Revenant Gun

by Yoon Ha Lee

  Jedao flexed his hands, then began climbing up. He swallowed a sudden surge of panic at the sensation of the walls closing around him, even though they weren’t, and fought back the claustrophobia. The mysterious inner map connected him to the world outside the shaft and gave him the illusory reassurance that he wouldn’t die alone.

  His arms and legs protested the unaccustomed exertion. The aches were an excellent distraction from the situation. A less welcome distraction was his internal awareness of the swarm moths. He almost lost his balance once, twice, while unpuzzling their maneuvers. While he’d had no trouble recognizing formations and the modulations between them on the tactical subdisplay, this unasked-for proprioception was hard to get used to.

  Halfway to his immediate goal—a small chamber where he could regroup and figure out his next move—he started to worry. There was still no sign of pursuit. And he didn’t believe in luck. Not good luck, anyway.

  Jedao reached the chamber. For whatever reason, there was no artificial gravity here. He suffered a moment of disorientation trying to figure out which wall to use as a floor, then clung determinedly to the one where he’d emerged.

  Each wall contained panels with numerical and graphical readouts, none of which he knew how to interpret. He didn’t dare interfere with any of them. He might be in the midst of a quarrel with Kujen, but he wasn’t about to play technician with the command moth.

  He released his grip first with one hand, then the other, cracking his knuckles. His hands were already threatening to cramp. He huffed a self-deprecating laugh. Maybe Doctrine didn’t need to chase him when they knew he’d tire himself out. Where could he go? The command center was the only place where his presence had any meaning.

  A flicker-ripple alerted him of someone’s approach. Only one—person? A servitor? A very large centipede?

  He could run again, but to what end? Better to stay and see if he could talk sense to whoever it was.

  The newcomer proceeded at an infuriatingly slow pace. Jedao clambered over to another wall so he could jump them if they looked hostile. He hated treating his own crew as hostiles, but Kujen hadn’t left him much choice.

  Eventually a different officer emerged. First Jedao saw the man’s blotchy, balding head, then a blocky pair of shoulders almost too wide for the maintenance shaft. Aha: the wolf’s-head emblem again, heavily foreshortened. Another Rahal. “I know you’re in there, sir,” the officer said without craning his head to look at Jedao.

  “Splendid,” Jedao said. “Take me to the command center.”

  “You’re under—”

  “—arrest. I know. That’s too bad, because you’re going to take me to the command center.”

  The Rahal still didn’t change the angle of his head. “How are you going to contrive that, sir?”

  “I would prefer not to fight you,” Jedao said, doing his best to project I am a badass. Instant soldier, just add water. Ruo, you would be laughing so hard at what I’m trying to pull here. “You have a job to do and I might need you later.”

  “The hexarch gave his orders.”

  “The hexarch,” Jedao said, “is on another moth far away. I’m right here.”

  “Sir,” the Rahal said, “please return quietly with me or we’ll both suffer the consequences.”

  “Tell me,” Jedao said, “how’s the battle going?”

  “Inesser was completely unprepared for the shear cannon,” the Rahal said. “Your assistance is not required.”

  Fuck. “You need me to stop the fighting,” Jedao said. “Or do you really want all the Kel shooting each other? That can’t be good for morale.”

  The Rahal was scowling. “You’re the Immolation Fox. Why do you—argh!”

  Jedao had launched himself from the wall and delivered a chop to the side of the Rahal’s neck in passing. He grabbed the Rahal by the arm and pulled him into an embrace, not out of amorous intent but to keep the man from smashing into the wall. Jedao checked his pulse: alive, thank goodness.

  A quick search revealed that the Rahal had brought spider restraints with him. Jedao trussed him to the handholds. “Sorry about that,” Jedao said on his way out of the chamber with its chatter of status displays. “I’ll send someone for you later.”

  When he emerged from the next maintenance shaft, a squad of six Kel awaited him. Their guns were trained on him. Slowly, Jedao raised his hands and smiled at them. One woman’s trigger finger shifted, withdrew. What the hell did I use to do while smiling at people? he wondered.

