“Shit,” Jedao said to the room. Why hadn’t it woken him earlier? He used up seven minutes taking a shower. Trying to do so while not looking too closely at his body, because it freaked him out, proved awkward. When he emerged, he discovered that someone had added more underwear to the dresser while he was asleep, also disconcerting. Disturbingly, the uniform had pressed and cleaned itself during the shower. Did it have instructions to eat him if he misbehaved? Despite his misgivings, he put it back on.
Combing his hair took no time, so he used the next four-odd minutes reviewing the speech he had put together for the Kel, in case Kujen planned to introduce him to them soon. It would go over as well as a bullet to the belly, but not giving a speech would be worse. He was sure the Kel liked speeches. After familiarizing himself with the strategic overview, the swarm’s status, and Kujen’s objectives, he’d spent a great deal of time making the speech as concise as possible without leaving anything important out.
Kujen arrived on schedule. The grid didn’t announce him; the door simply opened. Jedao had expected this. What he hadn’t expected was Kujen’s companion, a massive man even taller than Kujen was. His coal-dark skin made Kujen look even more pallid. He wore the Kel uniform with a certain matter-of-fact dignity. The four-claw insignia of a major gleamed from his left breast.
The major looked straight at Jedao. His eyes widened. Then he saluted, very correctly, although his gaze flickered to Jedao’s half-gloves. Shouldn’t the Shuos eye in his insignia explain everything?
Unless I’m a clone and the original is supposed to be dead? Jedao wondered. Had the major known the original Jedao?
The barest flicker in the major’s eyes suggested, if not distaste, a healthy ambivalence. Jedao groaned inwardly. He couldn’t blame the major, who no doubt hated being saddled with a stranger, but that didn’t mean he was looking forward to working with people who disliked him.
Kujen, decadent in a black satin jacket framing a gray brocade shirt, smiled down at Jedao. Silver rings glinted in both ears, and strands of pearls and onyx beads circled his throat. “I’ve brought you your aide,” he said. “Major Kel Dhanneth. I thought this would be a good time to make you a gift of him.”
The major’s expression didn’t waver, but Jedao said, “Kujen, I’m not sure people are gifts?”
“As idealistic as ever,” Kujen said fondly. “Suit yourself. Will you at least let the major join us for breakfast? Or are you going to consign him to Kel food? Since you care about details like that.”
Jedao finally remembered to return the Kel’s salute, feeling like an impostor. “Major Dhanneth. Er, at ease.”
“Yes, sir,” Dhanneth said in a rumble. Dhanneth’s eyes were no longer so wide, but they tracked Jedao with eerie intensity. Jedao wondered if he’d imagined that hint of distaste.
“Do you have an opinion on breakfast?”
The question threw Dhanneth. After a moment, he said, “I will eat whatever you wish me to, sir.”
“I can’t argue with your priorities,” Jedao said, deciding that smiling at Dhanneth would only spook him. “Kujen, I assume you’re the one with preferences, so pick something.”
“You’re going to insist on eating at high table once we get underway,” Kujen said, “so we might as well indulge while we can.” He took the same seat he had yesterday and summoned up a menu.
Jedao pulled up a chair for Dhanneth, meaning only to be polite. Dhanneth raised an eyebrow, and Jedao was reminded that he theoretically outranked Dhanneth. “Go ahead,” Jedao said, since done was done. “Sit.”
“As you like, sir.” Dhanneth did so, and continued to regard Jedao intently.
No help for it. Jedao waited for Kujen to pause over some decision—the beverages?—then said, “What about staff?”
From Dhanneth’s sudden tension, he’d asked the wrong question, or a right one.
“This swarm was originally commanded by a lieutenant general and two brigadier generals,” Kujen said. “I had to remove the lieutenant general, so the swarm is yours now.”
“Remove” didn’t sound good. Unfortunately, he’d already screwed up by mentioning the matter in front of Dhanneth, who needed to perceive his leadership as being united.
Huh. How did I know that? More evidence of the years of experience he couldn’t remember?
“That being said,” Kujen murmured, eyelashes lowering as he looked sideways at Dhanneth, “you will have access to staffers, yes. It would be difficult to manage a swarm of this size otherwise. And you should rely on the major for assistance. He is well-versed in these matters.” He returned to the beverage list and made a pleased noise when he spotted something promising. He put in the order. The grid acknowledged in its usual calm voice.
Jedao wanted to talk to Kujen in private before he stepped into any more minefields, but it would be unkind to send Dhanneth away unfed. “Do you know why you’re here?” he asked Dhanneth, meaning besides the obvious.
Dhanneth’s brows lowered. “I’m awaiting your orders, sir, like everyone else.”
“Two things,” Jedao said. Might as well get this over with. “They’re related. I’m going to need advice on how the Kel do things. This is because my memory is damaged.”
Kujen’s head came up, but he didn’t intervene.
“As you say, sir,” Dhanneth said. His shoulders had tensed, but the motion was subtle. If Jedao hadn’t been watching for a reaction, he might have missed it.
Jedao had expected more of a reaction than that. He couldn’t imagine that the Kel usually went around with brain-damaged generals. “And another thing,” he said. Maybe this question would tell him something more useful. “These gloves seem to hold some significance to you. Tell me about them.”
He hadn’t expected such a strong response to a question about a regulation item of clothing. You’d think he’d asked Dhanneth to kill himself with a wooden spoon. Dhanneth looked at him, then at Kujen, then at him again.
“For love of stars above,” Kujen said to Jedao, “I didn’t expect you to be so direct about it.”
“What the hell is it about these gloves anyway?” Jedao demanded.
“You might as well tell him,” Kujen said to Dhanneth. His cynical tone suggested he’d known this would happen. What was he trying to prove?
Dhanneth squared his shoulders. “Sir,” he said quietly, “stop me when I’m saying things you already know. You’re the last person to wear that style of glove in the Kel military. Before—before you died.”
“I feel alive, thanks,” Jedao said to cover his discomfort. “Unless I’m a clone?”
“No,” Kujen said. “Plenty of parents choose clones or clone-mods to produce children. But genetics isn’t prophecy, and you wouldn’t have the original’s personality and skills. After you died, I was able to revive you and reinject you with the memories that Cheris hadn’t purloined. That’s all.”
So much for that theory. Jedao said, “I thought all seconded personnel—” Something from the Kel military code flickered at the edge of his consciousness, then evaporated before he could bring it into focus.
Dhanneth hesitated, then said, “Seconded personnel adopted gray gloves after what you did, sir. Because of the connotations.”
Suddenly Jedao suspected that he was going to enjoy this discussion even less than Dhanneth was. “Say it straight out. What did I do?”
“Hellspin Fortress,” Dhanneth said, as if that explained everything.
“Why, what happened with the Lanterners?” Oh no. “They went heretic at a bad time?” But what did that have to do with him? Maybe he’d been sent to fight them? “I lost humiliatingly against them?” Except hadn’t Kujen said—