Rules of Conflict

by Kristine Smith

  The windowless meeting room proved hotter than the hallway by several crucial degrees. Judging from the mutterings Jani heard, summerweights felt itchy and clingy; dress blue-greys would have been downright dangerous.

  She only felt mildly warm herself, but if another twelve-hour marathon stretched before them, who knew how she’d hold up? But that’s a big if. She glanced behind her and saw the Security officer standing in the doorway, watching her. A lieutenant, his mainline red bars switched out for religiously insignificant dark green. Unarmed, since he technically stood on idomeni soil, but far from helpless, judging from his muscular arms and chest.

  If I tried to bolt, he’d just pick me up and toss me over his shoulder. Or break her in half, depending on how much of a fuss she made. She approached him slowly, arms at her sides, hands open and visible. “Lieutenant.”

  He nodded. “Ma’am.”

  “May I ask why you’re following me?”

  “After you meet with nìaRauta Hantìa, I’m to escort you back to Sheridan, ma’am.”

  “Odds are I’ll be needed here.”

  “General Burkett’s orders, ma’am.”

  Right. Jani walked to the central U-shaped table, where Nema stood surrounded by the members of Foreign Transactions. Most faces held shock or surprise. Ischi’s shoulders shook. Hals had covered her mouth with her hand. Even Vespucci grinned.

  “And only the player standing in the net can use hands?” Nema toed weakly at the floor. “All the others have to kick?”

  “Like this, nìRau.” Ischi mimed a short, hard pass to Vespucci, who in turn pretended to block the nonexistent soccer ball into the floor with his formidable stomach.

  “Really? Such I do not understand.” Nema looked at Jani, his posture crooked with dismay. “Why did you never tell me of this, nìa!” He clasped Ischi by the arm and pulled him to one side, gesturing for Vespucci to follow. The sounds of crumpling parchment soon emerged from the huddle. The two men then broke away and kicked a paper ball back and forth as Nema stood on the side and scrutinized every move.

  Jani watched the exhibition until she grew conscious of a stare boring through the side of her face. “Colonel.”

  Hals sauntered to her side. “Captain.” She peeked around Jani and nodded toward the strapping lieutenant. “Is he here for you, me, or us?”

  “Me. As soon as Hantìa and I meet, Burkett wants me out.”

  “Then we must meet now,” entoned a voice from behind. Feminine, but grating, like nails down a slate. “So that I can laugh as you leave.”

  Jani turned slowly. She kept her eyes straight ahead, so she would look the idomeni in the upper chest, not the face. Tan robes. The lower curves of shoulder-grazing gold oval earrings. Light brown hair twisted into short helices and wrapped with silver cord. Same regal posture she remembered from Academy. Same damned voice. “Hantìa.”

  “Kièrshia.” The Vynshàrau stepped back and studied her. Side-to-side examination, followed by top to toe, looking everywhere but in her eyes. “You are not what you were.” She tilted her head slightly to Jani’s right, a posture of moderate respect acknowledging their shared past.

  Jani tilted her head to the left, mimicking Hantìa’s regard, as she allowed herself oblique glances at the jutting cheekbones and squarish jaw. “Only physically.” She lapsed readily into High Vynshàrau; it seemed more appropriate, somehow. “In my soul, I am as ever.”

  “You left your soul at Knevçet Shèràa. So you are as nothing. That, I always knew.”

  Jani twitched the fingers of her left hand, a gesture of disregard. She heard no other voices, and knew all eyes were on the two of them. “You are not an archivist, as was planned.”

  “No.” A bow of head as right hand reached up and gripped left shoulder. A posture of sadness. “NìRau ti nìRau Cèel had need of me here.” The hand dropped. Hantìa straightened. “A great need, and truly.” She turned to Hals, and switched back to English. “Colonel.”

  Hals nodded stiffly. “Hantìa.”

  “We must work now. Soon, there will be too many damned papers to count.” Hantìa stalked toward the other Vynshàrau examiners, who had gathered on the opposite side of the room.

  Hals cocked her head. “Did she just say what I thought she said?”

  “She’s been taking English lessons from Nema.” Jani smiled, but her good humor faded as she watched the lieutenant cross the room toward her.

