Ninefox Gambit (27 page)

Mikev was glad he hadn’t been assigned that duty. He felt terrible when the fragile ones blubbered. But he reminded himself not to get distracted by irrelevancies.

Eggshell was whining about grit in his eyes that he couldn’t unsuit to get at. Trigger was obsessively checking her weapons. One of these days Trigger was going to be so caught up making sure every component fit just right that she’d stand there as the heretics punched her full of holes. Mikev had a lot of theories about how his soldiers would die. It was one of the ways, like giving them nicknames, that he kept from getting too attached to them.

The attack came as the warning did, sudden pulse of heat in his forearm to indicate incoming. Incoming from where? And what? Poison gas? Surely they would have done it earlier, and it’d be easy enough to pump it out after all the Kel were dead. He didn’t hear guns, didn’t see wildfire flashes or smoke –

“Everyone stay under cover,” Mikev said, which he wished was an unnecessary order.

Trigger, who had been half out of position, was slow to respond. Mikev groaned. She was a great shot, but not very bright. He couldn’t tell what she thought she saw, but she brought her scattergun up and fired through the loophole.

Or would have fired, if the gun were working.

Mikev thought at first that the crawling sensation was horror. It couldn’t be some local parasite, not here, they’d never allow such a thing through the Fortress’s ecoscrubbers. Then he realized that the sensation came from his belt, his pack, the pistol in his hand, a disgusting itch that started to hurt in earnest.

Trigger had cast down her scattergun. There was a bizarre streaky speckiness in the air, suggesting a field effect just outside human visual range, which in turn suggested a heretical exotic.

“Everyone get rid of your weapons. Get away from them,” Mikev snapped. This was sufficiently novel that he added, “That’s a direct order.”

The crawling sensation weakened away from the guns, although Mikev wasn’t sure they wouldn’t explode messily. No, that didn’t seem to be the case. The fuck? The gun was fossilizing as he watched, making tiny shrieking sounds. It made him want to put the thing out of its misery and it wasn’t even alive.

More interesting was the fact that the grenades and power tools were unaffected. So this corrosion field was keyed to specific weapon archetypes.

Mikev had just opened the link to inform the captain when she said, before he could get anything out, “I
know
, Lieutenant, I’m not stupid. Keep your eyes peeled in case the heretics get it into their heads that they can beat Kel knives. We have orders from the colonel to hold. Out.”

Trigger looked distressed. Mikev yelled at her to get away from the corroding guns. She looked for all the world like she wanted to
hug
them better. Honestly, she was a full-grown Kel.

In the back of his head, he was convinced that the field was rotting his cells from the inside. Sometimes the universe was determined to send creeping things after you no matter how far away you stayed from planets.

“T
HEY NEED BETTER
mathematicians over there,” Cheris was saying to Commander Hazan. “Although it’s just as well.”

Hazan had some mathematical ability himself. He was poring over the formulas she had sent him.

The corrosion gradient was a nuisance, but as exotic effects went, it could have been worse. Presumably suitable modulation would let you key it to other weapon archetypes. All you needed was generators set up in the right places.

Cheris and Hazan had been studying the problem. The heretics had used the gradient to corral the Kel. While the Kel were capable of going in with their fists, Cheris preferred to use that as a last resort. She had hoped for useful reports from the Shuos infiltrators, but nothing decisive had come in yet.

Jedao had been unusually quiet when the infiltrators’ reports started coming in, except when one described some of the heretics’ calendar values.

“Any way to find out if they’re doing anything new and exciting with their remembrances?” Jedao had asked ironically. “One does wish sometimes for some creativity.”

Obligingly, Cheris had dug around until she found the answer. “No, they’re doing the same basic thing we do, just with different numbers and different tortures,” she said, and he had lost interest.

Cheris had taken a painkiller for the headache she was developing when Communications sat up straighter and said, “Message from the Fortress, sir.”

“Pass it over,” Cheris said.

“It’s a full recording.”

“High time we see a face,” Jedao said. “Not that I’m one to speak.”

“Play it,” Cheris said. Her pulse sped up. She reminded herself to take deep breaths.

