Code of Conduct

by Kristine Smith

  There were no right words for this, either. “We heard gossip out here in the beyond. That you and Lyssa had problems.”

  “Yes, we did. For the most part, however, our marriage functioned.”

  “Sounds mechanical.”

  “Most Family marriages are.” Evan’s eyes glinted. Sapphires in snow. “I don’t recall you as the type to be drawn in by rumor.”

  “Rumors blossom and seed all the time. They don’t all result in the convention of a Court of Inquiry.”

  “I told you, Cao and Ulanova want me out.”

  “You must have really ticked them off.”

  “I don’t quite have your talent for alienating the opposition, but I’m working on it.”

  “There’s something you didn’t tell me. Something you left out.”

  “And what could that be?”

  Jani leaned more heavily against the urinal. She could feel the cold porcelain through her thin coverall. As cold as her right hand. As cold as the chill that gripped her.

  “Is something wrong, Jan?”

  “This concerns Knevçet Shèràa, doesn’t it?”

  “I don’t know. But I bet you could find out.”

  “You bastard. You set me up.”

  “No, I gave you A and B and let you reach the logical C. The setup was all yours.” Evan glanced at his timepiece. “We better get going.” He pushed himself off the counter, then turned to wash his hands. “I’m sorry, Jan, but if I’d mentioned Knevçet Shèràa back on Whalen, you’d have bolted. I couldn’t let you do that.”

  “What am I walking into?”

  “Nothing that endangers you. I’m the one in trouble. You’re assumed dead, remember?” Evan gripped the rim of the sink. “Jani, your own family wouldn’t know you. That’s how different you look. Hell, I didn’t know you.” He reached blindly for a dispo towel. “And I knew you better than anyone.”

  “Better not call me ‘Jani’ anymore. Stick to Risa.” Jani tossed her bottles into her bag and gave her eyes one last check in the mirror. “I don’t speak Josephani, you know.”

  “It’s like High Dutch.”

  “Oh, that narrows it down. Thanks.”

  Evan unlatched the door. “We’re going to walk past a lot of red between here and the shuttle. Will you make it?”

  “Yes. I’ll just get a bit wound-up. I’ll be fine.” Jani waited for him to raise the all clear, then followed him into the hall. “Well, that brought back memories.”

  Evan paused in mid-step, eyes widening as he remembered. “That play. At the Consulate Hall. Becket. Intermission. The ladies’ was crowded, and you barged in and—”

  “Told you to shut up and guard the door. That’s how we met.” She patted his arm. “You still guard doors pretty well.”

  They both laughed, a little too loudly and a little too long. Evan offered her his arm as they walked to the elevator bank, then bowed like a gallant as the door opened, gesturing for her to enter first. The other occupants smiled at them, as though the little show had brightened their day.

  You set me up, Evan. Jani stepped to the rear of the half-filled elevator and tried not to flinch as he crowded beside her.

  Knevçet Shèràa. Not a day goes by that I don’t think—She leaned against the rear of the car, closed her filmed eyes, and clenched her numb left hand.

  “I guess you could consider this a working vacation,” Evan said. He nodded curtly to the steward who bustled past him, towing Jani’s luggage in a hand-skimmer.

  Correction—Risa’s luggage. Jani shook her head in disbelief as the steward disappeared into her bedroom to stash the seven brown trueleather bags in her closet.

  “I’ll unpack while you’re at dinner, ma’am,” he said as he took his leave, all silver-blond hair and flashing smile. Jani returned the smile to the best of her ability, then turned back to Evan to find him glaring at her.

  “But don’t get carried away with the vacation part.” He walked across the large sitting room and flopped into a lounge chair. “Of course, I don’t think I have enough work to keep you occupied for five weeks, and what you do in your off time is your own…affair.” He smoothed the front of his black uniform tunic and fixed his sights on the wall opposite.

  “I’ll try to keep the orgies to a minimum, sir,” Jani replied quietly.

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “I know exactly what Your Excellency meant. I think I should take this opportunity to remind Your Excellency that, considering certain situations in which I have found myself in the past, if I had been the type to think with my pussy, I’d have been dead years ago.”

