Raven Stratagem Page 7

  Lexicon Primary referred to the formations that the Kel were benchmarked against in drill, and which they used in battle. Lexicon Secondary mostly contained formations that were of historical interest, or that were trotted out for colorful effects in parades and during celebrations. Kavinte had a standing interest in obscure formations. Khiruev had been guessing that that was why Jedao had singled her out.

  “We’re Kel, sir,” Kavinte said. “We’ll execute whatever you have in mind.” There was more than a hint of challenge in her words.

  “Good to know.” Jedao adjusted some figures on his tactical subdisplay, considered them, then looked up. “Tactical Five, assume formation Swallow Braves the Thorns. Once you’re in formation, approach the long axis of the outrider spindle exactly head-on until you’re at extreme scan range. Scoutmoth 7 will withdraw to—” He named the coordinates. “All other tactical groups, assume grand formation Harrower Hawk with forward central null and the command moth as primary pivot. Moth commanders acknowledge.”

  The terminal lit up with acknowledgments in neat amber columns corresponding to the tactical groups and scoutmoth flights. Commander Janaia’s eyes were alight. She turned to her executive officer and began giving orders.

  Khiruev wished she felt as sanguine. She was certain that Swallow Braves the Thorns was a test for the Hafn. It was a flashy parade formation from Lexicon Secondary, but if you didn’t see the disposition of the rear elements, it could be mistaken for Wave-Breaker from Lexicon Primary.

  Tactical Five reported that it had reached extreme scan range and that the Hafn moths’ formants didn’t look any clearer, but the Hafn didn’t seem to be reacting, either.

  Jedao tapped out a calculation. “General Jedao to Tactical Five. I want you to maintain formation and advance at 19% of your secondary drive. Alert me the moment you get a reaction, and also report your distance from their leading elements at that time.” To Khiruev, he said, “Odd that they’re just maintaining their distance. Can they not see Tactical Five, or is it a trap?”

  Khiruev had her mind on something else. She had a clear view of Jedao’s calculation. One of the systems of modulo congruences that Jedao had asked the grid to solve for him was something that any first-year cadet should have been able to do in his head, by inspection. The general couldn’t—but now wasn’t the time to ask. Khiruev looked away and told herself that her unease was baseless, but she was honestly surprised that Jedao was weak in abstract algebra.

  “Commander Janaia,” Jedao was saying, “I’ve forwarded you a series of waypoints. Advance, but keep Tactical Five within eighteen minutes of the swarm at current acceleration at all times.”

  “Sir,” Janaia said, and gave the necessary orders to Navigation.

  “Incoming from Commander Kavinte,” Communications said.

  “Put her on,” Jedao said.

  “General,” Kavinte said, “we got a reaction when our leading element tripped past forty-nine Hafn ayyan.” She gave the hexarchate distance conversion. A databurst accompanied the transmission with further details. “No attack still, but look at this—”

  The close-up scan data showed the Hafn outrider positions relative to each other, stretched into the shape of a curving dish with Tactical Five’s axis of advance pointed straight at its center. Khiruev wasn’t a scan specialist, but she could tell that the formants were better defined than before, giving them a better idea of the individual outriders’ locations. Just as interestingly, Tactical Five had intercepted signals from a number of outriders. It didn’t take much triangulation to deduce the region of space those signals were aimed at.

  “Forward transmissions to Intelligence,” Jedao said, “although I don’t expect fast results. Commander Kavinte, I have another formation for you. Try Every Mirror Is a Flatterer and approach the outrider dish’s focal point.”

  “Sir,” Khiruev said, “that will allow the Hafn units to focus fire on Tactical Five. If they have real guns”—Hafn units had respectable invariant weaponry, last she’d checked—“it could get ugly.”

  “I understand the concern,” Jedao said, “but here’s the thing. You notice how they’ve been moving?” He played back some of the observations. “I don’t think those outriders are human. I think they’re geese.”

  Khiruev caught Janaia’s eye when Jedao returned his attention to the scan record. Is he out of his mind? Janaia mouthed. Khiruev could only shrug.