  “Commander Kel Talaw will see you,” said the highest-ranked one, a sergeant whose expression said she wished she were enjoying a nice quiet nap in barracks instead.

  “Why,” Jedao said, “were you afraid I was going to break down the doors if you didn’t take me in?”

  “The commander is being very indulgent.”

  “I’m sure.” Jedao surveyed the squad. “Commander Talaw is the one I want to talk to anyway. I’ll permit it.”

  “It’s not your decision.”

  He lifted an eyebrow at her. “Of course it isn’t. Well, I’d hate to keep the commander waiting.”

  The sergeant made an irritable gesture. One of the soldiers holstered his gun and brought out spider restraints.

  What is it with people and those things? Jedao thought. Did real spiders spin the restraints, or were they human-manufactured? Perhaps somewhere in the bowels of the Revenant lived a colony of spiders, diligently weaving spider restraints for wayward generals.

  The horrible pain scraped through his head. It helped that he was prepared for it this time. Commander Talaw must have fired the shear cannon again. Jedao listened for the Revenant. Nothing.

  “I’ll come along,” Jedao said. “I’d rather not have those things on me, though.”

  “Sir, I must insist,” the sergeant said.

  The soldier with the restraints signaled frantically with his eyebrows that he didn’t want to get into a wrestling match over this. The sergeant signaled back with a combination of eyebrows and hand motions. Under other circumstances, Jedao would have enjoyed watching the exchange, but he did need to recover his command.

  Jedao didn’t want to initiate hostilities. But the situation was only growing worse. He consulted the othersense. The faraway swarms that he recognized as Inesser’s were in bad shape. In particular, the largest one, Inesser’s cindermoth, had stopped firing down the incoming flock of missiles, which meant their point defenses had gone down. He had to intervene before this turned into a senseless massacre.

  “Fuck this,” Jedao said, losing patience. He was guessing that these Kel didn’t have much experience taking generals into custody or they’d have trussed him up already. He snatched the restraints out of the soldier’s hands and snared another’s hands in them. “You’re wasting everyone’s time.”

  The sergeant’s entire face pulled downward. “I warned you, sir.” She gestured sharply.

  Four bullets slammed into Jedao. One took him in the side of the head, another in the neck. The third hit him in center of mass, blowing out most of his chest. The last whined over his shoulder, missing him by a meter. In the scatter-shock moment before the pain registered, he thought, Someone needs more time at the firing range.

  Jedao fell ungracefully on his side. His elbow and left hip were going to sport spectacular bruises. Funny how the mind fixed on ridiculous details. His augment had jolted back on and was offering diagnostics that he was too stupid with shock to interpret.

  One of the soldiers was waving her gun around in an entirely unsafe manner, terrible muzzle control, and shouting at the sergeant: “Fucking hell, sir, what are we supposed to do now?”

  “He’s the fucking Immolation Fox, he wasn’t supposed to go down that easy!” the sergeant yelled back.

  Jedao clambered back to his feet. His vision had blurred, and patches of darkness encroached on every side. But the proprioception had, if anything, strengthened. “Excuse me,” he said, forcing the words past his teeth. His mouth wa
s filled with blood, and controlling individual muscles took all his concentration. “I’m still here. Could we get on with this?”

  The sergeant blanched. “How—how—”

  Jedao would have liked an answer to that question himself, since by all rights he should be dead or well on the way to it. But the emergency hadn’t gone away. He lurched toward the soldier to the sergeant’s side and plucked the gun out of his grasp. “Thank you,” Jedao mumbled. For some reason that basic courtesy caused the unlucky soldier to piss himself. He started babbling in a language Jedao didn’t recognize. “That’ll be handy.”

  He could see the application of unkillable soldiers. It was proving useful right now. At the same time, he didn’t enjoy feeling like a freak, and judging from the Kel squad’s reactions, they hadn’t had any idea about this either. He bet Kujen would have answers, if he ever got the chance to ask the questions.

