If anything, Jedao’s headache had gotten worse. “We’re going to have to question everyone on the whole foxfucking moth?”
“It’s not as bad as all that. I can find evidence of tampering.” Kujen glanced down at the slate, then set it aside. “I’m not a psych surgeon for nothing. But it will be tedious at an inconvenient time. You will have to stay alert. You do realize what the intruder’s goal might have been, don’t you?”
Jedao nodded. Localized calendrical spike. “Are you sure it couldn’t have just been a simple assassination?”
Kujen rolled his eyes. “Don’t be naive. If the assassin is who I think she is, she wouldn’t stop there. No; she would calculate everything through the lens of calendrical warfare.”
For a horrifying moment, Jedao wished to live in a world where an assassination attempt could “just” be a simple assassination attempt. Of course, he supposed that, in such a world, Kujen would be long dead and he wouldn’t be here, but that didn’t strike him as such a bad thing.
“Who do you think it was, then?” Jedao said.
“Three guesses.”
“That Cheris person you warned me about ages ago,” Jedao said.
“It’s not definite,” Kujen said, “but none of the evidence I have on hand rules it out, either. In the interests of paranoia, I’m going to assume the worst.”
“At least,” Jedao said, “she doesn’t know everything about the swarm. If she’d had intel about the last time someone had me shot”—Kujen made an irritable gesture—“she wouldn’t have bothered with the assassination attempt.”
What Jedao regretted, now that the initial surge of panic was wearing off, was firing back; failing to die. Rationally, he knew that he hadn’t chosen it. His damn alien body had repaired itself from what should have been fatal damage regardless of anything he might or might not have decided.
Still, all hope wasn’t lost. If the assassin knew more than he did—if she’d embarked on her mission against crazy odds—maybe her ultimate target had been Kujen. Maybe a way existed to get rid of Kujen after all. Even if Jedao himself had interfered with the attempt. At the time, his only thought had been to protect Dhanneth.
“The assassin’s long gone?” Jedao asked.
“Of a certainty,” Kujen said. “I’ve even located the hull breach. However she located us, my best guess is that she either flew in with a specially modified needlemoth or, possibly, one of the smaller shadowmoths. I always knew those fucking stealth systems would be the death of me one of these days.”
“What,” Jedao drawled, “not your invention?”
Kujen shot him an annoyed look. “Believe it or not, I’m not personally responsible for every piece of tech that gets stapled to these moths. You can blame the Shuos for that one.”
Jedao didn’t know why that surprised him, considering the reputation of the Shuos. He supposed it would even be prudent for the Shuos to have engineers of their own, or suborn someone else’s, instead of remaining wholly dependent on another faction.
“Which brings me to what you remember,” Kujen said. “Did you get a good sight of the intruder?”
Jedao made a split-second decision to lie to Kujen. Not about the assassin, because that was a lost cause, but about the anomaly, now that he thought about it—about the servitor accompanying the assassin, who had broken his gun hand. He’d never before considered that a servitor might offer him harm, which was pure shortsightedness on his part. He had even known, by then, that servitors had minds of their own. He’d just failed to think through the implications.
“A woman or womanform, I think,” Jedao said. “It’s hard to say, because she was in one of the bulkier Kel infantry suits.” He closed his eyes and concentrated on the image. “She was fast, astonishing reflexes. Didn’t really move like a Kel, although I can’t tell how much of that was the limitations of the suit?”
“They’re not all that limited,” Kujen said. “If you’d ever watched people drilling suit maneuvers you’d know that. What did she move like?”
Jedao waved his hands in frustration and regretted it immediately, although at least his right hand wasn’t as troublesome as the damnable knees. “An assassin, I guess, the fuck would I know? Let me guess, you don’t have video of the attack, either?”
“What do you think?”
Kujen could be holding information back, too, but Jedao didn’t think so. Admittedly, he was gambling a hell of a lot on his ability to read the man. “She shot me four... no, five times. In the head and chest. Both knees.” He continued to give a carefully edited account, focusing mainly on the assassin and omitting all mention of the servitor who had accompanied her.
If Kujen knew Jedao was lying, he decided not to call Jedao out on it. “All right,” Kujen said at last. “At least we’re on high alert, as is the rest of the swarm. None of the other commanders have reported incursions, but I would be surprised if there were other incidents. I would expect this to have been a surgical strike.”
Jedao looked down at his gloves, feeling impotent. “How soon before people revive?”
“I’ve already introduced the antitoxin to the moth’s air system,” Kujen said. “Of course, people are going to feel like hell for the next week, but it can’t be helped.”
Of course not, Jedao thought, careful to keep his expression neutral.
CHAPTER THIRTY
JEDAO NEVER DID find out what Kujen’s interrogation sessions were like. In one sense, this was a blessing. He suspected that the truth would only have infuriated him.
He scarcely had time to think during the hours that followed. People recovered at different rates. At least most of them did recover. Five people had drowned in their baths before the servitors could rescue them. What an ignominious way to die. Every time Jedao closed his eyes, he could imagine the bodies being dragged out of the tubs, hair soaked and dripping, undignified in death. Had the assassin considered that she’d be leaving behind a trail of, what did they call it, secondary casualties?
Then again, assassins and soldiers were both in the business of killing people. Considering what he’d enabled at Isteia, what he was hurtling toward at Terebeg and the Fortress of Pearled Hopes, who was he to criticize?
Once Commander Talaw recovered, Jedao made a point of meeting with them to discuss the situation. He didn’t like forcing Talaw to come all the way to his office, but it couldn’t be helped. For their part, Talaw’s skin had a greenish tinge, and they moved stiffly.
“General,” Talaw said after they’d gotten the business of saluting out of the way. Talaw’s face was shuttered, their eyes cold. “On behalf of the crew, I must object to the... interrogations.”
Jedao swallowed his nausea and said, “The investigations are necessary to ensure that we’re not harboring another turncoat.”
Talaw must have heard the rumors. “You mean that Meraun wasn’t the only one.”
“We don’t know yet. Still,” and Jedao made himself return Talaw’s chilly gaze, “we have to take precautions. Particularly since Meraun herself hasn’t yet cracked.”
He knew even then what would become of Meraun; but he didn’t want to think about that, not here.