  “You have your orders, Commander Kavinte,” Jedao said. “If I’m right, the geese will let down their guard when they see the configuration. You’ll have ample opportunity to blast holes in them. I’m as much for that as the next soldier, but capture a few intact if you can. Give our engineers something to take apart.”

  “Acknowledged, sir,” Kavinte said in a tone of dour resignation.

  Jedao cocked his head at Khiruev. “You’re convinced I’ve lost it.”

  Or getting rid of a commander who annoyed him, but Khiruev couldn’t express that out loud. “If it’s not a trap, then I don’t know what it is,” Khiruev said. “Although it’s possible that their scan has short range because it’s operating in hostile calendrical terrain.” The Hafn weapons were all fired at short range in previous engagements, but they’d discussed this before and she didn’t need to remind Jedao of it now. “Perhaps they’re attempting to deceive us as to their capabilities.” She kept an eye on Tactical Five’s movements in the subdisplay. “No one with two brain cells is going to fall for Every Mirror.”

  Every Mirror Was a Flatterer was an illusion generator specifically affecting the swarm’s scan formants rather than direct visuals, which meant it wasn’t even useful for impressing civilians. The Kel never bothered with it in battle because the illusion only was visible from such a short distance that any enemy with halfway decent scan would already have spotted you first. No one would mistake them for Hafn at this point.

  “Didn’t say the outriders were stupid,” Jedao said. “I said they were geese. Excellent sentries, geese, for what they are. Oh, don’t look at me like that. You’ve clearly never had to beat off an offended gander with a stick.” He leaned forward. “There we go, that’s the last pivot moving into place.”

  The Hafn outriders, faced with what were apparently more Hafn outriders, began adjusting themselves to form a greater—Khiruev couldn’t help thinking of it as a flock.

  “It makes no sense, sir,” Janaia said. “Why use rather stupid drones for your advance warning system?”

  Tactical Five knew an advantageous situation when it met one. The subdisplays were suddenly crowded with reports of fire. Impossible to tell whether Jedao’s request for captive outriders would be honored amid that mess of hellfire and kinetics.

  “The Andan made no mention of Hafn servitors,” Khiruev said, “only pre-sentients. Maybe the Hafn lag in that area of technology.”

  “If they could get into the Fortress of Scattered Needles,” Jedao said, “stealing some invariant technology wouldn’t have been difficult.” His mouth curled sardonically. “For all we know, there’s some peculiar cultural prejudice at work.”

  Commander Kavinte issued terse periodic reports. Janaia’s eyes had a decidedly longing look at being left out of the shooting. Her executive officer’s expression was unreadable, but that was Muris for you. He could be counted on to be businesslike about everything. The operation had so overwhelmed the outriders that Khiruev expected something with long, serrated teeth to materialize behind her shoulder as a way of ensuring cosmic justice.

  Eventually Kavinte said, “Sir, most of the outriders blew themselves up rather than be captured. We’ll send you our reports when we have a better analysis. But the scoutmoths managed to retrieve one of them in the confusion before they figured out what was up.”

  “Good work,” Jedao said. “My compliments to your people. Crack the thing open, but use every precaution. For all we know, there are death spores or haunts inside.”

  Kavinte laughed at that. “All the more fun for us.”
<
br />   “Pull back Tactical Five and fill our null for us while you’re at it. Just in case the Hafn main swarm is much faster or nearer than we reckoned on.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  Three hours and twelve minutes passed before the next call. “General Jedao,” Communications said, “a message from Commander Kavinte. Your eyes only.”

  “This can’t be good,” Jedao said, although his tone was more annoyed than worried. “I’ll hear it in my quarters. General Khiruev, let me know if anything exciting happens.”

  “Sir,” Khiruev said.

  Exactly one hour after that, Jedao called Khiruev in the command center. “Come see me,” Jedao said. That was all.

  “I hope it’s not death spores,” Janaia remarked.

  “I don’t think anyone could keep death spores secret from the whole swarm,” Khiruev said. “I’d better see what the issue is.”

