Rules of Conflict

by Kristine Smith

  John shook his head. “You’ve altered too much. They wouldn’t know where to start. You could develop more life-threatening disorders, the treatment of which could lead to more problems.”

  “So you did this for my own good.”

  He looked at her. His long, sad face was the first thing Jani had seen when she opened her eyes after the explosion. For a time, it had been the last thing she had seen when she closed them at night. “That has always been our foremost consideration.”

  Jani crossed her wrists and compared the skin color. Maybe the animandroid skin didn’t tan like the real thing. Maybe the muddy hue of her pajamas made her look more sallow than normal. Maybe. “Val worries that I hate you both, but I don’t blame you for what you did in Rauta Shèràa. You were young and thought you knew everything, and you were honestly trying to help me.”

  “Of course—you know we were—”

  “But that was then and this is now. Could you have modified your all-or-nothing approach? Made do with the shunt and the adjunct until I was conscious and could make an informed decision?” She looked at the man who had saved her life in the way he thought best because he loved her. The man she’d fled when she realized what his love meant. “Angel—”

  John’s breathing quickened. “Jani—”

  “—could you have asked?”

  He buried his head in his hands. “It was the only way to ensure your complete recovery!” He looked at her over the tops of his fingers. “You can trust me,” he said, his voice gone velvet. Soft, enveloping, suffocating velvet. “I know more now than I did then.”

  “You may know more about the science, John.” Jani reached for her cup—more coffee sloshed over the rim as she pushed it farther away. “But you don’t know a damned thing more about me.” Her knee gave out when she stood, and she almost lost her balance. John reached out to help her, but when he looked her in the face, he sagged back in his chair and let her go without a word.

  Chapter 34

  The next morning, Jani entered the sunroom to find Hugh Tellinn sitting on a lounge, leafing through a holozine. Almost three months had passed since she’d first met him at Neoclona-Felix. In the interim, his hair had been inexpertly trimmed into a flip-ended mop, and his state of sartorial disarray had further deteriorated. He turned pages with a rapid, slap-hand motion, as though sitting in the sunroom set his teeth on edge.

  Then he looked up. “Jani!” It was the first time she had ever seen him smile. The expression split his face from ear to ear. Instead of a thirty-five-year-old man with a bad haircut and grab-bag taste in clothes, he looked like a boy who had opened his birthday box and found the puppy. She could imagine Val performing handsprings for a chance to savor that open-faced happiness.

  “Hugh.” She walked slowly to a straight-backed chair opposite his lounge. She could sense his examining gaze, and knew he watched her posture and coordination, whether she walked easily or had to concentrate on how to place her feet. “Do I pass, Dr. Tellinn?” she asked as she sat.

  “You look good.” He tossed the ’zine aside and sat forward, his hands clasped. “I’m glad.” The brilliant smile wavered. “I assume Val told you what happened.”

  “The barest bones.” Jani sat back, grateful for the support the stiff framing offered her muscles, which still tired quickly. “The less he discusses a breakup, the more it bothers him. He spent all of fifteen seconds summing you up.”

  Hugh blinked. “Really?” He tugged at a stretched-out cuff of his dull brown pullover. “I was very fond of him, too. But sometimes that isn’t enough.”

  “He said you resigned from Neo.”

  “Yes.”

  “That was a drastic step.”

  “It was the only way. I knew it from the start. Every time I tried to talk about you, Val would nod and pat me on the back. Told me he understood my concern. Five minutes later, John’s rattling off a list of all the things they’d try the second they got their hands on you.” Hugh rubbed his cheek. His face looked drawn. Thinner. “I lived with them for over three months. Longest ten years of my life.”

  “Three months seems the turning point. That’s how long I lasted, too.” Jani felt a warm rise of concern for her fellow veteran. “What are you going to do?”

  Hugh’s shoulder twitched. “I have family in Helsinki. I thought I’d visit them for a time. After that?” He rocked his head back and forth. “Bullet train through the China provinces. Ski in the Andes. I’ve never been to Earth and I have enough savings to see me for a year or two. Who knows what I’ll do?”

