Endgame

by Kristine Smith

  “That would get quashed by any—” Sikara tapped his chin with his fist. “The decision concerning jurisdiction would likely end up in the Commonwealth Court.”

  “If a procolonial autonomy figure like Yevgeny Scriabin won the prime ministry and packed the bench with like minds?” Jani finally looked at John, to find him glaring at her, gripping his couch cushion in a white-knuckled clench.

  “Not often the patients wind up buying the hospital,” said Cossa, driving in the knife just a little deeper.

  Sikara looked from John to Jani, and cleared his throat. “I won’t ask. It’s none of my business yet. I will only say that I do not handle divorces and have no intention of starting now.” He grew quiet, his lawyer brain already mulling the possibilities. “That being said, my partner and I will evaluate your overall situation. Whatever our decision, Mister Brondt may feel free to call on us at any time during your absence.”

  Jani looked at Dieter, who nodded. “We have the wherewithal to retain you.”

  John thumped his thigh with his fist. “Does the term ‘conflict of interest’ enter into this anywhere?”

  Sikara’s chin came up. “We are looking after your interests, John, in a manner that isn’t so dependent on the outcome of a Chicago-run general election. If your share of Neoclona was successfully nationalized, you’d retain control of all research and medical facilities, and Thalassa would begin to acquire some sort of…national identity, for want of a better term.” He looked to Jani for confirmation, and frowned when she took her time nodding her reply. “You would likely lose some control of operations and decisions concerning expansion and whatnot, but it would beat the hell out of two percent, give us your ball, and go home. If I were you, I wouldn’t dismiss it out of hand.”

  Dieter stood and clapped his hands silently, a let’s go gesture that implied how eager he was to flee the room. “I can give you a quick tour of our offices on your way out. We have a retired attorney and a paralegal organizing matters.”

  “Yes, I’d like that.” Cossa stood, stuffing his board in his bag as he nodded to John and Jani, then hurried along, as eager as Dieter to exit stage left.

  “I’ll catch you up in a moment, James.” Sikara stood. “Safe journey to you both.” He held out his hand to John, who shook it eventually, then bowed to Jani. “As I stated before, what’s going on between you isn’t yet my business. I would prefer it remain that way. Remember that you’re on the same side. We will be blazing new legal trails here, and Chicago will throw every mud-coated roadblock in our path that they can devise. A united front is essential if we are to succeed.” He straightened his jacket, adjusted the fan fold of his pocket square. “It is about control, in my experience. The money loses meaning—a fight over seashells could prove as deadly.” He started after Dieter and Cossa. “When in doubt, try acting as adults. And remember what you’re working toward.”

  John waited until the man was out of earshot. “And I thought Val was a sandbagger.”

  “I want this place protected. These people.” Jani heard the rise of voices behind her, and turned to the courtyard to find it filling. Those who sat at tables stood and looked toward the demiroom, while the overflow filled the perimeter of the space. “If it’s a choice between your pride and their lives, it’s not really a choice, is it?”

  “I am not going to let you steal my life’s work.”

  “Who’s stealing? You’ll still have it. You’ll still be able to work, but you’ll be working for Thalassa, not Neoclona. Does the name change matter that much to you?” She started toward the courtyard, then stopped and looked back to John. “If it does, what the hell are you doing here?” She left him smoldering and entered the courtyard to find that someone had already set out an empty crate for her to use as a dais. She stepped atop it and faced the crowd. Sensed their confusion and the questions and, most strongly, their fear.

  “I’m guessing from the looks on your faces that you’ve heard a little and inferred a lot.” Jani paused, tried to grab words out of the air, and decided the hell with it. Words were not her gift. All she could think of to say was the bare truth, and bare truth stabbed like blades. “Ní Tsecha was assassinated. We don’t know who did it. No group or individual has yet claimed responsibility. We’ll find them. That’s all I can say.” She felt the pressure of shocked stares, unspoken questions, the first glimmers of anger. Stay with me, please. She put her hands in her pockets, then took them out. Looked toward the upper floors and saw more Thalassans standing at the walkway railings, watching her.

