He hadn’t said a word.
Khiruev contemplated shooting Jedao.
Jedao wasn’t paying any attention to Khiruev, which was just as well, because Khiruev’s vision was shorting out, predictable effect of formation instinct. “This is General Jedao,” he said. “All units continue to reform by tactical group. Banner the Deuce of Gears. Engineering, I understand we’re carrying twelve threshold winnowers. Lob the lot at the Hafn and put them into dispersed orbits around the Fortress at the conventional 90% limit of phantom terrain, will you?”
Captain-engineer Miugo called the command center. “General,” he said, “we don’t have enough personnel to safely crew all the winnowers.” Because we ditched the Nirai, he didn’t say. “Recommend we step down to eight.”
“Yes, I should have figured,” Jedao said. “My apologies for being unclear. Launch all twelve uncrewed. I understand they’re fitted with remote triggers for emergencies?”
The temperature in the command center plummeted.
Threshold winnowers were indiscriminately destructive of lives, although they did not damage nonliving objects. They were also finicky to operate, hence Miugo’s concern. Jedao had notoriously used them at the massacre at Hellspin Fortress.
“We’ll waste time if we disable them first,” Jedao said, as if he hadn’t picked up on the sudden tension. “But if the Hafn are any good, they’ll spot the winnowers on scan, and they’ll know about the remote option. They’ll even know that I’m willing to pull the trigger, even if Kel Command wouldn’t be.” The corner of his mouth pulled up. “And this will go much better if they believe it’s me, not some cocked-up desperate impostor.”
The command center fell horribly quiet as they waited for Engineering to comply. Khiruev recognized, from the clipped tone of Miugo’s status reports and their frequency, that he was upset, and was hoping that Jedao would change his mind. She couldn’t imagine that Jedao himself was unaware of Miugo’s reaction. But Jedao did not seem inclined to change his mind.
The Hierarchy of Feasts launched the winnowers. Khiruev could tell to the second when the Hafn figured out what they were. The Hafn abandoned their funnel and began a rapid, well-organized withdrawal.
Jedao had put together movement orders for Tactical One, which had been the first to regain a semblance of its assigned formation. “Ah, there you are,” he said to himself.
Commander Gherion had arrived with Tactical Two. “Commander,” Jedao said, “do me a favor and bite the Hafn’s heels, will you?” He accompanied this with a transmission of more specific instructions, which Khiruev studied to calm herself. “You should be safe from that really nasty attack you just saw.” He didn’t elaborate. “Modulate formation as you deem fit.”
“We’re on it, sir,” Gherion said. The tactical group narrowed and reshaped into Black Lens, which telescoped distance. Its effects were short-lived and it damaged the moths’ drives, which made it risky, but the dire cannon barrage swooped out and raked a cluster of fleeing Hafn. Tactical Two slowed immediately afterward and modulated into a shield formation.
More orders. Jedao was giving them in a steady stream, with brief pauses to adjust to the situation as it developed. Tactical One joined the pursuit. The Hafn continued to retreat. They left shattered moths behind them, and more of the web-mines, but not so many as before.
When the final Hafn units were out of the effective range of phantom terrain, not to mention the Fortress’s guns, the Fortress switched the terrain back on. Khiruev stiffened. She could guess what was going through Commandant Mazeret’s mind. Tactical Two and most of Tactical One were clear, but the rest of Jedao’s swarm was suddenly mired.
“Tactical Three through Seven, get your asses out of there,” Jedao said. “Abandon formation if necessary. That’s a direct order. You don’t want to be stuck here if the Hafn rally. I’d better have a chat with the commandant. Communications, raise her for me.”
The cindermoth, with its more powerful drive, was having reasonable luck getting clear of the terrain. Khiruev noted with relief that the plant-growths had dissipated. However, the other, smaller moths were less fortunate. Their tactical groups had dissolved out of formation, and probably would have even without Jedao’s permission.
Commandant Mazeret was a sturdy, pasty-skinned woman who held her shoulders stiffly. Khiruev could see the image from where she was sitting. Her expression was obstinate. “I don’t recognize you,” she said curtly, “but I assume from the Deuce of Gears that you’re claiming to be General Jedao.” Insultingly, she used the inanimate form of the second person pronoun. The high language had two, inanimate and animate, although it might be argued that the former applied to a general who was listed as a part of the Kel Arsenal—a weapon—rather than as a human officer.
“That’s me,” Jedao said, smiling his tilted smile at her, “had to take the first body available.” He couldn’t be unaware of the effect that this statement had on the crew, even if it wasn’t anything that they didn’t already know. “Commandant, I appreciate that the Fortress feels naked without any clothes on, but would you mind terribly switching the terrain off again, or clearing us a path? You’re interfering with our pursuit of the enemy.”
“Damn straight I mind,” Mazeret said, biting every word off. “This is General Khiruev’s swarm, not yours.” Touching that she was using the high language’s present/future tense. “Kel Command would have informed me if you’d been deployed.”
“Commandant,” Jedao said, no longer genial, “snuff the fucking defenses already. We can kill the Hafn, but not if we can’t catch the snakefuckers.”
“Then let General Khiruev do it.”
Jedao drummed his fingers, then said to Communications, “Recall Tactical One and Two. I don’t want them to get into trouble ahead of the main swarm.” To Mazeret: “I’m awaiting an explanation, fledge.”
Mazeret’s eyes slitted. “I see two threats here. One of them is already in flight. I’m dealing with the bigger predator.”
Jedao glowered at her, then laughed. “All right,” he said, “I suppose I deserved that. Hell of a way to let an enemy slink off, though. I don’t envy you the paperwork you’re going to have to submit to Kel Command.”
Khiruev looked at him in astonishment, although Mazeret’s obstinacy should have surprised her more.
“I advise you to surrender the swarm to its appointed general before you dig yourself in any further,” Mazeret said.
“Seriously, you’re not afraid of standing in my way?”
“You might be able to sieve the Fortress,” Mazeret said, not sounding any less hostile, “but I guarantee we will make you work for it. I know my duty.”
“You could be a crashhawk,” Jedao said, scrutinizing her, “but I don’t think that’s it. Tell me, Commandant, how long have you had Kel Command fooled?”
“Still digging,” Mazeret said icily.
“I’m going to have to send the Shuos hexarch an apology with candies for making one of his operatives blow their cover,” Jedao said. “What do you suppose his favorite flavor is?”
It was a preposterous accusation, but Khiruev had to wonder. Some Shuos infiltrators, especially the ones who could change their signifiers at will, were supposedly that good. Mazeret’s subordinates might be wondering, too. If she wasn’t a Shuos who had faked her way through a Kel career, or replaced the real Mazeret, the fact that she was defying Jedao meant that she was a crashhawk. Kel Command would never tolerate a crashhawk in charge of a nexus fortress.
Crashhawks weren’t automatically disloyal. Take Lieutenant Colonel Brezan, for instance. (Khiruev was almost certain that Brezan hadn’t known himself until Jedao showed up.) The only difference between an obedient crashhawk and an ordinary Kel was that the crashhawk had a choice, and Kel Command had better things to do than test the levels of formation instinct in personnel all the time, mostly for reasons of cost. Even so, crashhawks rarely survived to any position of prominence.