  “Better you than me,” Janaia said. They shared a chuckle. Muris exuded disapproval, ever so faintly.

  The door to Jedao’s quarters opened at Khiruev’s approach. Jedao stood with his hands clasped behind his back, staring at something angled so Khiruev couldn’t yet see it in any detail. Khiruev saluted and waited.

  “At ease,” Jedao said. “You know, I always hated it when my commanding officers told me to be frank. But hell, I’m going to ask you to be frank.

  “I have spent most of an unnaturally long life doing horrible things to people. Assassination. Torture. Treason. Mass murder. It doesn’t sound like anything when you pare it down to such a short list, but those were real people. It was—I did real harm. Which is the long way of saying that my personal metric for horrible things is not calibrated right. I need you to tell me how bad this thing is that I’m going to show you.”

  Khiruev considered this, then decided that honesty wouldn’t cost her anything. “Sir,” she said, “I’m a high officer. I got to my present rank by doing many of the same things you did.”

  “Just humor me, General. I’d like to believe that someone in this damn swarm is a better human being than I am.”

  “Then show me whatever it is.”

  Jedao gestured for Khiruev to come around and stand next to him. The video had been taken by the engineering team on Singe the Hour. Jedao fast-forwarded past the decontamination precautions to the part where the team breached the casket. There wasn’t a better word for the object. On the lid of the casket shone a golden plaque. It was engraved with an archaic form of the Hafn script, which Khiruev recognized but couldn’t read. The border featured an elaborate design of unfamiliar flowers, fruit, and feathers entwined in knotwork. When she looked more closely, she could see odd cavorting insects worked into the design, and what looked suspiciously like cat’s cradle figures.

  The technicians in their suits had worked out how to remove the lid from the casket. It came off with a whisper of blue-violet vapor. Someone had appended a note saying that they were still studying the gas, but preliminary results said it was not toxic. It took Khiruev a long moment to understand what she saw within the casket. Jedao kept silent.

  The first thing Khiruev noticed was the care with which the components—she struggled for a better term—had been laid out. Beautiful long-necked birds of a type she had never seen before, their curling crests arranged just so. Flowers whose petals moved as though they were breathing. Filaments of gold and crystal threading in and out of flesh and stem, eventually winding their way to the circuit-inscribed walls of the casket.

  In the center of the casket was a boy, or a very young man. At various junctures, his flesh was pale and translucent. A complicated circulatory system grew out of the translucent regions and joined him to the birds, the flowers, the filaments. The veins were also translucent, and an endless procession of small red spiders crawled through them.

  In one hand he clutched a faded purple cord tied into a loop. It was exactly the right length for cat’s cradle, and it was the only item in the casket that didn’t look expensively contrived.

  Jedao paused playback. “They got medics in there,” he said, almost in a normal voice, “but the boy—the whole whatever-it-is—went into cardiac arrest or the equivalent. They shoved him into a jury-rigged sleeper unit, but I don’t think there’s any hope.”

  Khiruev had vaguely assumed that Jedao was one of those people who disliked children since she’d never heard any mention in the histories that Jedao had fathered any. The shadow of anguish in Jedao’s eyes made her reconsider.

  Jedao was looking into the distance. “Tell me, General, what the fuck are we fighting? What’s so wrong with the Hafn calendar that this is their best way of making masses of scouts?”

  “If they’re like us,” Khiruev said, “they’re locked into their existing calendar for exotic technologies they can’t bear to give up, and that means they’re stuck with some bloody awful options in other areas.”

  “Tell me you didn’t know about this,” Jedao said.

  “I didn’t know about this,” Khiruev said. “It must be a new development permitting this invasion, or an old one they were hiding from us as a trump card. But it wouldn’t have made a difference. We’re Kel. We fight where we’re told. I understood that you already wanted to fight the Hafn.”

  Jedao turned the video off. “Khiruev—”

  The sudden use of her name made her wary.

  “—if I ever think it’s all right to do that to someone, shoot me. I don’t care how rational I make it sound. I have a history of sounding very rational, and we all know where that ends.”

