hafn came within dire cannon range, the cacophony began. Scan cried, “Second enemy swarm incoming!”
If ‘incoming’ was the right word. The formants sizzled out of nowhere, sharp as lightning, over eighty of them. Jedao’s prediction hadn’t been exactly correct, but it was close enough—
Khiruev gave the order to detonate the bombs, and to reorient the swarm for the engagement. The explosions showed up as a flower-chain of pallid spheres on the tactical display. They finally had the battle they had wanted.
And Jedao, who had somehow known to engineer this, was still nowhere in sight.
CHAPTER TWENTY
NIRAI KUJEN’S ANCHOR, Nirai Mahar, was asleep when the call came. Kujen himself never slept, one of the deliberate effects of being a revenant. Jedao had hated it, although Kujen didn’t much care. When he had been alive, Kujen had wondered about the long-term effects. It turned out that being a disembodied voice, and one with only a single anchor as a conversational partner, did wonders for your patience.
Ordinarily Kujen would have ignored the call until Mahar woke on his own and had a chance to eat something, but only a few of Kujen’s designated agents were supposed to be able to reach him at this clandestine base. Certainly not any of the hexarchs. But the call’s headers indicated that it was coming from Andan Shandal Yeng. He couldn’t imagine what she had to say to him. She had never liked him, especially after Mahar had seduced that one son-now-daughter of hers, and he found her tiresome.
Kujen looked at the current object of his attention, Esfarel 12. The man was monitoring the environmental controls. Esfarel 12 had no idea who the original Nirai Esfarel had been, nor any memory of the modifications that Kujen had ordered made to his appearance. 12 had the original’s slightly unruly hair and smiling mouth and long hands, but not the original’s body language. Kujen hadn’t bothered with that after Esfarel 5. Too much work. Besides, the variety of responses entertained him on the occasions that he was in a mood for sex.
The call indicator wasn’t going away. Kujen sighed. Time to wake Mahar up. Kujen inspected the anchor’s current dream. For someone who had always eaten well, Mahar was surprisingly obsessed with food. This time it was tender bamboo shoots and strips of meat in sweet sauce, bowls of fruit slices garnished with edible petals, fragrant rice, jasmine tea, everything. For his part, Kujen remembered the taste of food vividly. One of the great benefits of being a revenant was never having to starve again, although Mahar needed to remember to eat so Kujen would have a functional marionette.
Kujen inserted an image of an hourglass onto the dinner table. This time the running sand was green-blue. It changed each time. He could control Mahar’s dreams in exacting detail when he cared to, but here there was no need. It hadn’t been difficult to convince Kel Command that giving Jedao the same modification would be a terrible idea. Jedao had already been hard enough to control.
Kujen waited until Mahar stirred. It wasn’t as though he was the one in a tearing hurry. Besides, needling Shandal Yeng was always fun.
Mahar sat up and stretched. The bedsheets were tangled in his legs. He began extricating himself from them. “Emergency?” he said drowsily.
“Just make yourself presentable,” Kujen said. “It’s either the Andan hexarch or her latest consort.”
“Shandal Yeng doesn’t have consorts so much as social rivals she’s decided to take down personally,” Mahar said.
“You’re only sixty-four,” Kujen said as Mahar dressed in silk and velvet, all black and gray and glints of silver, and agate earrings in each ear. “Isn’t that a little young to be so cynical?”
“Your bad habits are contagious.”
Kujen laughed obligingly.
His anchor’s idea of ‘presentable’ was terribly involved. Kujen didn’t disapprove. He insisted on beautiful, mathematically trained men for anchors where possible. If he was going to be alive forever, he might as well enjoy the view and avail himself of decent conversation. His anchors varied in their attention to fashion. This one liked ruffles and scarves, even if the taste for odd knots was a new development. Kujen had grown up paying great attention to fashion, due to his first profession. He had seen a great many trends come and go. At the moment, he supported anything that confused Shandal Yeng, and he was also for letting Mahar enjoy himself once in a while. It made for a smoother working relationship.