Endgame

by Kristine Smith

  “Yeah.” Jani watched him maneuver across the courtyard to the lift and step aboard the cabin. Watched the doors close. “This time.” She finished her coffee and headed for her room.

  Packing went quickly. Anything that she had left behind in John’s suite was retrieved by a solemn Dieter, who considered all the diplomatic possibilities and made sure that the trouser suits outnumbered the coveralls, then added a few gowns to the mix as well. That task completed, they adjourned to the offices, where Jani affixed signatures, discussed contingencies, and wrote the letter formally requesting that the firm of Sikara and Cossa act on the enclave’s behalf “in any and all legal matters.”

  The sun had begun its downward trek as she walked out to the beach. Imprinted the view in her mind in case she never saw it again. After a time, she heard the footfall behind her. The weighty quiet. “He loved it here.”

  Dathim drew up beside her. “We have put him aboard our shuttle. We leave at sunset. Feyó says little, so Meva speaks for both. She does that well.” He wore brilliant green and yellow, his ears arrayed with small hoops of gold, his brown hair freshly shorn. “You said you would show his killer the meaning of that which they did.” He looked down at her, eyes gleaming in the fading light. “You will kill them.”

  “Yes.” Jani saw a glimmer in the distance, growing larger with the passing seconds. The Exterior shuttle, approaching at speed. “Are you going to try to talk me out of it, too?”

  Dathim looked back out to the water. The lion, ever quiet, ever watchful. “No.”

  CHAPTER 20

  “Glories of the ship’s day to you.”

  Rilas looked up from her solitary game of pattern stones to find another of the passengers standing before her table. A female, attired in the most seemly manner. Hair braided in a breeder’s fringe. Trousers, shirt, and overrobe in shades of palest green and sand.

  The female bared her teeth, and kept her eyes averted. “I am ná Bolan Thea.” She spoke Vynshàrau Haárin laced with gesture that was almost bornsect in its complexity. “You wish an opponent?”

  “I—” Rilas looked down at her stones. They had transitioned to yellow and green spirals, and she had only three stones left to align to complete the required arrangement when ná Bolan interrupted. Now, as she watched, the pattern altered to cross-hatching lines. She had been so close—

  “I have lost you your game!” Ná Bolan crossed her right arm over her chest, a most formal gesture of apology.

  “Such is not important.” Rilas cast a final look at the stones before sweeping them off the table and into her cup. “I am ná Nahin Sela, and I do wish discourse. Since we departed Elyas Station, I have spoken to no other passengers.” She looked about the games room, empty but for herself and ná Bolan. “One ship-cycle past, yet all still remain in their rooms.” She handed the other female the cup, then smoothed the table covering so the stones would tumble cleanly and lay well.

  “They pray. They send transmissions to the worldskein.” Ná Bolan shook the cup and cast the stones. “Ní Tsecha Egri is dead, and they ponder that which comes after.” The polished rounds scattered across the table surface, the first pattern developing almost immediately. Left-hand spirals, a difficult design to manipulate.

  Ponder? Rilas watched her new opponent arrange the stones, hands moving with a quickness that rivaled her own. “They worry greatly, I most believe. Many considered ní Tsecha as their propitiator.”

  “I did not.” Ná Bolan completed her arrangement just as the spirals altered direction “What status had he, the first Chief Propitiator to be made Haárin? He was anathema.” She then used her handheld to record her points and her time. “NìaRauta Sànalàn is my propitiator.”

  Rilas fought the desire to bare her teeth as she collected the stones into her cup and shook them. So good after so long, to hear the words of a godly Haárin.

  She cast her stones. X marks. The simplest design. She bared her teeth and arranged the pattern, hands moving as quickly as they had when she assembled her rifle. “I have won this round!” She activated her own handheld and entered her scores. “We shall play a series—”

  “Ná Nahin?”

  Rilas looked up to find a ship’s security dominant standing before her.

  “Glories of the ship’s day to you.” He bared his teeth. “You will accompany me, please, to the security workroom.” He stepped back from the table, then paused, waiting.