  “Tonight, Doctor Shroud and I will be leaving for Shèrá as part of a funeral delegation. We will be taking ní Tsecha’s soul home.” Jani pulled in a shaky breath. “The fact of the assassination is not yet common knowledge. It will disseminate over the next few days, and the reaction will be swift and profound. Only humanish assassinate. The worldskein will blame the Commonwealth, and even though Morden nìRau Cèel cast out ní Tsecha and declared him Haárin, he will still proclaim grievous injury. He—” She stopped herself. Now wasn’t the time for a history lesson, even though part of the history was hers. “What I’m trying to say is that things will become very difficult. Elyans may pull away from us. The Haárin may, as well. Sides will be taken, and we straddle the line here.” She sensed the further quieting as the realization settled over them. The silencing of the silence.

  “Questions?” Jani fielded shock, the loss for words she knew all too well. “Talk to me, to Doctor Shroud. To Dieter Brondt, who will serve in my absence. Talk to one another.” She started to step down from the crate, then stopped. Every speech needed an ending, and she’d never possessed the knack for those. “We have sustained a great loss. But we will survive it, and grow, and thrive. We will do it in Tsecha’s name, and in spite of those who would stop us.” She stepped down, and soon found herself surrounded, the questions battering like shot. How? What?

  Why?

  She answered as best she could. Tried to comfort, although she had never possessed the knack for that, either. Looked past the bodies that crowded her, and saw John doing the same on the other side of the courtyard.

  Then someone handed her coffee, and someone else led her to a seat, and they sat and talked some more and tried to eat and she wondered if maybe, just maybe, they would be able to—

  “Hey!”

  —get through this without a—

  “Fight!” Dieter hurtled past her, dodging around tables toward the shadowed far end of the courtyard.

  Five minutes. Jani pushed back from the table, sending her chair flying, and took off after him. We lasted five fucking minutes! She slid to a stop behind him as he struggled to push into the scrum. Three bodies, maybe four, a punching, kicking, biting mass of bright clothes and fists and elbows.

  “Knock it off!” Dieter deflected a blow to his chin, grabbed the back of a collar and yanked. “Break it up now!”

  Jani circled to the other side. Grabbed the back of a shirt, a handful of hair. Took a wild punch to the breast and struck back hard, heard the howl and rode it, felt the sensations rise. The cold burn of the flesh. The song in the blood. Brought back her fist again and—

  “Jani?” Dieter shouted from the other side of the pile. “Jani!”

  —lashed out, connected, felt the blessed warmth spatter across her skin. Caught hold of cloth and hair and pulled, lifted a body clean and slammed it against the stone wall. Heard the hmph of expelled air, the wheezing intake of breath, a curse. Caught a fist with the flat of her hand.

  Recognized the face through the rage and the red.

  “Do you want to fight me, Jemmie?” She saw the answer in the young male’s widening eyes. That she was the Kilian of Knevçet Shèràa, and of other things whispered of, but not known for sure. That she leaned against him with all her weight, one arm braced across his shoulders, a knee against his leg and a fist in front of his balls, and that whatever advantage he’d enjoyed due to age or anger or strength, he’d just lost it.

  J
emmie shook his head as he tried to wriggle out from under. “You said—humanish assassinate. Humanish killed ní Tsecha!” He struggled to point with an arm immobilized by her pressure on his shoulder. “He’s humanish!” He twitched his hand toward another young male who Dieter worked to free from the mess.

  “That’s Bryan.” Jani paused, put her head back, breathed. “Are you saying that Bryan killed ní Tsecha?” She watched the two look at one another, then away. Bryan and Jemmie. They’d arrived at about the same time, did the program together. Worked in the greenhouses. Together. “You’ve both been here three months. At this point, he’s only a little more humanish than you. You’re practically the same.” She edged back, let Jemmie step away from the wall. “If you’re thinking of telling me that it makes a difference that he began as humanish and you began as Haárin, I would beg you to reconsider your argument. You both chose to be made Thalassan, and you did so for a reason. Have you forgotten what it was?” She gave Jemmie’s bright blue shirt and aqua trousers a once-over. “Or did you just do it for the clothes?” She watched Jemmie’s face redden as the nervous laughter spread through the crowd of onlookers. Humanish enough to be embarrassed. Well, that was a start.

