Rules of Conflict

by Kristine Smith

  Pimentel shifted uneasily. “I have to go.” He nodded brusquely to Jani and darted out the door.

  Lucien looked at Jani, shrugged, and arranged the flowers in a handy water glass. He had already donned his blue-greys; his glossy hair had the look of a fresh trimming.

  Jani watched him bend and turn—it was a pleasure, as always. “He’s a happily married man.”

  “Most of them are.” He glanced at her slyly. “Jealous?”

  “Only if I thought you gave a damn.”

  “You mean there’s hope?” He dawdled over the bottles, rearranging them according to size. “Guess I’m going to have to learn to give a damn.”

  “You’d need a different implant in your head.”

  “Oh well, so much for that.” He rummaged through the bag, then turned it upside down and shook it. “That’s it. I don’t believe I forgot anything.”

  Jani counted the containers vying for space atop the small dresser. “No, I don’t think you did, either.” She untangled her legs and stretched her stiff muscles. She still couldn’t support any significant weight with her right arm; getting up meant sliding to the edge of the chair and boosting upright with only her left arm for stability. Since the animandroid flesh was still sore, her legs felt rubbery, and her back ached, it resulted in a significant portside lean.

  Lucien took a step toward her. “Do you need help?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You’re bent into a letter C.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Let me be supportive.”

  “Maybe later.” She straightened, flexed her right arm, mouthed an “ouch,” and walked to the bathroom.

  Lucien drew alongside and paced her, step for shaky step. “I can wash your back.”

  “Go harass a nurse.” Jani leaned against the bathroom entry. “Track down Morley—she’s ripe for conquest.”

  “No, she’s not.” Lucien kicked at the floor. “I know her.”

  “Is that a fact?”

  “She’s a lot like you.”

  “I knew there was something about her I liked.”

  “You’re up to something.” Lucien helped Jani ease into the passenger side of a wheeled scoot. “You are being too damned . . . military.”

  Jani unbuttoned her jacket and flared the bottom outward to avoid rumpling it. “I thought that’s what you wanted.”

  “If it crossed my mind for one second that you were doing it for me, I’d check myself in for a takedown.” He squeezed behind the steerbar. “You saluted Pimentel, fer chrissakes.”

  “He’s a superior officer.”

  “He almost readmitted you on the spot.” He pressed the vehicle charge-through. The motor hummed to life, and they trundled up the track designated for wheelworks. Progress proved slow; brisk walkers on the adjacent path passed them easily, and one wag shouted that the playground was in the other direction. “You aren’t going to tell me a thing, are you?”

  The landscaping kicked up a few grades as they crossed the Memorial Quad that separated South Base from North. Colonial shrubs outnumbered native; the flowers possessed the glassine petals and jewel colors that were the current fads among plant designers. “What do you want to know?”

  “I want to know if I’m going to be court-martialed!” Lucien tapped an agitated song on the steerbar. “I know it’s a minor consideration for you, but we don’t all have your complete disregard for the things normal people care about!”

  “You’re normal compared to me, huh?”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing.” She waited until his fidgeting eased. “I know why they’re discharging me.”

  “Nema and the colonies will raise holy hell if they don’t, that’s why.” Lucien glanced at her. “You don’t think so?” He looked away, his hands tightening on the bar. “Anybody ever tell you that you think too much?”

  “Only anybodys trying to hide things from me.” As if to illustrate her point, the Base Command complex came into view. “It’s bigger than I thought,” she said, as they passed building after building. “How many people work there?”

  “At any given time, about half.” Lucien didn’t even bother to grace his own joke with a smile. “Well?”

  She told him. When she mentioned Sam Duong’s framing, he threatened to toss her out of the scoot. By the time she explained about the agers, Pierce’s ghosting, and the timing of Mako’s invitation, his protests dwindled to the occasional sharp question.