  “Detained?” Rilas leaned against the high seat the dominant had offered her. “There are issues with my documents? With the business I performed in Karistos?”

  The dominant did not respond, but wrote a note on a piece of parchment with an inking stylus. As the other dominants on this Sìah Haárin cruiser, he dressed much as a humanish. Trousers and shirt of dark green, the uniform color of the ship. Around his neck, a strip of knotted cloth decorated with blue and green whorls. He wore his brown hair clipped short, which left visible the silver hoops that arrayed both earlobes from top to bottom.

  Unseemly. But security just the same, which meant that she needed to answer all questions and appear cooperative at all times. Even the godly act of disputation would be forbidden her, since Haárin who worked too long with humanish saw such as an attempt to evade and obstruct rather than as the blessed discourse that it was.

  Rilas tried to climb onto the seat, but one of its legs proved shorter than the other three, which sent it tipping to the side each time she set her weight upon it. Ungodly. The male sought to disquiet her with his silences and his broken furniture, this she knew as surely as she knew her robes and her rings. She had spent season after season training against such. It could not be unexpected.

  As though he had heard her thoughts through the air, the dominant stopped writing. He set down the stylus, then picked a hand light from a tray of writing tools and shone it upon the parchment, setting the inks. Then he sat back, hands clasped before him on the desk. “When we arrive at Guernsey Station, you will present yourself to this office. From here, you will be escorted to the Haárin Trade Board offices located at the station.”

  “I ask again, ní—” Rilas checked the front of the male’s shirt, then the top of his worktable, in search of a plate or disc bearing his name. She had seen such on the other ship dominants and suborns. Why did he not offer the same information? “Why am I to be detained? Are my documents not in order? Is there a question of my actions on Elyas?”

  The male took a documents slipcase from the stack on the side of his desk, and removed the parchment contained within. “You are a broker of decorative tiles?”

  “Yes, ní—” Rilas fought to straighten, to relax her throat and lighten her tone. “Yes. I am a tile broker.”

  “How long was your stay in Karistos?”

  “Two Elyan days.”

  The male nodded, a maddening humanish gesture that could mean anything or nothing. “When we arrive at Guernsey Station, you will be met by ná Calas Pélan, who is security dominant for the station. She will advise you of whatever you are entitled to know. You will be housed in suitable rooms, and communications will be sent from ná Calas’s dominant to yours conveying our sorrow at the disorder of this interruption.” His hand paused in its movements. “Who is your dominant, ná Nahin, so that we may process the notification with godly haste?”

  Rilas hesitated. Ná Nahin Sela was a tile broker of Rauta Shèràa, and thus had nothing to hide. She needed to behave as such. “My dominant is ní Kolesh Metán. His business rooms are within the Trade Board in Rauta Shèràa.” For this, she and nìRau Cèel had planned. Just as every godly Haárin acknowledged an Haárin dominant, so did she, for each of the Haárin she had ever pretended to be. And just as she had played the part of many Haárin, so had her dominant. The male owed his life and allegiance to nìRau Cèel, as she did. If he were ever contacted, he would respond as was appropriate to his skein and standing.

  “We shall initiate contact with ní Kolesh.” The male dragged the input board across the de
sk until it rested before him. “The Trade Board is well outfitted with rapid communications, thus we will seek to contact him immediately.” Another worthless nod. “We shall address the skein dominant as well, and present our regrets over any delay.”

  “The skein dominant?” Rilas felt her heart quicken once more. “Such would be an interference.”

  “Such is the most formal of protocols, ná Nahin.” The male’s hands stilled in their labors. “I only seek to placate. To acknowledge your concerns and address them.” He began inputting once more. “If reparations are due the skein of tilemasters, we of the security skein will make them, and truly.”