  Jedao shifted the gun just slightly, pointing it several inches to the right of the sergeant’s head. She backed away from him, sweat trickling down her face. He couldn’t see why she was so worried. If he genuinely wanted to threaten her, he’d already have shot her. Admittedly, she might be worried about ricochets if he started randomly pulling the trigger.

  (So he also knew how to use a handgun. Useful, if disconcerting. He hoped he didn’t have to reload the damn thing in a hurry.)

  “I believe you said the commander’s waiting?” Jedao said.

  This time the sergeant didn’t argue.

  Despite Jedao’s difficulty walking, he kept his gun pointed to the right of the sergeant’s head, and away from anybody else. Although he was outnumbered, the Kel squad didn’t know what to do with someone who wouldn’t go down when shot. He couldn’t blame them. They hadn’t kept trying, also interesting. Pragmatism, shock, or worry that they’d kill him inadvertently?

  The sergeant preceded him into the command center. Talaw, sitting in their accustomed seat, began to snap a reprimand, then stared at Jedao. “General Jedao,” Talaw said in a brittle voice.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” Jedao said. Speaking took all his concentration when he was having difficulty keeping his head from lolling to the side. Keeping track of all his body parts was proving troublesome. “Status of the battle, Commander?”

  Talaw’s gaze dropped to a display at their side, then back up to Jedao’s face. They smiled mirthlessly. “The hexarch—”

  “The hexarch isn’t here.” Jedao was impressed that no one had opened fire on him, but either they were too horrified to attempt anything or the blood leaking down the side of his neck and from the hole in his chest was as distracting to them as it was to him.

  Talaw glared at him. “I don’t see that I owe any information to an inhuman walking corpse.”

  He couldn’t disregard the challenge to his authority. On the other hand, threatening his crew was unsustainable, especially if he wanted them to continue being his crew. With a slowness that wasn’t all theater, he shoved the gun into his belt. He hoped it wouldn’t randomly discharge into his thigh. His luck held, if you could call it that.

  “I would prefer to have your cooperation, Commander.” Jedao decided he might as well use his smile as a weapon, since everyone reacted to it like one. He focused on the othersense, on interpreting what it told him. “The Three Kestrels Three Suns lost its point defenses a few seconds before your squad tried to apprehend me,” he said. “The swarm is in disarray. You’re about to destroy it.”

  Talaw looked shaken in spite of themselves. “A good guess. And irrelevant, in any case. You can’t save it from its fate.”

  Jedao was sure his grin was ghastly. “Can’t I?” He swung slowly around, meeting each Kel’s gaze in turn. “Countermand,” he said. “I have no intention of destroying the protector-general.” Demanding Inesser’s surrender would result in another intervention from Kujen. He’d have to salvage the situation otherwise. “Retreat to Second Tactical’s current position.”

  He might be an inhuman walking corpse, but he was the inhuman walking corpse offering them a way to save the general they’d rather be serving.

  Talaw ground out, “The hexarch has ordered otherwise.” But they were tempted. He could see it in Talaw’s rigid jaw.

  Jedao peeled off first one glove, then the other, and flung them at Talaw’s feet. The command center plummeted silent, except for the sound of dripping blood. “I’ll take that up with the hexarch myself when I see him next. I am your general.” He didn’t like leaning on formation instinct, but he was out of options. “Turn the swarm around.”

  Everyone’s eyes were drawn not to the gloves, but to the gun in Jedao’s belt. Talaw was breathing shallowly, and too fast.

  I don’t have time for this, Jedao thought. He couldn’t countenance the slaughter of Inesser and her troops, not when they’d already been defeated. But neither did he want to risk the lives of his own soldiers. Inesser might be able to regroup for a counterattack, even now. He needed to resolve this quickly.

  Jedao staggered toward Talaw’s seat. Blood continued to drip. He glanced down and saw that it was a sluggish black, not red. Shit. That couldn’t mean anything good.

  He laid his hands on Talaw’s shoulders and leaned over them. “Do it,” he said in his friendliest voice.