  “Ja—” Evan stopped himself. He rose slowly. “Risa. How vividly put. My apologies. I should know better.”

  “I think with my head,” Jani continued. “If it sees the way clear, that is of course a different story.”

  Evan gaped. He seemed to have trouble deciding what to do with his hands, finally shoving them into his pants pockets. The move caused his tunic to bunch unministerially over his hips. “Dinner,” he finally said. “My private dining room. One hour after breakaway. We will have company.” He eyed Jani’s coverall, an overlarge, chalk brown item she’d liberated from the Whalen transport’s lost lambs bin. “We should dress.”

  “Yes, sir.” Jani returned Evan’s cool smile and followed him to the door. “Label the forks, so I know which one to use when,” she added as he stepped into the hall. The door closed before he could reply, but not before he had shown he hadn’t lost his capacity to redden alarmingly.

  Jani knocked against the door with her forehead. Too late to bolt now. The Arapaho was in prebreakaway lockdown—she’d have to trip a hazard alarm. I’ve done that before. But not on a Cabinet-class ship. They had Service crews aboard to put out their fires. She’d be up to her ass in steel blue before the klaxons stopped screaming.

  I’m jumping ship at Padishah. She made a circuit of her cabin sitting room, a posh retreat in pale yellow and cream, scanning the shelves and cabinets for anything she could hock. She was examining the contents of an étagère with a pawnbroker’s eye when she heard the door open.

  “Ma’am.” Her steward stood in the entry holding a bottle-filled tray. “Do you require any assistance before dinner?”

  Jani straightened. “No. Thank you.”

  “I thought you might like something to drink.”

  “Fine.” She nodded, larcenous hands locked behind her back.

  “A jeune marie?”

  “Fine.” What the hell’s a “young mary”?

  The young man filled a small glass to the brim with a garnet-colored liquid and handed it to Jani. She raised the drink to her lips, hoping to get rid of him by downing it quickly, when the odor of berries filled her nose.

  “Do you like it, ma’am?” His voice held stewardly anxiety. “It’s new. From Serra.”

  “A ‘jeune marie’ is a kind of berry, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Is everything—”

  “Everything’s fine. Please go now. I need to get ready.” She fought down a yell as he took his time gathering up his tray and waited for the door to close before sinking into the nearest chair. Her stomach burned. Her hand trembled, causing a stream of red beadlets to slosh over the glass’s rim onto the carpet. She hurried to the bathroom, poured the reeking liqueur into the sink, and flushed it down until she could smell only water.

  Evan’s on his own—I’m jumping ship at Padishah. He didn’t need her to get him through his crisis—he was far from vanquished politically. Or personally, for that matter. He had certainly dealt with his own deaths better than she had with hers.

  Coping? You’re kidding.

  Closure? No, her wounds had gaped for eighteen years.

  You’d have to execute one hell of an inside-out to set Knevçet Shèràa straight, Kilian. She wasn’t that limber anymore.

  Jani sat on the edge of the bathtub and unclasped her boots. But Evan thinks I deserve a second chance. Of course, since he felt his c
areer was in jeopardy, he’d say anything to get her to help. Just as he’d withhold anything he thought might scare her away. He thinks in terms of distance to goal and whether goal had been achieved or lost. Always the pragmatist. Even as a young Consulate deputy, his first time away from home, with every opportunity to go off track, he always kept his eye on the ball.

  So? Maybe Evan didn’t mean what he’d said about second chances. It didn’t follow that it wasn’t true. All her records were in secured storage on Earth. Maybe there was something she could learn, something she could discover that would make it not hurt as much. Something she could use to help Evan, and, just possibly, herself.

  I don’t think like that anymore. Every time I try to help, I fuck up. I’m jumping ship at Padishah. She started undoing the fasteners of her coverall. Her hands stilled. No, I’m not. Evan had been right. After almost twenty years, her Family boy still knew her very well. She pondered that disquieting thought as she headed for the bedroom to mine something presentable from the depths of Risa’s luggage.

  In contrast to the interior of Jani’s cabin, the Arapaho hallways were simple: undecorated walls of light grey composite, floors of dark grey, footstep-muffling lyno.