  The working portion of Sheridan gave way to the leisure regions. After passing the Officers’ Marina, they puttered through a sprawling park. Another turn of corner and the A-G’s whitestone residence loomed into view, a boxy, four-story edifice that resembled a well-landscaped office building more than a home. Uniforms and dressy civvies streamed in from all directions, guided by the faint glow of half-lit patio lights.

  “The tent’s on the north side,” Lucien said halfheartedly, as he wheeled the scoot into a remote charge lot. Then he muttered something dark and Gallic, and smacked the steerbar with his open palm. “What do you need me to do?”

  “Just stay within shouting distance.” Jani patted her trouser pocket, checking for the slip of paper she’d tucked there. Sam had made good on his errand—she had spent most of the previous night reading snatches of Paradise Lost beneath the covers. Memorizing. Making notes.

  She slumped into her hard seat, tried to figure a way she could get through this without depending on Lucien for help, and realized she couldn’t. She still didn’t know where he and duty parted company, didn’t know the point at which his fear of Nema outweighed his loyalty to the Service or whoever else had laid claim to his attentions.

  Lucien sighed loudly. “Shall we go?”

  “I guess.” Jani tried to slide out of the scoot by herself, but her right knee gave out, forcing her to wait for assistance. She leaned against Lucien so heavily he murmured in pleased surprise, and they joined the rest of the crowds streaming toward the Residence like ants toward the world’s largest honey trap.

  The years spent as Anais Ulanova’s protégé had trained Lucien to deal with situations most people found daunting. He negotiated the social reefs and shoals of the tent like the seasoned sailor he was, dropping bon mots and names, eliciting greetings, laughter, and the occasional lustful stare.

  Jani just nodded, mumbled “good evening,” and watched the master. “You’re good,” she said, when they finally took a break and laid claim to a table near one of the numerous buffets.

  “Ani gave a lot of parties.” Lucien had collected ice water for her and a piled plate of hors d’oeuvres for himself. “It was either learn to play the room or check coats and work in the kitchen.”

  “She made you work?”

  “One less temporary staffer she had to hire. One way or the other, she always got her money’s worth.”

  Jani surveyed the scene around her. The tent was immense, and already filled from end to end. The buffet tables and bars that lined the walls were crowded, and the soundshielding fought a losing battle with the noise level. “Didn’t you care for her at all?” She knew as soon as she’d asked that it was a stupid question. Partly inborn and partly inserted, Lucien’s ability to care stopped at the end of his nose.

  He shook his head, dark eyes blank. “She gave me what I wanted. Nice room. Nice skimmer. Clothes. Money.” He had chosen the most select offerings from the buffet, exotic seafood, cheeses, mushrooms, and breads. “When I graduated prep school, she wangled me an appointment to East Point. I ranked fourth in a class of fifteen hundred and seven. That qualifies as good return on investment, by any measure.”

  “Why the Service?”

  “I . . . like rules.” He had the sense to smile. “Most times. I like knowing what I’ll be doing the next day.”

  “Then why me?”

  “You’re for the rest of the time.” The smile turned saucy. “When I’m in the mood to be totally confused.” He glanced out at the milli
ng crowd. “Speaking of which, do you expect something to happen, or are we supposed to force their hand?”

  “I think it’s happening now,” Jani said, as an unfortunately familiar face came into view.

  The dress blue-greys looked hand-tailored rather than line-cut, and the number of ribbons and badges arraying his chest was formidable. Despite that, Niall Pierce should have given up long ago. His damaged face and sinister air would forever mar any attempt at North Lakeside polish. Jani took a swallow of water and held it in her suddenly dry mouth. Wonder why he never got his face fixed? Maybe the ragged scar served as his equivalent of the healing gashes on her arms. Wonder if whoever gave it to him is still alive?

  “Good evening, Captain Kilian.” He waved for her to remain seated, his quick smile appearing snarl-like in the tent’s subdued lighting. “Heard about your match. Congratulations are in order, I understand.”

  Jani swallowed the water with an audible gulp. “Thank you, sir.”

  Pierce looked at Lucien, who had stood up like a good looie, and his manner frosted. “Lieutenant. Tough loss the other day.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Your sweeper stinks.”

