Endgame

by Kristine Smith

  “Would it matter if he did?” Val hesitated, then shook his head. “Not to worry. Mine is a solo effort.” He sat forward, elbows on knees and hands clasped between, so friendly and expectant. “What you say here, stays here. You know that.”

  Do I? Jani rested a booted foot atop her bed and wiped away smudges with the corner of the sheet. “I’m fine.”

  Val watched her. Waited until she met his eye, then waited some more, his brightness fading as the realization settled. That she wouldn’t tell him. That if he pushed her, she’d lie.

  “Well…” He stood slowly. “It is good to be trusted by those you love.”

  “Likewise.” Jani took what grim satisfaction she could in his blush, in the way he suddenly couldn’t meet her eye.

  “We had our reasons, Jan.” He walked to the door, head down.

  “You always did.”

  “Yeah, well—” The tweet of the entry buzzer cut Val off, and he struck the door pad with his fist.

  Niall pushed past the panel before it opened completely. “There’s been an explosion at Guernsey. One of the Commonwealth docks.” He wore dress blue-greys, the shine of his badges and designators providing sharp contrast to the dullness of his skin and eyes. “It’s bad.”

  Jani rose slowly, whispered the question she had grown to dread during her time in Rauta Shèràa. “How many?”

  “One hundred twenty-six confirmed dead.” Niall turned to leave, then hesitated. “And climbing.”

  Val left to track down John, who was arranging transport to the station to aid the medical team. The rest of them gathered in Niall’s office, a converted conference room restocked with desks and workstations and alive with the bustle of staffers, their commander’s desk serving as the hub.

  “Service Station liaison believes it was a small pulse bomb.” Niall called up a holo of the dock area schematic, which formed above his desk. “Structural damage was significant in the immediate area.” He stuck a stylus in the middle of the image and inscribed a circle around an area that encompassed a large gangway some distance from the main concourse. “No breach, thank God. The sealer layer did its job.”

  “Looks well off the beaten path.” Scriabin walked around the image, taking it in from every angle. “Why so many dead?”

  “The starliner Capria had just docked. Emergency due to mechanical issues.” Lucien pushed aside a stack of files and sat atop his desk. “Passengers were in the process of disembarking when the bomb exploded.”

  Jani lowered into a chair. “The gangway was full…”

  “Yeah.” Niall turned off the imager, and the schematic faded. “The station is in full shutdown. Instead of docking there, we will hook up directly with the Ulanov.” He nodded toward Scriabin. “Luckily, your pilot has carrier experience. Otherwise we’d have had to ship one over who did.”

  “Minister Ulanova and I will need to port over to the station in any case.” Scriabin paced. “We have people there. We need to ensure that supplies can get in, arrange transport for family members.”

  Niall nodded. “We can see to that as soon as station security gives us clearance. For now, we need to—”

  The door opened and Anais Ulanova swept in. She wore somber brown and carried a rolled newssheet in one hand. “Horrible. Just horrible.” She ignored Jani, shot a venomous glare at Lucien, then focused her attention on Niall and her nephew. “Could it have anything to do with this?” She unrolled the newssheet and laid it on Niall’s desk.

  Scriabin strode to his aunt’s side. His brow arched as he read. “‘Kilian says Haárin to be questioned in connection with assassination.’”

  Jani sat up straighter as all eyes fixed on her. “I never spoke to a reporter. I haven’t given an interview in months.” She stood and walked to the desk. Tried to read the article, only for Ulanova to wedge in front of her, blocking her.

  The woman stabbed the sheet with a carmine-tipped finger. “It states that you gave a speech to your enclave informing them that ní Tsecha had been assassinated, and that several Haárin were being sought in connection with his death.”

  “I would like to read it without benefit of translation.” Jani shouldered her aside, then checked the byline and the banner. “I don’t know that reporter, and I’ve never spoken to anyone from the Amsun Star.” She read each sentence once, then again, her heart tripping as the truth dawned. One of her Thalassans had talked. I didn’t tell them not to. Because she hadn’t thought it necessary, because she never spoke to a reporter if she could avoid it.

  Scriabin’s voice emerged tight, mounting anger laced with disbelief. “You informed your entire enclave that Haárin would be questioned in connection with Tsecha’s assassination, and it never occurred to you that one of them might talk to a reporter?”