  “You’ll do nothing.”

  Jani looked around to find the third member of the scrum looking up at her from the floor. One eye had already swelled closed and his lip glistened raw red. Owen. He’d come with his father. They’d been there from the start.

  “You’re up against the Commonwealth, and their Families, and their money.” Owen coughed, spit blood and phlegm. “They’ll hide whoever did it, and if you fight them, they’ll crush you.”

  Jani stood over him silently, staring him down until he broke contact and hung his head. Then she held out her hand, waited until he took it, and pulled him to his feet. “Humanish or Haárin—it’s all the same in this. We will be questioning Haárin who were in the vicinity at the time we believe the assassin passed through Elyas Station. To see if they saw anything, if they know anything.” She looked at each of the fighters in turn, then at the rest of the crowd.

  “We are working together in this, ná Feyó and ná Meva and I. Colonel Pierce. Governor Markos. The colony of Elyas, the Haárin enclave and Thalassa.” She shook her head. “If ní Tsecha could see you now, what would he say? You know what he would say, and he’d be a hell of a lot less diplomatic than I am.” She stepped over blood-smeared flagstones on her way back to the central courtyard. “Why are we here? Because some of us were ill, and the blending saved us. Because some of us believe that the blending is the future. Because we want to live longer and watch the changes and become that which we are meant to be.” She turned back to the three chastened brawlers, stopping them in their tracks. “Don’t ever do this again!” Then she walked back to her table and her cold coffee. Sat down and breathed slowly and tried to silence the pounding in her head.

  “You’re the one who did the number on Owen’s lip. That’s two in less than a day. Thanks for the assistance, but from now on, let me break up the fights.” Dieter sat across from her, a mug of tea in hand. “I left them in the care of angry home-parents.” He slid back the lid of a sugar bowl and plucked a couple of cubes, dropping them into his tea. “And so it begins.”

  “Might be a good idea to introduce à lérine. It’ll help release the steam.” Jani drank her coffee, and wondered if it would keep her awake until she boarded the shuttle. “We were bound to need it eventually.”

  “Let them challenge one another?” Dieter slumped and stared at her. “We’ll spend the next three weeks hosing the blood out of here.”

  “I don’t see an alternative.” Jani picked out a roll from the breadbasket, tore off a chunk and dredged it through a dish of herbed oil. “The idomeni in them will crave the structure. And it will prepare them in case any of the Elyan Haárin decide to express their opinion and start offering challenges.” She tasted mild grassiness and wished it would burn, blister, keep her awake. “Talk to Dathim. He can recommend some friendly Haárin who can serve as trainers. I guarantee they won’t put up with any crap.”

  Dieter drummed his fingers along the side of his cup. “Someone could die.”

  “Not likely, given we’re right atop a damned clinic.” Jani fielded Dieter’s stare. “I doubt anyone is going to assassinate one of them.” Another chunk of bread. More oil. “We’ve reached the one-day-at-a-time stage. Start with some organized violence, and see how it goes.” She looked up at the skylight, the sun already grazing the edge as departure time grew closer. “Forgive me for leaving you with this, but I have no choice.”

  Dieter sipped. Shrugged. “There will be washouts, as in any trial by fire. Some may need to return for medical reasons, and maybe they’ll eventually see sense. The rest of us should come through stronger, more united.” He forced a smile. “Your home will be here when you return.” Then he looked past Jani and the smile wavered. “Pierce.”

  “Brondt.” Niall dragged a chair next to Jani and sat. “I seem to have walked into the middle of something.” He looked across the courtyard to the scene of the fight, where the guilty parties mopped the floor under the watchful eye of Owen’s father. “I wanted to let you know the details so far.”

  “Snapping Family fingers?” Jani managed a grin.

  “Shut up.” Niall staged his own raid of the breadbasket. “Shuttle services to Elyas Station are being provided by Exterior, but you’ll travel as far as Guernsey on a Commerce cruiser, the Madelaine. Pascal and I and a few other of my staff will be claiming billet privileges on both your shuttle and your ship. After we hit Guernsey, it will be our turn. We’ll be giving you a ride as far as treaty allows. Then it’s back to the Madelaine for the balance of the journey to Rauta Shèràa.”