  Jani hurried after her guide, a frazzled mainline Spacer First Class who had apparently been instructed to bring Ms. Tyi to dinner without delay. Her hip twinged with every step. The outfit she wore, a tight, one-shoulder, floor-length column dress in dark blue, had not been her first choice. Or her second. Or her eighth.

  Seven damned bags of clothes, and none of them fit! Jani tugged at the dress again as she struggled to keep up with the sensibly booted SFC. Her own sensible boots were hiding beneath her bed—cowards that they were. Her current footwear—strappy, metallic-colored, and high-heeled—had been spared a one-way trip down the disposal chute solely because they were the only shoes in her possession that kept the dress from dragging on the floor.

  She and Evan were going to have to discuss hazard pay.

  The rough polycotton strap of Jani’s duffel bit into the skin of her bare shoulder. Her choice of handbag might cause raised eyebrows among her dinner companions, but she didn’t care. Some things, a woman kept with her at all times. Like her shooter, for example. She straightened as best she could in her impossible shoes. It had been a very long time since she’d had to look this polished.

  “Here we are, ma’am.” The SFC slid to a halt before a double-wide set of sliders embossed with the Interior seal and knocked sharply. The doors opened immediately. She mumbled, “Good evening, sir,” and bolted around the nearest corner just as Evan, resplendent in formal black, stepped out into the hall.

  “Well, this is a change for the better!” His face lit up as he held out his arm. “I picked that dress,” he added as he led her inside. “I must say, I have excellent taste.”

  Jani tugged at the gown’s rear. “It’s too tight.” The back of her neck tingled as Evan lagged behind to take in the view.

  “No, not a bit,” he said. “Just confirms you still have a waist. Judging from your previous attire, I’d given it up for lost.” As they walked through the sitting room, Jani heard Evan clear his throat. “Can’t say I agree with that purse, though.”

  “Bugger,” she said as she strode on ahead. The dark green and silver suite was furnished with a tasteful, expensive blend of ornate modern and stark antique. She swallowed a comment that it was larger than some homes in which she’d lived as the odors coming from the dining room made her mouth water. Her step quickened. God, I’m starved! Over the past few months, it seemed she could never get enough to eat.

  She pulled up short as she entered the dining room. Evan’s steadying hand gripped her numb left arm as two pairs of eyes stared in surprise. Jani managed a composed smile. She recognized her dinner companions from the postings in various Guv Halls. Maybe this dress wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

  Evan pushed past her. “Risa, I’d like to introduce two of the more important members of my staff.” He nodded toward a tall, dark blond man dressed in a dandyish, pale lilac dinner suit. “This is Durian Ridgeway, my Documents chief.”

  Jani forced herself to extend her hand as Ridgeway pursed his lips and looked her slowly up and down. “Ms. Tyi.” The soft cast of his boyish features was offset by the glitter of his blue eyes. “I’ve looked forward to meeting you.” His accent was clipped and difficult to place.

  Earth British, Jani decided. She’d thought New Manx, at first, but no self-respecting Manxman would have allowed himself to be seen wearing the curious wad of bright purple braiding Ridgeway had fashioned into a neckpiece. Clotted octopus, she thought. Maybe it indicated a sense of humor?

  Ridgeway beckoned to a slight young woman who appeared lost amid the furniture. “This is my deputy, Angevin Wyle.”

  Angevin stepped forward. Her outfit, a fitted copper gauze gown with matching nosebleed heels, seemed to be giving her trouble as well. Jani studied her face. Wide-spaced mossy green eyes, carrot red curls shot through with gold, stubborn chin, all combined to uncover long-buried memories.

  I attended school with your father. Hansen Wyle and I were going to change worlds, once. She accepted Angevin’s subdued greeting. Then it all fell apart.

  Evan herded them toward the dinner table, where a first course of glistening vegetable jellies coddled in crushed ice awaited. “I’m glad we could meet now,” he said as he helped Jani with her chair. “I don’t think we could afford to delay until we returned to Earth.”

  “Perhaps not, Ev,” Ridgeway agreed grudgingly as he assisted Angevin with her chair. “I’m just hesitant to leave documents of this nature aboard an unsecured vessel.” He nodded toward the sideboard, where an anodized metal documents case rested.