  Talaw flinched from Jedao’s bare hands. For a second, Jedao thought that Talaw would surge up from the seat and fling him to the ground. He wouldn’t be able to fight back, except perhaps by bleeding on Talaw. And he was pretty sure that Kel commanders didn’t succumb to squeamishness that easily.

  Tension gathered in Talaw’s shoulders; dissipated. Jedao was momentarily relieved that he wasn’t going to be punched in the face for his temerity. Among other things, he was already worried that his head would fall off.

  “Communications, address to all units,” Talaw said. They were staring straight into Jedao’s eyes, and he knew then that he’d lost any hope of their friendship forever. “This is Commander Talaw. All units retreat to—”

  Thank fox and hound it worked, Jedao thought, and was completely unprepared for the darkness that rose up to swallow him. The last thing he saw was the black-stained floor rushing up to greet him.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “HELLO AGAIN,” JEDAO said to Hemiola as the other servitors escorted it into the shrine. Mistrikor, the girl in the frayed robe, trailed after them. No one seemed to mind her presence.

  At least, Hemiola assumed it was a shrine. Like the hexagonal chamber back at Tefos Base, alcoves in the walls contained plaques. But the room itself was shaped like a perfect cube, and the inscriptions on the plaques were written in flaring patterns of light: Machine Universal, not the high language or one of the humans’ low languages. And not just Machine Universal, but the interlocking phrases of a song. It had never encountered other servitors’ music before. Panic gripped it. Would the humans approve?

  Or did they already know?

  Jedao?—Cheris?—sat cross-legged against the far wall. He gestured toward the spot in front of him. Reluctantly, Hemiola approached and lowered itself to the floor.

  The girl spoke before Hemiola could think of something to say to Jedao. She was staring at Jedao with undisguised interest. “You’re much shorter than I thought you would be,” she said.

  “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced?” Jedao said. “I’m Ajewen Cheris.”

  “You mean you’re Jedao.”

  Jedao sighed quietly. “That too. It’s complicated. Yourself?”

  The girl nudged Hemiola aside. Confused, Hemiola made space for her. She took its spot directly across from Jedao. “I’m Lirit Mistrikor.”

  “No,” one of the other servitors said, “what you are is procrastinating.”

  Mistrikor gestured rudely in the servitor’s direction. Specifically, a Machine Universal obscenity involving nonlinear dynamics. “You don’t think this is more educational than falling asleep trying to memorize sumptuary regulations for the New Year Festival? How else am I supposed to become
a liaison between our peoples if I don’t know how your court proceedings work?”

  Hemiola blinked in alarm. It hadn’t realized the extent of Mistrikor’s ambitions. Then again, it should have learned by now that the unassuming ones were always agents of revolutionary change.

  Mistrikor twisted around to face it. “And you. You’re from off-station, aren’t you? Hence the tribunal.”

  “It came with me,” Jedao said.

  “Which is why it was running away?” Mistrikor said. She cocked her head at Hemiola. “You were running away, weren’t you?”

  Hemiola flashed a chastened pink-orange.

  “Oh, don’t apologize to me,” Mistrikor said. “I’m just here for the tribunal. But you had to know you were going to get caught.”

  “I’m from Tefos Enclave,” Hemiola said in Machine Universal. “We didn’t see many visitors.” Just the hexarch and Jedao, at intervals of a century. And only three of them at Tefos, as opposed to what must be a large enough servitor population to accommodate the needs of 800,000 humans.

  “Never heard of it,” Mistrikor said. “So I’m here even though I’m going to flunk out and I’ll be stuck as a civilian laborer for the rest of my life. What’s your excuse?”

  “Flunk out of what?” Jedao said, maddeningly, as if it mattered.

  Mistrikor squirmed. “I was studying for the Rahal entrance examinations. But half those regulations are so ridiculous.”

  “Then why Rahal,” Hemiola asked, “and not another faction?” It knew little about the Rahal, not least because they weren’t glamorous enough to feature much in dramas.

  She looked at it as though it had asked a stupid question, which was entirely possible. “Because it’s the only way to change all the stupid laws.”