  Jani covered her mouth with her hand to hide her grin. Was there anything funnier than listening to a workaholic discuss vacation plans? “You’ll hook up with a hospital within a month,” she said through her fingers. “You won’t be happy until you’re up to your elbows in glands.”

  That smile again. “You’re probably right. What about you?”

  “I’m stuck here until I’m stabilized to the world’s satisfaction.” She crossed her legs. Right over left, no hoisting required. “My lawyer told me yesterday that my adjudicating committee met two weeks ago and tried me in absentia. Sentence, ninety days, commuted to time served. Alice loses some privileges, but she keeps her head. I’ll be discharged from the Service two minutes after I’m discharged from here.” Don’t be surprised if they process you in the lobby, Friesian had added dryly. “I’ll need to find a place to live. A job.”

  Hugh cocked an eyebrow. “Val had mentioned hiring you into the Neoclona Documents Group.”

  “Not bloody likely.” Jani looked at Hugh to find him regarding her with sad amusement. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

  “I understand. Believe me.” He pressed his knuckles to his lips. “Well, I just wanted to stop by and say so long.” He stood awkwardly, his too-large trousers rumpled and bagged at the knees.

  Jani started to speak. Hesitated. Tried once more. “Could you do me a favor? I want you to read a MedRec.” She handed him a slip of paper on which she’d written a name. “Then I want you to come back here, so we can talk about it.”

  One hour passed. This is taking longer than I thought. She knew that Hugh suffered a disadvantage not being a neurologist, but she felt sure he’d grasp the essentials. He’d read her Rauta Shèràa file. He’d make the connection.

  Several patients had wandered into the sunroom for their postbreakfast/prelunch newssheet reading by the time Hugh returned. He paused in the entry, searching faces. When he finally saw her, the life drained from his eyes. He shoved his hands in his pockets and slouched across the room.

  “I spoke with Roger.” He reached out to her. “We’re going to meet with him.” He maintained his gentle grip on her hand as they departed the sunroom and negotiated the halls.

  Pimentel sat at his desk waiting for them. Jani memorized the details of his office, the bookshelves, the watercolor, the view, in the sincere hope she’d never see them again.

  “Jani.” He glanced at Hugh. A look of back-and-forth argument passed between them. You start. No, you start.

  Jani sat down in her usual chair and rubbed her damp palms over her pajama-clad thighs. “Well?”

  Hugh walked behind Pimentel’s desk and perched on the windowsill. His choice of seating gave the scene an “us versus them” flavor. “Roger told me that Sam Duong had named you his next of kin.” He turned to look out the window. “He was admitted the same night you were. Discharged two weeks ago.” He toyed with the light-transmission touchpad, the taps sounding harder as he continued talking. “During his stay, he revoked your NOK designation. Legally, therefore, you have no right to know anything about his condition.”

  Pimentel occupied his own nervous hands by paging through a file. “However, he did mention to me things that he wished he’d told you. I’m taking that as permission to discuss him with you. Besides, the faster we clear this up once and for all, the better for both of you.” He pushed a hank of hair out of his eyes. “He spoke about you quite a bit. He
even volunteered to help talk you through your coma, but I refused to allow it. He was too weak to be subjected to that sort of stress. We operated on him the night he was admitted.”

  Jani tried to read Pimentel’s closed expression, his careful wording. “You removed the implant?”

  Hugh sighed. “No.” He finally turned from the window. “Sam Duong suffered from a benign neoplasm affecting the paramedian posterior region of his thalamus—”

  Jani tapped her temple. “A mass in the middle of his head. Thank you. Roger told me all about it.”

  “Jani and I have discussed the particulars of Sam’s condition. She believes some of the experiments the Laum conducted involved augmentation of the thalamus.” Pimentel removed sheets of coated parchment from the file and laid them on the desk in front of him. “I have to admit, some of the things you said jolted me. So I contacted Bandan Combined University and requested they send me whatever ID they had for Simyam Baru.” He slid three pages of parchment across the desk toward Jani. “I also requested that they search their records for a Sam Duong. Three men with that name turned up. Two still work there. The third left about five years ago, to take a job as a civilian archivist with the Commonwealth Service at Fort Sheridan.”