The image showed a woman. Her hair was an unusual light brown, her skin pale. She had done up her hair in complicated braids that wound around the sides of her head and were fastened by gold pins. Her clothes were white with buttons of gold filigree.

“A Liozh, all right.” Jedao sounded torn between bitterness and exasperation. The same ancient grievance he wouldn’t talk about earlier? But the recording was already talking.

“I am Liozh Zai, representing the people of the Fortress,” the woman said. Her voice was strong and precise. “We are no longer content to endure the hexarchs’ tyranny, to believe only the things they say we should believe, to reckon time only in the ways they say we should reckon time. We are no longer reconciled to the destruction of heresies or the removal of our right to self-determination. We are expecting reinforcements shortly. You have 75 of our hours – 108.9 of your own – to withdraw your troops and leave. Otherwise our allies will show you no mercy.”

That was all. Cheris had expected more bluster and said as much.

“You’re not paying attention to the right words,” Jedao said. “She said ‘representing.’ That wasn’t marketing research they were doing, that was polling. She claims to be sitting on a nascent democracy.”

“A what?”

Jedao sighed. “An obscure experimental form of government where citizens choose their own leaders or policies by voting on them.”

Cheris tried to imagine this and failed. How could you form a stable regime this way? Wouldn’t it destroy the reliability of the calendar and all its associated technology?

“That was the rest of the heptarchate’s reaction to the Liozh heresy, I’m told. Except they used a lot of guns to express their opinion.”

A message from Shuos Ko. “I’ll hear it,” Cheris said.

“Three things, sir,” Ko said. “First, one of the infiltrators got a partial personnel dump out of a terminal before she had to scoot. The dump is weeks out of date and we’re still sifting through it, but we’re in luck. I’ve got positive identification on the speaker. She’s Inaiga Zai, a clerk who works for a Doctrine subsidiary in the Anemone Ward.”

“A clerk?” Cheris said incredulously. And one with no faction affiliation, judging by the name.

“I don’t believe it for a second either, sir. Her profile is designed to bore us to sleep, with a dash of petty embezzlement so she doesn’t look too clean.”

“I imagine all the shield operators have such cover identities,” Jedao said.

Cheris repeated this to Ko.

“No proof,” Ko said, “but I agree. Unfortunately, no lasting success putting logic worms in the Fortress’s grid, so that’s all we have on Zai.

“Second, which General Jedao may have told you already, Zai is using the Liozh ceremonial outfit as a calendrical focus. It’s odd, because only one person in six is going to be the kind of antiquarian enthusiast who’d even care –”

“Not true,” Jedao said.

Ko saw Cheris frowning and stopped speaking.

“People have trouble thinking of the Liozh as anything but failures. But there was a time when they brought something valuable to the heptarchate. They were the idealists and philosophers. They were our leaders and our conscience. No wonder they developed a taste for heresy.”

Cheris repeated this to Ko, except the first and last bits. She couldn’t reconcile Jedao’s earlier callousness with the way he spoke of the Liozh now. What did he really think of them?

“For that to show up in the Fortress’s atmospherics,” Ko said, “someone would have had to do a lot of low-media groundwork over a period of time. I’d be worried if the foreigners are that deeply entrenched.

“But the third point is possible good news, sir.” Ko’s usual implacability was replaced by a certain restrained triumph. “Properly, this should be reported by Captain Damiod, but he, ah, felt he was close to a breakthrough and asked me to do so on his behalf.”

Cheris suppressed a smile. She could interpret Nirai for “I’m busy calculating, don’t waste my time with people” as well as anyone else. “Go on,” she said.

“Captain Damiod thinks there’s a potential exploit in the way they’re encrypting their messages.” Before Cheris could ask, Ko held up a hand. “The work is preliminary and may not bear fruit. But essentially, someone screwed up. 67 Snake’s seed parameters are driven by a combination of user input – the irregular time between keystrokes – and a synchronizer set to work with a high calendar clock. When the Fortress recalibrated its time servers to conform with the heretical calendar, they forgot to rewrite the synchronizer to work with the new setup.”

“I’m not a cryptosystems specialist,” Cheris said, “but I’m guessing this isn’t a fast crack.”

“No, sir.”