  “Ma’am.” He stopped in front of her and gestured in the direction of the door. “This way, please.”

  Jani looked at Hals, who watched her warily. I could stand my ground, and fight to stay. Nema would rush to her aid—he’d probably even offer her asylum. Wouldn’t that do wonders for diplomatic relations? Ulanova might even persuade Cao to send in armed troops to take her back. Not that they’d succeed, but the invasion itself would constitute a declaration of war.

  What do I care—I’d be free.

  But at what cost? She looked at Ischi, who bounced the paper ball from knee to knee. At the other members of FT, who grinned and watched. She didn’t even know their names.

  Better I don’t—the list is long enough. No more, if she could help it. No more.

  “All right, Lieutenant.” She took one last look at the unadorned, sand-colored space, then fell in behind.

  “Nìa?” Nema broke away from Ischi and Vespucci and beelined toward them. “Where are you going?”

  “Back to the base, nìRau. General Burkett’s orders.”

  “Orders?” The pitch of his voice lowered so he sounded hoarse. His shoulders rounded. “Is it not true that to stand here is to stand in Rauta Shèràa? Is it not true that in this room, my word is as orders?”

  The lieutenant’s eyes widened as the tall, angry ambassador closed in. “Sir.”

  “So do I order you to leave this room, Lieutenant.”

  “Sir—nìRau—General Burkett—”

  Jani stepped between the lieutenant and the oncoming Nema. “NìRau! Please!”

  “Go to your paper, nìa! Obey me!” Nema’s guttural voice sounded a distinctly idomeni warning. He waited for Jani to back away before closing in on the hapless Security guard. “I will speak of this to General Burkett, who gives orders within my walls!” He grabbed the young man by the arm. The lieutenant tried to pull away—his eyes widened when he realized he couldn’t break the Vynshàrau’s grip.

  “So.” Nema pushed him out the door and directly in the path of a young diplomatic suborn, who sidestepped neatly.

  “NìRau ti nìRau? You are needed.” She spoke English with a heavy Vynshàrau accent, swallowed t’s and back-of-the-throat r’s.

  “Not now, nìaRauta Vìa.”

  “Now, nìRau ti nìRau.” Vìa rounded her shoulders in a posture of aggravation. Not as hunched as Nema, but the twist and twirl of her right hand indicated that it was only a matter of time. “Exterior Minister Ulanova and Suborn Oligarch nìRau Lish are discussing taxation of Elyan Haárin settlements.”

  “Discussing, nìa?”

  Vìa hesitated, then raised her right hand, palm facing up, in silent plea.

  Nema’s voice dropped to a John Shroud-like resonance. “My Anais makes trouble, as always. I would challenge her myself, but she is too short to fight.” He looked at Jani, and his posture saddened. “I see my nìa Kièrshia for so short a time, and now I must leave!” He walked back to Ischi and took the wad of paper from his hand. “I must play goalie.” He tossed the parchment ball from hand to hand as he strode out of the room.

  Jani turned back to the table, which held surveys and maps and other documents applicable to the Strip negotiations. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d seen Nema that angry. And all because of me. “How much longer do you think I have to live, ma’am?”

  Hals sighed. “At least until you get back to Sheridan.” She unholstered her scanpack. “Burkett wouldn’t want civilians to find the body.”

  The verification session lasted six hours, not including the forty-five-m
inute interruption for the Vynshàrau’s late-evening sacramental meal. By the time they adjourned, Jani’s stomach ached from hunger and her right arm had numbed and stiffened from pain. The meeting room smelled like old socks. She hadn’t broken a sweat to speak of, but everyone else in FT looked like they’d been caught in a shower. The only consolation was that she felt so exhausted, Burkett’s welcoming scowl as he met her in the hallway didn’t make her feel worse.

  “If you think the ambassador’s influence is going to get you off the hook, Kilian, you’re sadly mistaken.” He hustled her and Hals past the rest of FT and Diplo, through the entry and out into the courtyard, where the lieutenant from Security waited by the triple-length.

  “General Burkett!”

  Everyone stopped, turned, stilled.