  Hugh turned back to the window.

  “I took a sample from Sam. It matches that of the Sam Duong who came here from Banda. It doesn’t match Simyam Baru’s.” Pimentel sat back slowly, gaze locked on her face. “Simyam Baru and Sam Duong are not the same man.”

  Jani looked from one scan to the other, her heart tripping, her hands damp. “Yes, but scans can change. The Laum may have conducted unrecorded experiments with tissue hybridization for all I know. I mean, look at me. My current scan doesn’t match my Service scan.” She kept reading. Line after line of comparator code. All different.

  All different.

  “Service ID scans are trace scans, Jani. Suitable for quick and dirty ID, in most instances. However, your ServRec also contained a full genomic scan, which was used to confirm your ID on Felix when the trace IDs didn’t match up.” Pimentel’s voice remained low and steady. Calm. “The Bandans are similarly thorough. The scans they sent are full genomics. No chance of error or mix-up. No chance of confusion.”

  Hugh left his window seat. “Through a skillful melding of coincidence and storytelling, Sam Duong built himself a past to replace the one he’d forgotten.” He rounded the front of Pimentel’s desk and sat on the edge, close to Jani.

  Pimentel picked up the story line. “He worked at the university at the same time Simyam Baru did. He may have even met him, but he can’t remember and we’ll probably never know.” He cleared his throat. “Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to tell you, yes, it’s possible someone else survived Knevçet Shèràa. But I will not lie to you. As a physician, I cannot, and as a friend, I will not.” He reached across the desk and touched her hand. “I’m sorry.”

  Jani put a hand to her throat. The ache in her chest made it hard to breathe. “There’s no chance?”

  “Simyam Baru and Sam Duong are two separate people, Jani. No, there’s no chance whatsoever.” Pimentel paused. “Sam wanted me to tell you he’s sorry. He said the thought of being the only one left with those memories terrified him into seeking help. He didn’t want to be alone.” He forced a smile. “He called you his ‘Dark Ice Captain.’ He said you were stronger than he was, and that he hoped you’d understand.”

  Hugh moved in behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “I wish the answer could be different. I wish something could be returned to you, for all you’ve lost.” His touch melted the tightness. Jani leaned forward and rested her head on the desk; Hugh didn’t let her go until she stopped crying.

  Pimentel walked her back to her room. He sat in the visitor’s chair instead of on his usual perch at her footboard, as if he thought she might not want him too close.

  “Jani.” He eyed her uncomfortably. “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah.” Jani circled to the far side of her room, and leaned against the window.

  “You’re sure?”

  “I’d bet my license.”

  Jani traced a finger over the glass in the same place Neumann had sketched tic-tac-toe with his blood. “Did he tell you anything about that night? I don’t remember what happened from the time I arrived at the A-G’s party.”

  Pimentel shook his head. “He knew you hallucinated. He hinted you spoke with Neumann, but when pressed, he became highly agitated.” He smoothed a hand over the freshly made bed. “At that point, it was enough for me that he didn’t want to be Simyam Baru anymore. That he realized there was a Sam Duong out there that he needed to recover. Rebuild.” He thumped the bedspread, which was so tightly tucked it whumped like a trampoline. “Speaking of rebuilding . . .”

  “Are you going to say something about the SIB?”

  “No.” He chuckled. “I wondered if you were up to . . . taking a call?”

  Jani saw the controlled eagerness in his face, and felt her heart skip. “From whom?”

  “Someone real, who’s been worried sick about you for the past five weeks.” He hesitated. “And, I’m guessing, for a hell of a lot longer than that.”

  “You’ll be all right by yourself?” Pimentel pushed Jani’s chair close to the display. “After what you just went through—”

  “I’m fine.” She pushed the chair back to a more comfortable viewing distance.

  “I’ll be down the hall.” He glanced back at her over his shoulder. “If you need anything.”