  Astonishing: Jedao sounded sincere. “I hope the boy’s death was quick, sir,” Khiruev said.

  “Someday I would like to live in a world where people can aspire to something better than caskets and being sewn up with birds and quick deaths.”

  “If you want to fight for that, the swarm is yours.”

  “I’d say that I’ll try not to abuse the privilege,” Jedao said, “but we’re past that point.”

  Khiruev stood with him after that, wondering when she had started to see Jedao as a human being and not a death sentence.

  CHAPTER SIX

  TWENTY-TWO DAYS LATER, after the third flock of Hafn outriders, everyone figured out that they weren’t just geese, as Jedao insisted on calling them. They were expendable geese. The Hafn had scattered them strategically in the region surrounding the Fortress of Spinshot Coins, specifically screening the approaches where the high calendar’s terrain gradient was strongest. The numbers were staggering. Jedao ordered more of them retrieved. There were more caskets, which came in different flavors. The children in each set had their own sewn-up symbionts, everything from vines to mosses, scorpions to pale salamanders. No one knew what the variation symbolized.

  The most troubling aspect, beyond the caskets’ contents, was the matter of logistics. Engineering was banging their heads against the problem of the outriders’ propulsion systems. As far as anyone could tell, they only possessed invariant drives, suitable solely for in-system maneuvering. This implied that they had been launched from some sort of carrier. Yet as far as the Kel could determine, the Hafn swarm didn’t possess nearly the capacity for this many geese—and who knew how many more in reserve—unless they had developed a form of variable layout an order of magnitude better than what the hexarchate employed.

  Khiruev recommended leaving most of the flocks intact. “Kel Command would want them cleared,” she said to Jedao as they reviewed the scoutmoths’ latest updates from the command center, “but you are in the enviable position of not having to care what Kel Command wants.”

  “Well, that’s not true,” Jedao said, “since Kel Command understandably wants my head on a pointy stick. But yes. How would you like to fuck up the Hafn, General?”

  There were only a few reasons why a man who always won his battles would be soliciting Khiruev’s input. Given that Jedao was a Shuos, Khiruev could guess which one applied. After all, she was already a game piece in a contest whose stakes she saw but di
mly, through a veil of gunsmoke and fractures.

  “Detach a single tactical group,” Khiruev said. “Commander Gherion of Stormlash Glory with Two.” Gherion was good at autonomous action, and Jedao’s nod suggested that he approved the choice. “Set them loose to shoot up some geese—” She plotted locations: a listening post, a Nirai research facility, a habitat with a significant Andan presence. “So far the evidence is that the Hafn especially dislike planets, but we don’t know when that will change.” Naturally, there were no systems near enough the Fortress’s nexus to use as bait.

  Jedao passed on the orders unaltered to Commander Gherion. Khiruev could tell that Commander Janaia didn’t like this development, but she had no pretext for an objection, and in these matters she was a very proper Kel. Gherion, for his part, was torn between enthusiasm at getting into action sooner rather than later, and the conviction that Jedao was sending him off to die. But he acknowledged his orders promptly.

  “Six remaining tactical groups for maximum flexibility in grand formations, is that it?” Jedao said. “What else do you see?”

  Khiruev felt like a cadet all over again, disconcerting at the age of seventy-two, and reminded herself that Jedao had to have been a cadet himself at some point in his existence. “The outrider concentrations nearer the Fortress are spaced inconveniently for some of the larger grand formations,” Khiruev said, “most notably the ones that invoke area effects. But it would be a small matter to clear the flocks at need.”

  “If that’s what you recommend—”

  “What I recommend, sir, is travel formation River Snake.” Janaia was giving Khiruev an irritated look. She ignored Janaia. River Snake had negligible combat effects, and moth commanders naturally hated it. It was best for getting efficiently from one place to another in situations like this: a glorified column.

  “River Snake it is,” Jedao said, and gave the very movement orders that Khiruev had suggested on the map. “I don’t care how good Hafn manufacturing capacity is, if you can call it that. They can’t have an infinite supply of geese, whatever their method of transporting them here, or we’d be neck-deep in them.”