  Despite his social training, Lucien’s grin visibly tightened. “We’re working on replacing him, sir.”

  “The sooner, the better.” Pierce then caught Jani by surprise by offering her his arm. “I wondered if you’d accompany me on a tour of the house, Captain.”

  “Sir.” As Jani rose, she shot a sharp look at Lucien, whose return glare could only be interpreted to read “he outranks me.” She held Pierce’s arm as lightly as she could, and allowed him to lead her from the tent.

  “You should watch him.” Pierce’s ‘across the Yard’ voice lifted easily above the party din. “I’ve been asking a few questions of my own. He meets with Justice Ministry officials every day.”

  “I know.” Jani brushed off his look of surprise. “If he’s so dangerous, why do you go out of your way to twist his tail?”

  Pierce shrugged. “I’ve no use for his sort. Self-serving. No loyalty to anyone or anything save themselves.”

  “When did you acquire your experience with his sort—during your weapons-running days?”

  “My crimes are no secret.”

  Aren’t they? Jani tried to pull away from him, but he tightened his hold on her arm. Not hard enough to hurt her, but hard enough.

  “I waited to hear from you concerning the reading list,” Pierce said. “I’ve prepared one especially.”

  “I’ve been very busy.”

  “You’re never too busy to learn.”

  “I’m sure you’re right.” Jani glanced back over her shoulder and down the fabric tunnel that connected the tent to the house. So much for shouting distance, she thought as she watched Lucien’s silvery thatch disappear amid the crowd.

  The tour began and ended in the same place, a sitting room on the second floor. It no doubt resembled every other sitting room where such discussions had ever occurred. The chairs were large and well padded, the windows darkened against any threat of accidental observation. A sideboard held a narrow selection of hard liquor. The basics—whiskey, gin, vodka. A bucket of ice.

  She recognized Admiral-General Mako. General Carvalla. The three-star had to be Gleick, the base commander. There was also a two-star she didn’t recognize, but no one seemed inclined to make introductions.

  “So.” She stepped inside. “Let’s get the story straight now, in case it ever comes up. Where were we during the time this meeting never took place?”

  Carvalla fidgeted. Gleick scowled. The two-star swirled his whiskey.

  Mako smiled. “You were touring the house with Colonel Pierce. You stuck your heads in this room, and spoke with General Carvalla, who had a yen to sample my excellent vodka in private. A display of Channel World curios in my library held your interest for quite some time. Then you and the colonel returned to the party.”

  “Shouldn’t I be able to describe these fascinating curios?”

  “Colonel Pierce will take you to see them after our meeting.”

  “And what about you and General Gleick and General . . . ?” She thought her prompting obvious, but no introduction to the silent stranger followed.

  “We will see to ourselves, Captain.” Mako’s smile dimmed. “Thank you for your concern.” He gestured toward a vacant chair near the center of their grouping. “How are you feeling?”

  As Jani sat, she sensed Pierce move behind her chair. “I’m fine, sir.”

  Mako turned to Carvalla. “Is that true, Sophia?”

  “Her test results are as screwy as ever.” Carvalla sipped from a small, frosty cylinder with a silver handle. “Roger’s worried that the readings we’re getting aren’t telling us what we need to know. He’s desperate enough to contact Shroud.”

  Jani recalled Pimentel’s edginess. “He’s changed my diet. He’s manufacturing a new liver for me. Is there something else going on I should know about?”

  “Not one for the military courtesies, are you, Captain?” That was Gleick. Grey-haired. Bullet-headed. Face like a fist.

  “No, I’m not.” She withheld the “sir” deliberately, and watched him squirm. “But I didn’t think you’d mind, seeing as we all have so much in common.” She did a slow three-count. “Officer-killers, all.”

  Chapter 29

  Everyone stared at her. Jani sensed Pierce, still behind her, like you’d sense eyes in the forest.

