Raven Stratagem (The Machineries of Empire, #2)(12)

Some choice. Brezan gathered up the materials and exited through the door into a conference room. Shuos Zehun sat alone, peering at a terminal showing what looked like a cross between an inkblot and a traffic accident.

“I suppose I died first, sir?” Brezan said, regarding the room sullenly.

“No, a few got offed after the second move,” Zehun said. “There’s always somebody. You must be wondering why you’re here.”

Brezan stiffened, wishing for body armor.

The corners of Zehun’s mouth lifted. “What, no guesses?”

“It’s un-Kel to use a loophole the way I did,” Brezan said. He couldn’t wait until this conversation ended. “I expect to be reprimanded.”

“Oh, we Shuos don’t do anything like that,” Zehun said. “If anyone botches a training scenario, we make them design the next one under supervision. Then we run it, and we make sure every cadet in the exercise knows who the scenario’s author is.”

Brezan was grateful that Kel Academy was run by Kel, who did things according to rulebooks, and not ferrets, ghosts, or Shuos. He looked at Zehun with their calm, dark face, wondering what response was expected of him.

“You’re here because your solution caught my attention,” Zehun said. “Kel spirit, un-Kel method. You remained loyal to your people by finessing the rules.”

“It still got me killed, sir,” Brezan said, although it wasn’t in his best interests to remind Zehun.

“Because it’s so surprising when a Kel fetches up dead?”

“I’m not a Kel yet, sir.”

“Details, details,” Zehun said. “Anyway, want to see how everyone is doing?” They tapped a command into the terminal.

The terminal’s display flattened, then reappeared in three dimensions over the conference table. It didn’t take any genius to realize that the Purples were slaughtering the cadets. Granted, the opponent was being run by a senior Shuos who hadn’t played fair since they were six, but Brezan had hoped for a less one-sided showing. A couple of his classmates usually excelled at tactics. What had gone wrong?

“I have information you don’t,” Zehun said. “These are the roles I assigned.” They tapped again.

Calligraphy in the same rhythmic hand imaged itself next to the purple-blotched map.

You are the crashhawk.

“Everyone got that,” Zehun said.

Brezan started, then gripped the edge of the table. “I asked about the wrong rule,” he said flatly. “If I’d asked about the right one, would you have answered, sir?”

“Doubtful,” Zehun said, eyes crinkling. “I’m an excellent liar.”

“I’m surprised we’re not destroying ourselves faster.” No one had thought to question the orders, typical Kel pathology. Since the cadets were isolated from each other, they had fallen easy prey to the trick.

Zehun zoomed in on a particularly disastrous part of the map. “Useful lesson, don’t you think? I’ll tell you something, though. Years ago at Shuos Academy Prime, we ran a similar training exercise. Infiltrators instead of Kel units doing counterinsurgency work they weren’t trained for, but same basic idea. The cadets won that round.”

“I’m sure it was a clever solution, sir,” Brezan said in his most neutral voice. What had it involved? Invisible ink? Trained messenger squirrels? Poisoning the instructor?

“Don’t look so unhappy,” Zehun said, almost kindly. “They won because one of the cadets came up with the same solution you did. The difference was, he had figured out which scenario was being run ahead of time. We have different rules about cheating, after all. He briefed the other cadets. Everyone used the solution as their first move, and from that point on they worked as a team to defeat the instructor.”

Given that the Shuos were notorious for backstabbing each other out of sheer reflex, Brezan was impressed in spite of himself.

“You didn’t have that opportunity, exactly, not just because of Kel prejudices but because my security was going to be better than any hypothetical hacking attempts. But it does raise a question I’ve been asking myself. Why did you decide to become a Kel?”

“My family, sir,” Brezan said after a damning pause.

“That’s not an explanation. I have no doubt you’ll do well, but frankly, you’ll do well if you allow yourself not to be a typical Kel. Which is going to be tough in, sorry, a society of rigorous conformists.”

Brezan fought down the urge to glare at Zehun, which probably wasn’t helping his case.

“I wouldn’t mind recruiting you for the Shuos,” Zehun said with the air of someone who knew just how terrifying their words were. “We’d be able to use you better, to say nothing of training you to hide your reactions. I hope you stay out of jeng-zai games or you’re going to lose a fortune. But I expect you’re determined to do things your own way.”

Moves were flashing at Zehun on a subdisplay. Zehun ignored them. Their voice became brisk. “Incidentally, you might be interested to know who that Shuos cadet was. His name was Vauhan Mikodez.”

Hexarch Shuos fucking Mikodez. Cadet-killer Mikodez, the most brilliant Shuos who wasn’t also a mass murderer. This was the last thing Brezan wanted to hear.

Zehun turned then to their slate. Brezan stared at those ungloved hands and swore to himself that he was going to be a boring, ordinary, unimaginative Kel like the ones in all the Kel jokes.