“As time permits,” Cheris said, “I would like you to continue work on a dummy cryptosystem with the parameters I sent you.” Something that looked formidable but could be cracked within a reasonable period of time by a diligent attacker. “We may need it in the near future.”

“Of course, sir.” That was all.

“Sir, do you have a response for Inaiga Zai?” It was Commander Hazan, who had been replaying the message with the sound off so he could scrutinize Zai’s expressions. Zai had good control of her face and hands.

“Unfortunately, there’s not a lot you can offer Zai,” Jedao said. “The heretics know the Vidona are coming for them, and even if you were authorized to make promises, they wouldn’t believe you. Their only choice is to fight.”

“Some indication from Kel Command would be useful right now,” Cheris said aloud. “Communications, top priority message to be relayed to Kel Command.”

“Are you certain, sir?” Hazan asked.

She narrowed her eyes at him, but it was a legitimate question. “We’ve heard nothing back from Kel Command,” she said, although she had reported regularly. “With this deadline, word might not reach them in time. If we send a relay message with the right tags, there’s a chance some local general will listen in and respond. Do you wish to log an objection, Commander?”

Nerevor would have, but Nerevor was gone. Cheris suspected that Hazan would be satisfied with the offer.

She was right. “That’s not necessary, sir,” Hazan said. “I concede your logic.”

Cheris updated Kel Command on the situation, asked for further details on Inaiga Zai, and requested the status of the nearby borders. “Does that cover everything?” she asked Jedao subvocally.

“The data dump ought to take care of any lingering questions,” he said. “Might as well send it on its way.”

Communications looked at her anxiously, but did as told.

The Fortress quieted. Every so often a Shuos reported in, and even more rarely Colonel Ragath contacted the command moth, but the situation had settled into a toothy status quo. Every so often Cheris checked the plot showing Kel positions, where the heretics were standing out of the way, and the corrosion gradient’s extent.

After a while, Cheris excused herself from the command center. Three servitors escorted her, unbidden. Two were deltaforms, differentiated by yellow and purple lights, and one was a snakeform. They accompanied her into her quarters. The rooms that had seemed so oversized before scarcely registered as worthy of notice. She stopped before the ashhawk emblem, trying to find some trace of herself in the fierce raptor’s beak, the black wings, the outstretched talons. Sheathed Wings: that was all she was.

The snakeform asked if Cheris was hungry. She demurred. She could tell Jedao disapproved, even if he wasn’t saying anything. “It must be convenient to run on power cores,” she said.

The snakeform made an equivocal noise. Clearly it agreed with Jedao.

“They’re very solicitous of you,” Jedao said.

“They like company,” Cheris said subvocally. “I should think you’d understand that.”

“True.”

The response to her message came in the middle of a drama episode about, as far as she or the servitors could tell, five Kel, an Andan duelist’s telescoping hairpins, and a dinner party gone horribly wrong. The purple deltaform paused the episode for her.

“Communications, sir,” the lieutenant’s voice said from the terminal. “It’s not Kel Command –”

So much for that.

“– but there’s a signature match for Brigadier General Kel Marish, bannering the
Higher Higher Highest
. The transmission request has urgent priority, for your eyes only.”

The servitors were already clearing out.

Kel Marish of the Eyespike emblem. She had once shouted down a court-martial charging her with overly creative interpretation of orders against the Haussen heretics, and won. Cheris was remembering that her luck this entire campaign was bad.

“Send it through,” Cheris said. Of all the generals to reach.

Kel Marish wore her uniform with a casual air, even though no single crease was out of place. She had the kind of face you’d expect a card shark to develop among challenging opponents, all ascetic angles and unreadable eyes in a blunt dark face. “Brevet General Kel Cheris,” she said, not insultingly but formally. “If Kel Command hasn’t seen fit to share this information with you, I oughtn’t either, but I feel you can’t adequately discharge your duty otherwise.”

“General Marish,” Cheris said, “I’m listening. Is it true that we have an enemy swarm incoming?”

“Oh, it’s not just incoming,” Marish said. Her sneer wasn’t directed at Cheris. “We have a full-scale Hafn invasion with messy calendrical business headed toward the Fortress of Spinshot Coins. General Cherkad has been given charge of the campaign, and I’ve been pulled off sentry to assist near the Jeweled Systems.”