  Rilas watched the male work, and pressed a hand to her stomach, her roiling soul. I could kill him before he knew I had moved. And before she had reached her rooms, his skeinsharers would be on her, and all would be as lost. But all will be as lost in any case, for the dominant of the tilemasters’ skein will not know of ní Kolesh. His name existed in the roll, but he had no formal presence as a tilemaster. They would seek him and not find him. “I would request that you delay contacting ní Kolesh until I have done so.”

  The male tilted his head to one side, but since he did not alter his posture or raise either hand, it meant only more nothing. “Why, ná Nahin?”

  “Because there is discord between ní Kolesh and the tilemaster dominant, unto the edge of challenge, and I most fear that any interruption of business will aggravate this discord further.” Rilas paused to breathe, and felt her heart slow. Yes, if one accepted order, the gods protected one, and granted one cleverness. “Such contact as you wish to make would compel either ní Kolesh or the dominant to offer challenge, and such is not seemly. I as a suborn should not be the one to provoke such. The provocation should originate between them.”

  The male sat back and lowered his hands to the desktop. “And if I notify ní Kolesh, he may take the news to the skein dominant himself, and the challenge, if it is offered, may be offered in a more orderly manner.”

  “Yes.” Rilas drew herself most straight. “I am gratified that you understand.”

  “I understand why I am most content to no longer live within the worldskein.” The male folded his hands one over the other and rested them upon his knee. “I believe that given the tension between ní Kolesh and his dominant, it would be more fitting if you contacted him yourself. That way, you could explain the circumstances most fully, and determine between you the best method to approach the skein dominant.”

  Rilas bared her teeth. Her heart beat as slowly as if she slept. Those who worshipped the beauty of Caith would always be assured a well-illuminated path. “Such a solution would be most gratefully accepted, and truly.”

  Rilas restrained herself as the communications suborn instructed her on the use of the headpiece and showed her more times than was necessary the order of activation of the various relays and feeds. She knew more of the workings of such communications than any suborn. But a tile broker would not know of such matters. Thus did she remain silent, and gesture gratitude when the suborn completed his useless teachings and departed the cubicle.

  The security dominant so readily allowed me this. Rilas stood before the recording screen and prepared herself to speak. Does he believe that I will say something of interest to him? She fully expected that he would intercept her message, or perhaps have it relayed directly to his workrooms. He thinks himself most as humanish. Crafty. Devious. Do you believe, you with no name, that you are the only idomeni who is this way? One of the first lessons nìRau Cèel had taught her was how to adopt humanish ways, to defeat the enemy by becoming as they were.

  Across the narrow cubicle, the screen indicators altered in countdown. Rilas stood straight, tilted her head to the right in regard, curved her right hand and brought it level to her chest.

  “Ní Kolesh.” She bared her teeth. “Glories of the day to you.” She elevated the pitch of her voice. “With regret I tell you that I will not be able to attend our planned meetings at Phillipa Station. I will be detained at Guernsey Station for an unknown span of time. I am to be asked questions by ná Calas Pélan, security dominant of the Guernsey Haárin. I have not been told that which these questions concern.” She stopped, held her breath and listened, even though the cubicle was enclosed, soundproofed so that no one outside could hear that which was spoken within.

  “Such is all I can say, ní Kolesh, for such is all I know. May our ventures be blessed by Shiou in spite of the efforts of Caith to hamper our path. Blessings of future days grace you, and all who labor for you.” With that, Rilas gestured farewell, and stepped out of range of the display. She had done what she could, which was more than could have been hoped. She had notified nìRau Cèel of where she traveled and who would detain her. She prayed to Caith that by the time she arrived at Guernsey Station, some order would have arrived from Shèrá releasing her from having to respond to ná Calas’s questions. But if such is not forthcoming… Another method of interference would suffice. She could think of several that would affect an older station such as Guernsey. Provided access to the proper materials, she could construct the devices herself.

  Rilas pressed the cubicle door pad, waited for the door to open fully. Stepped out into the corridor and followed the path to the games room. She found ná Bolan Thea still seated in the same chair, executing a complex solo game with three sets of stones.