  “Thank you, Roger.” Jani fingered the Misty replay activator pad, and hoped he couldn’t see how her hand shook. “I mean that.”

  “Sure.” Pimentel eyed her somberly, then slipped out.

  She tapped the activator once. Twice. Third time proved the charm. The display blued. Lightened. The face formed.

  “Janila?” Her mother squinted, as though she could just see Jani at the other end of a very long tunnel. At the age of sixty-seven common, Jamira Shah Kilian looked so much as she had nineteen years ago, it took Jani’s breath away. Only the faintest wisps of grey lightened her black hair, gathered in a knot at the nape of her neck. Her brow and cheekbones were broad, her nose an arched curve almost Family in its sharpness. Her skin, a shade darker than Jani’s, bore a few fine lines at the corners of her brown eyes, which still shone large and bright. As always, she wore a brightly colored short-sleeved tee—Jani knew her loose, belted trousers would contain a multitude of colors to complement the current turquoise hue. She had drawn two horizontal downcurves of henna in the middle of her forehead, which meant she had visited the Brh shrine that day. She kept a smaller shrine at home, and only visited the neighborhood sanctum when she wished to pray for something special.

  Jani looked away from the display toward the wall opposite until her eyes stopped swimming.

  “It’s very vexing not being able to see you to speak to you,” her mother continued. “I was quite shocked when I saw your new face. So much like my grandmother Jamuna, my father’s mother whom you did not know. I had grown so used to you looking like your father, to see my family in you now—” She held a hand to her mouth as the seconds passed. Ten. Twenty.

  The hand dropped. “I have received so many messages these past weeks. Some of them have been quite . . . startling. So many doctors, reassuring me you are all right. That told me how sick you were. You can imagine my thoughts.”

  Jani rubbed her forehead and imagined her hands around Val’s throat. It would have been his idea, of course, to reassure her parents that she was just fine, then to nudge John into doing the same. And Roger. And God knows who else.

  Her mother reached out and touched the display, her eyes soft with apology. “Your father is not here. He is helping Oncle Shamus install systems at Faeroe Outpost. He has been there two months common already, and the delays still multiply like lapin. He is furious, but if they do not install the relays now, they will miss the peak of the tourist season and have
to wait until next quarter to renew the permits and you know how anxious Shamus becomes. Already, he jumps at loud noises. Of course, most of those loud noises are your father. But it is for the best. He would only want to go to Earth immediately to see you, and Dr. Pimentel warned us you need time to recover. Without undue strain, he said. He seems very worried about that. I quite like him. He seems . . . normal.” Her unexpressed opinion of John and Val rang loud and clear.

  “Your Colonel Hals also messaged. I quite liked her. Solid woman. Lots of common sense. If she is your friend, you are lucky. I feel I have less to worry.”

  She inhaled shakily. “It was very silly—” Her hand went to her mouth again. “Silly of you to think we would not want to see you. You’re our daughter, our only child—” She once more touched the display. “I can’t talk to a blinking screen. I want to talk to you in the same room. I want to hold my Jani-girl—” With that, all semblance of reserve shattered. She sagged forward, her face buried in her hands, shoulders shaking. “I don’t want to cry in this booth by myself. I want to cry with you. Tears should be shared.” She sat up and wiped her eyes with a tattered dispo.

  “I will send another message in a few days, when I can talk without crying. Dr. Shroud told me I should send as many as I wish, that Neoclona will pay. That is very generous of him, but I do not like to take advantage.” Her eyes narrowed, glittering with a sharp light Declan Kilian always referred to as “roasted almond.” “But maybe I will. I most look forward to meeting him, Janila, when we come to Earth.” Again, the melting. “Beaux rêves, ma petite fille. Au revoir.” The display blanked.

  Jani wiped her face. Then she touched the reply pad. She talked for almost an hour, telling her mother about life on the base. Acadia Central United’s continuing quest for the Cup. The weather. Her upcoming life in Chicago, that she had not even planned. Three months’ nonexistent income shot out into space when she pressed the touchpad, but if Neoclona could pay for her mother’s messages, they could pay for hers, too. John owed her that and more.