  Finally, Mako broke the tension with a small snort of humorless laughter. “Not much for preliminaries either, are you, Jani?” He wiped a hand over his face, regarded his empty tumbler. “That’s fine. Neither am I.” The angle of his chairside lamp highlighted his fatigue-grooved jowls. “I gather you arrived at this conclusion during your explorations with the odd Mr. Duong?”

  “He’s not odd—you just made sure everyone thought so!” Jani sat back as tiny flecks of darkness bloomed and faded before her eyes. “My attorney had difficulty locating Rauta Shèràa Base documents I told him should have existed. Documents I’m charged with having neglected.”

  “Indeed,” Gleick growled.

  Jani looked at the man. He sat rigidly straight—she would have bet her ’pack the clear liquid in his glass was water. Physically, he looked nothing like Durian Ridgeway, but she could see the similarities just the same. The cutting voice. The air of judgmental superiority. Behind every great man stands a creep with a shovel. “You know, General, I bet you made one hell of a poop boy.”

  “How dare you, you—” Gleick had half risen out of his chair, but settled back in shocked surprise when Mako held out his hand.

  “Sit down, Gunter.” The look he gave Jani was stern, but not unkind. “I’ve known Spacers like you before. When their expertise is needed, none are better. As you proved yesterday, at the idomeni embassy.” He nodded slowly. “But your times are few and far between, and those betweens are the career-killers, aren’t they, Jani?”

  Throwing a fistful of stars at me didn’t work, so now you’re trying understanding. “I had the sort of career that killed itself. I conducted audits on Rauta Shèràa Base—that was no way to win friends.” Stay on course—don’t let him distract you. “One thing I learned is that the reason documents disappear is because they lead to bigger and better things.”

  “Paper disappears because nobody cares about it,” Gleick grumbled. “It disappears because it doesn’t matter.”

  Jani ignored him. “The Kensington shipping records, for example, that described the loading of two agers.”

  Mako waved a dismissive hand. “I admitted in closed-door sessions long ago that in our haste to free up space for evacuees and supplies, we accidentally packed bodies in unsuitable containers.”

  Jani nodded. “Yes, and it’s a shame that that story doesn’t hold up, because it’s nice and simple. Short of space, let’s get these bodies out of the way—whoops, we loaded them in the wrong sort of box, but we were in a hurry, you see. SFC Cal
dor was a sound move. Good randomization. If a little nothing colonial got stuck in an ager, well, it couldn’t have been planned. Had to be an accident.”

  A cloud passed over Mako’s face. “I did not consider Caldor a ‘little nothing colonial,’ Jani.”

  “Then I stand corrected.” Jani touched her face—the skin felt hot and dry. Her heart pounded.

  “Are you all right?” Carvalla set her drink on her chairside table, and sat forward. “Get her some water, please, Niall.”

  Mako looked at Jani, then at Carvalla. “Sophia?”

  “I don’t like how she looks at all.”

  “I’m all right.” Jani sat back, inhaled deeply, tried to relax. But when she attempted to cross her legs, the right one wouldn’t work. She couldn’t even lift it off the ground. “The question is, why go through the trouble to rot the bodies? What was it about them that you couldn’t afford to let others see?”

  She looked up just as Pierce leaned over to place the water glass on her table. His eyes proved his only handsome feature, rich gold-brown, like honey.

  “They deserved it.” His voice held an eager rasp, as though he felt he had to convince her.

  Jani nodded encouragement. “They ran, and you had to stop them because they were headed into Rauta Shèràa, and once they disappeared into the city, you’d have lost them for good.”

  “They deserved it. Do you know some of the things they did?”

  “I lived some of the things they did.” Her dull tone made Pierce cringe. “You were just supposed to arrest them, weren’t you? Those were your orders. But they ran. And you’re another of Mako’s Spacers—it was between-time for you. He gave you your big chance, and you let him down.” They’d begun to breathe as one. Short. Sharp. Inhale. Exhale. “‘Which way I fly is Hell; myself am Hell.’”

  “Book Four, Satan’s entry into Paradise. Out of context. You need to study before you can toss lines at me. I lived it!”