  Nema stood in the embassy entry, surrounded by a half dozen of his brown-clothed guards. The shortest equaled him in height. The tallest outstripped him by a head, which made her at least two-one. All were armed. Twin shooters. Knives.

  “You are taking my Eyes and Ears away from me!” His sibilant wail echoed off the blade-topped walls. He tucked his hands into his sleeves while six gold faces watched every humanish move. “But you will not take her for long?”

  One word from him. Jani watched six pairs of gold hands hover near weapons while around her, grim-faced mainline Security patted their empty holsters. All they’re waiting for is one word from him.

  Burkett gaped. Swallowed. Found his voice. “Bloody hell.” Service decorum went out the window as he pushed Jani into the skimmer, then bulleted in behind her as Hals and Derringer piled in through the other side. The driver shot out of the courtyard and sped past the checkpoints without slowing. No one spoke until they cleared idomeni property.

  Chapter 15

  Jani barely managed to undress and set her alarm before tumbling into bed, visions of the glowering Burkett dancing in her pounding head. She had overheard him in heated discussion with Derringer as they had departed the embarkation zone—the phrases Office Hours and nail down our options had cropped up with depressing frequency.

  Well, if Hals had a shot at nonjudicial punishment, she might not wind up too badly off. Besides, wasn’t there an old Service saying that a Spacer without at least one Article 13 on his or her record was unworthy of the name?

  Makes me a Spacer for the ages. Jani had stopped counting after number five. She buried her face in her pillow and fell into troubled sleep.

  “—anytime now.”

  Jani jerked awake at the sound of the intruding voice. Reached out. Grabbed a handful of—

  What the—? She opened her eyes and saw herself reflected in a glassy brown stare. She released her grip on Val the Bear’s throat and lifted her muzzy head.

  “I said, feel free to wake up anytime now.” Lucien had dragged her desk chair into the bedroom. He appeared much too comfortable, feet propped on the mattress’s edge, chair tipped back precariously.

  “How ’n hell d’you get in here?” Jani worked her jaw, yawned, stretched her stiff legs.

  “Facilities should invest in better locks,” he said by way of explanation. “If you get up now, you’ll have forty minutes to shower and dress before you have to hightail it to FT.”

  “I need to eat—”

  “So you shall. I have breakfast set out in the sitting room.”

  “It has to be scanned—”

  “I came and got the scanner before I got the food. It’s all clear.”

  “Aren’t you the efficient one?”

  Lucien tugged at his short-sleeve. “Why’s it so warm in here?”

  “Because I like it.” Jani’s voice rang clearer that time. “How long have you been sitting there?”

  “Half hour.” He offered her the knowing sort of smile that made her teeth clench. “Did you know you talk in your sleep?”

  “Do tell.” Jani twisted around and sat up, catching her bedcover just in time. She still wore panties, but her bandbra rested amid the muddle of clothing heaped on the bedroom floor. Make that, “had been heaped.” Le steward extraordinaire had taken care of her dirty laundry along with everything else.

  “You’re going to have to tell me about Piers sometime.” Lucien’s gaze drifted from her face to points south, lingering on her bare shoulders. “I see you don’t believe in pajamas.”

  Jani yanked the sheet up to her neck. “Out.”

  “I don’t either.”

  “Get out!” She tried the melodramatic “pointed finger thrust toward the door” move and almost dropped her coverage.

  “I love it when a woman loses her . . . temper.” Lucien did a side roll out of the chair and darted to the door. He ducked through the opening just as Val the Bear impacted the panel at a height even with the back of his head.

  “So, tell me about your trip to the embassy.” Lucien poured coffee for both of them, then settled back, mug in hand.

  Jani crunched toast as she checked out her scanpack. “How much have you heard?”

  “Only the disobeying a direct order part.”

  “How did you hear about that so soon?”

  “Diplo contacted I-Com to ask if they could borrow some recording equipment. Night Desk contacted me because I’m in charge of the storage bins.” Lucien reached across the desk to Jani’s plate and snatched an apple slice from her overladen fruit cup. “Woke me out of a sound sleep at oh-three up. Burkett must have started amassing his weapons as soon as you returned to Sheridan.”