  Jani noted the large case’s double touchlocks and felt a pleasant shiver of anticipation. She hadn’t had the opportunity to handle close-controlled paper since her Service days.

  “If you consider the Arapaho unsecured, Durian, we are in trouble.” Evan speared a tan star-shape with a narrow, two-pronged fork and ferried the wobbly morsel to his mouth. “But I prefer to believe that in this, as in so many things, you are erring on the side of caution.”

  “Perhaps.” Ridgeway tried repeatedly to snag a quivering orange sphere, but the tidbit kept sliding off his fork. “These méduse,” he said with a nervous chuckle. “I always have trouble eating these things.”

  “It’s probably afraid of your neckpiece,” Angevin Wyle said as she executed an expert forking. She chewed thoughtfully, expression placid, the look in her eyes as flinty as the documents case’s finish.

  Evan coughed and reached for his wineglass. “It is a bit much, Durian.”

  Ridgeway fingered his garish neckwear and smiled. Lips only. The sidelong glare he gave Angevin promised a stern lecture behind closed, soundproofed doors.

  Thy father’s daughter. Jani looked down at her plate to hide her grin. The Arapaho suddenly felt very homey.

  CHAPTER 4

  The balance of the meal passed uneventfully. Make that the imbalance. Embers of conversation sparked fitfully, only to die. Except for her single instance of fashion commentary, Angevin remained silent. Ridgeway was sociable, though guarded, while Evan alternated between expansiveness and distraction as the synergistic effects of lack of sleep and generous servings of five varieties of wine took hold. He had always enjoyed his liquor, but you’d think he’d have known better.

  Now is not the time, Evan. After-dinner iced water in hand, Jani left the three behind to talk, or in Angevin’s case, listen, shop. She examined the artwork in Evan’s sitting room, then paused before an official portrait of the Interior Minister and his late wife. Evan looked thin and worn. His dress tunic hung on his slim frame like woven lead. Lyssa, also in black, appeared drawn and pale. Neither had made any attempt to smile.

  “That was taken almost three years ago, a short time after the children died.” Durian Ridgeway drew alongside. The tiny glass he held contained a bright pink, p
resumably lethal, liqueur. “Too soon, in my opinion. They both look ill. It’s not the kind of image you want to see scattered throughout the Commonwealth.”

  Jani glanced into the dining room. Evan was holding forth and gesturing broadly as a seated Angevin Wyle stared and nodded like someone in a trance. Bewitching, isn’t he? Even after all these years. You’d think I’d have acquired immunity by now. “Pity Evan and Lyssa couldn’t time their tragedies better.”

  Ridgeway’s eyebrows arched. “I’m sure I sound harsh, but that is part of my job. To observe, monitor, see things which perhaps His Excellency would miss.” He drew closer. Jani forced herself to stand still as he brushed against her bare shoulder. “Well, Ms. Tyi, this must all be a big change for you. From a little post on Hortensia to a Cabinet-class ship, all in a matter of weeks. But, you know what they say.” He mumbled a few sentences, of which she recognized little and understood nothing.

  Servir? Servirat? I’ll bet that’s Josephani. Her supposed native language, of which she knew zip. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Ridgeway?”

  “Would you like me to repeat it, Ms. Tyi?”

  “Judging from your accent, I don’t think it would help.”

  He pressed closer. Jani felt his breath in her ear as his chest pushed against her left arm. The numb one. All she felt was the pressure. “If you couldn’t understand that, understand this. The contents of the files I will be turning over to you, if revealed, could shake the Commonwealth to its foundations. If anything happens to that paper while it’s registered to your control, I will not rest until I personally grind you to fine powder with my bare hands.”

  “No need to be melodramatic, Mr. Ridgeway.”

  “I have been with Evan for fifteen years. Since I left school, my primary duty has been to him. I will not stand by and watch everything he’s built get blown to bloody fuck-all for the sake of one of his whims.”

  The fruity odor of Ridgeway’s breath filled Jani’s nose. Her full stomach gurgled in protest as she forced herself to look him in the face. His eyes watered—the liqueur was apparently as potent as she thought. “If you have anything to say to me, mister, you really should wait until you sober up.”