  “A Service vessel?” Dieter’s brow arched.

  “A carrier. The CSS Viktor Ulanov, who history indicates wasn’t the worst Prime Minister we ever had, and who was less of a bastard than others of his family, small f.” Niall smeared butter on black bread, then swiped a cup from a nearby place setting and filled it from a carafe. “Roshi’s orders.”

  Jani calculated message central transmit times in her head. “He can’t have received your messages already.”

  “He can when he’s already halfway here.” Niall grabbed another slice of bread, then offered a grinning “thank you” to a young female who slipped him a plate of ham. “He was already on his way out here to assess the Fort Karistos situation personally. He’ll reach Guernsey about a week before we do.” He folded the meat into the bread and dredged it all through a dish of hot mustard. “It’s the general feeling that it’s the best way to protect the embassy. Let Cèel see a little of what we have.” He took a bite of his sandwich, nodding as he chewed.

  Dieter tossed back the last of his tea, then stood. “Your gear won’t pack itself.” He circled the table and headed for the stairway.

  “Don’t forget the small clothes.” Jani smiled as he turned and shook his finger at her.

  “Think you’re up to it?” Niall refilled his cup, then scanned the table for something else to eat.

  Jani didn’t have to ask what he referred to. Rauta Shèràa in our sights. She twitched a shoulder. “You?”

  “We’ll find out, won’t we?” The filtered sunlight struck the side of his face, highlighting a throbbing vein and a bunched jaw muscle. “Sleeping well?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Might’ve been better for your overall health if you’d avoided the spat with your medical team.”

  “It was more than a spat.” Jani broke off crumbs of bread and tossed them into the oil dish.

  “I know. Pascal filled me in. I’m having a hard time adjusting to receiving my updates from him.” Niall touched his lower lip. “I did notice a spot of imperfection on that face you seem to think so much of.” He paused. “So why’d you hit him?”

  Jani dropped the last chunk of bread into the oil. “Can I just say that he got on my nerves and leave it at that?”

  “M
uch as I’d like to believe you’ve finally come to your senses where he’s concerned, no.” Niall gave up the hunt for further sustenance and dug out his ’sticks. “Like I said before, he thinks they didn’t tell me that Tsecha was assassinated because they thought I’d tell you. Why would that worry them?” He exhaled twin streams of smoke, watched it drift upward. “Of course you’d be upset. And you’d want to find out who did it. Not really a stretch. Did they think you’d try to take over the investigation? I thought you were remarkably well-behaved in the library.” He set his nicstick case spinning on the tabletop, and it flashed back sunlight like a beacon. “Pascal said he told you to let a pro handle it.”

  Jani laid back her head. Sleep called again, and she struggled to ignore it. “Handle what?”

  Niall swept his case off the table and back into his pocket. “It’s bad enough adjusting to working with Pretty Boy. What’s bothering me even more is that I find myself agreeing with him. Half the Outer Circle is on this case, Jan. Leave them to it. Let the courts, or a discreet professional, take care of the killer.” His timepiece beeped and he grumbled. “Can I use your comroom? I need to send Roshi an update. Take what I said to heart, please?” He made as if to rise, then sat back slowly. “Please?”

  Jani watched him slump, the energy seep away, until he looked as tired as she felt. “Niall?”

  He dropped his spent ’stick in a refuse dish and watched the last curls of smoke. “You first.”

  Jani waited, while around her Thalassans talked and tried to laugh. “I’m caught in a sandstorm. It buries me.”

  Niall nodded. “My long-range misfires, blows a hole in my chest. I look down, and I can see my heart beating. Then it stops.” He stood. “First one in months. Maybe I’m not so sorry that Pretty Boy woke me up early this morning after all.”

  “You don’t have to go.”

  “You’re going.”

  “I don’t have a choice.”

  “Neither do I, gel. If we need to pick embassy personnel off the rooftops, I have to be there.” Niall put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “Do things right this time.” He released her. “See you on the tarmac.”