  “Have you committed crimes, ná Nahin? Is that why security dominants demand to speak with you and take you away from your games?” The female bared her teeth. “Nahin the criminal. I shall warn everyone of you.”

  Rilas clenched one hand. Imagined Bolan’s neck and the blow required to break it, then stopped herself. Ná Bolan is a godly Haárin, and such is her way. The combative, challenging way of idomeni. The way she, Imea nìaRauta Rilas, would have recognized had she not been so concerned with humanish-acting security dominants who did not comprehend the custom of nameplates.

  “I am indeed a criminal.” Rilas bared her teeth and sat, and prayed to Caith for a disaster to befall Guernsey Station.

  As the ship-cycle passed, more and more Haárin ventured out of their cabins. Rilas remained among them, and behaved most as that which she was supposed to be. She studied business dispatches prior to mid-afternoon sacrament, participated in movement sessions in the gymnasium and in discussions in the ship’s veranda. Through ná Bolan, she met others. They filled the games room and discussed ní Tsecha’s death in between the clatter and toss of the stones.

  It did not surprise Rilas overmuch when the male security dominant who had questioned her earlier entered the games room. Their ship was small. They would be bound to encounter one another. Even so, she felt relief when he did not acknowledge her and sat at another table. Nahin the criminal, ná Bolan announced, and she accepted the mocking with bared teeth. Cast her stones. Arranged her designs. Kept her scores.

  Rilas won several rounds, and played until the corridors darkened, a sign of the ship-night. She left the loud ná Bolan and the others behind and returned to her rooms. Entered. Paused in the doorway and studied the worktable, the altar alcove, the laving room and bedroom beyond. Could detect no sign that someone had entered during her absence and searched her belongings, yet trusted the sense she had acquired over many such journeys and accepted that someone had. The male security dominant, possibly. One of his suborns, more likely.

  Rilas walked through the rooms, one by one. Took note of objects and their locations and positions. Twenty ship-cycles until Guernsey. She prayed to Caith for the time to pass quickly, even as she knew what awaited her there, and realized that she might be praying for the lesser choice.

  CHAPTER 21

  “Kilian says Haárin to be questioned in connection with assassination.”

  Rilas read the title of the Guernsey newssheet once, then again. Then she studied the image of Kilian that had been placed next to the text, looking her in the eye as she would never have done if they stood together in the flesh.

&nbs
p; Godless eyes. Anathema. The sickly green, pale as Oà, too light against Kilian’s dark skin.

  “Humanish or Haárin—it’s all the same.”

  Rilas crouched before the image display, one hand fixed on the controls. She had obtained a copy of the newssheet as soon as it had been received by the ship relay, replayed it constantly, as every idomeni had done since it had first been released. Argued over it on the ship’s veranda, in the games room, the movement room, as they had argued over the news of ní Tsecha’s assassination, released only a short time before.

  “Humanish or Haárin—it’s all the same.”

  Morden nìRau Cèel’s response had been swift, his godly aspect broadcast throughout the worldskein to the Commonwealth beyond. The Kièrshia is anathema, he had entoned, shoulders rounded and voice deepened. Idomeni do not kill in such a secret way.

  But then the stories emerged of deaths that occurred within the circle as the result of godly challenge, of knives that had slipped and blood that had flowed too well.

  Such is different, and truly. Rilas deactivated the display, watched Kilian’s eyes darken to blackness. Each slip of the blade is the will of the gods. If a soul heard the call of the gods, its duty was to answer. Any action that assisted it upon its way served as part of that reply.

  “All is anathema.” Rilas paced. They would dock at Guernsey within half a ship-cycle, and still she had heard nothing from ní Kolesh, not even an acknowledgment of her message. They have notified ná Calas, and I will not be questioned. But if this was the case, why had not the nameless ship security dominant informed her? Why allow her to wait, and wonder?

  She sensed the tension grow in her limbs and knot the core of her soul. Now was not the time for the games room, even though she had arranged to meet with ná Bolan. Now was not a time for the stones.