  Jani dropped her half-eaten toast on her plate. “And those weapons would be?”

  “You’d better contact your lawyer first thing you get to your office.” Lucien brushed a nonexistent spot from his immaculate shirtfront. “His name wouldn’t happen to be Piers, would it?”

  “I’m surprised you have to ask.” Jani stabbed halfheartedly at her fruit. “Did you hear any fallout concerning Sam Duong?”

  “Why would I?” Lucien finished his coffee and started piling dirty dishes onto the take-out tray. “That sorry situation is none of my business.”

  “Since when did that ever stop you?”

  “It’s none of yours, either.”

  “He made it my business.” Jani set down her fork. The memory of the man’s desperation ruined what remained of her appetite. “He put me down as next of kin in his MedRec.”

  “Because you said you believed him?” Lucien made a point of setting Jani’s fruit cup on the desk before picking up the tray. “I knew you’d regret saying that.”

  “I don’t regret a thing. I think he may have been set up.”

  “And why would anyone bother to do that?” Lucien walked about the room gathering newssheets and plucking wilted flowers from the bouquet. “He’s a clerk.”

  “He’s a clerk who’s been overseeing the compilation of Rauta Shèràa Base and Knevçet Shèràa documents for years.” Jani felt a twinge of satisfaction as Lucien hesitated in mid-pluck. “I think he uncovered something, and that something’s buried in the missing documents. I think somebody stole the paper, then hung Duong with a crazy tag so that he’d get blamed for the docs being missing.”

  “That’s a lot of thinking.”

  “Admit it—did you ever observe a scene better calculated to destroy a man’s reputation?”

  “So he works for an asshole.” Lucien took his time folding an old newssheet into a loose cylinder. “Make that two assholes.” He shoved the paper tube into the ’zap. “What do you think he knows? Or doesn’t know he knows?”

  Jani didn’t answer. Instead, she picked another mental spare fitting out of the bin and checked it for size. “Did you ever hear of Niall Pierce? He’s a colonel in Special Services.”

  Lucien frowned. “The guy who almost ran into you in the SIB lobby.”

  “Does everybody know him?”

  “Just by reputation.” Lucien glanced at the clock. “We better get going.”

  They spent valuable minutes arguing about the breakfast she hadn’t eaten. By the time they depart
ed TOQ, the walkways had cleared of first-shifters, which meant that if Jani didn’t get a move on, she’d be late. Not at a time like this. Her back issued a string of complaints as she broke into a double-time trot.

  “I saw Pierce at the hospital, too. He was standing outside the office where I met with Friesian.” She pressed a hand to her right side as a stitch took up residence.

  Lucien loped beside her with disgusting ease. “Think he was listening?”

  “He wasn’t that functional. Takedown malaise had him by the throat.”

  “So he had a good reason to be there. Your running into him was a coincidence.”

  “We’ve got quite a few coincidences jostling for space here, don’t we?” Jani eased to a slow jog as the Documents Control white box came into view. “You said he had a reputation.”

  Lucien hesitated. “I’ve heard things about him.”

  Jani detected an edge in his voice. That meant he didn’t want to discuss Pierce. That meant it was time to push. “I know he was at Rauta Shèràa. I know he nailed a field commission after the evac, and that he’s Mako’s man.”

  Lucien shot her a “how did you know that?” look. “He and Mako are an odd couple. Mako comes from a cultured background—he doesn’t like to admit it, but he’s descended from a long line of Family affiliates. Pierce joined the Service to stay out of prison.”

  Jani gasped in relief as they eased to a walk—her side-stitch had evolved into an entire wardrobe. “What was he up for?”

  “Weapons-running.” Lucien tapped her on the arm to get her attention—together they saluted a pair of sideline majors walking toward them. “Even after he joined up, he still got into trouble. Fights. Smuggling. Disobeying orders. All that changed after he was transferred to the Fourth Expeditionary. Mako straightened him out. When they returned to Earth, Pierce even went back to school, got a degree at Chicago Combined. Literature, of all things. He doesn’t look the type.”

  Jani pulled in a deep breath. Another. “So? What are you—not telling me?”