  No. Jani looked across the desk at Niall, who blew out a long breath, then shook his head. “They had a right to know what happened. A right to know the truth. I was leaving them behind to face who knew what? Sanctions? Attacks? I had to tell them why. I couldn’t let them find out from someone else.”

  “Goddamn it.” Scriabin’s face flared. “Relations with the worldskein are all but severed. Our border colonies are in danger, and some of us are risking our lives—”

  “And I had an enclave to keep a lid on.” Jani felt the anger rise, swamping out the fatigue and uncertainty. “Haárin hybrids getting into fistfights with humanish hybrids because a humanish killed Tsecha. Haárin and humanish who were friends ten minutes before.”

  “Strictly speaking…” Niall waited until he had everyone’s attention. “The article isn’t incorrect,” he continued at lower volume. “We are talking to Haárin about Tsecha’s assassination. Nowhere in that article does it state that we think an Haárin killed him.”

  “Don’t be disingenuous, Colonel.” Ulanova jerked her head toward Jani. “Thanks to her lack of judgment, we have this wrenching disaster to contend with.”

  “What has this article to do with the bombing?” Jani caught the glitter in Ulanova’s eyes, saw the thin-lipped smile form. “You’re saying they’re related?”

  “Of course they’re related. You say that Haárin played a part in Tsecha’s assassination—”

  “That’s not what I said.”

  “—and humanish are killed in revenge.” Ulanova breathed hard, cheeks flushing. “Anyone with any intelligence can see that this is the case.”

  “You’re saying the Guernsey Haárin are responsible?” Lucien avoided looking at his former patroness, concentrating instead on the state of his cuticles. “And they’ve been so peaceful to this point.”

  “This stupidity would drive anyone over the edge, no matter how peaceful they’d been to this point.” Ulanova reclaimed the newssheet and rolled it into a tight tube. “First, Zhenya and I will go to the station. Observe the damage. See to our annexes.” She turned to Jani, finally looking her in the face. It was all there, reflected in the woman’s shining black eyes. The history between them, the hatred and the humiliation and the loss. “Then I will go to Hiroshi Mako and request that you be sent back to where you came from.” She turned on her heel and walked out, head high, triumph radiating like an aura.

  Scriabin waited until the door closed. “I’ll do what I can.” His crisp tone indicated that it wouldn’t be much. “We’ll talk more after we return from the station.” He followed after his aunt, his posture bowed and his step slower, the brawler who had taken a hit from an unexpected quarter and couldn’t shake it off.

  Jani leaned against Niall’s desk. Felt all eyes upon her, Niall’s and Lucien’s and the rest of the staff’s. Struggled to find her voice. “They know it was a bomb?”

  Lucien slid off his desk and walked to her. “They’ve found a few pieces.”

  “And you think my remarks triggered the attack?”

  Niall swore under his breath. “Did you hear me say that?” He stepped around his desk and stopped in front of her. “Did you plant the bomb? Did you detonate it? Then you’re not respon
sible. Don’t let that bitch get to you.”

  Jani nodded. “I should go over.”

  “Why?” Lucien shrugged, ever the pragmatist. “What can you do?”

  “I’m still a documents examiner.” Jani patted the place on her hip where for years her scanpack had hung. “I think Guernsey Station has two, total, and they’re probably going in five different directions about now.” Long ago memories surfaced. The smells. The images. “We’re always needed at times like this.”

  “Why? You—” Niall paled. “Oh, Jan, no.”

  “I have to.” She stared him in the eye until he looked away.

  Scriabin’s pilot docked the Madelaine with the Ulanov with practiced ease. From the juncture point, Niall escorted Jani down tight winding corridors to the carrier shuttle bays, where medical teams and repair crews stood waiting for transport to the station.

  “Station staff is overwhelmed in more departments than one.” Niall patted the pocket containing his nicstick case, then eyed the NO IGNITION SOURCES sign and let his hand fall. “Are you sure you want to do this? Because we have dexxies of our own whom we can send over.”

  Jani turned her back on Niall and walked around the bay. Heard his muttered, “—and I may as well argue with a goddamned wall.” Felt the stares of the Spacers as they studied her, recognized her, and started talking. She had taken time to change clothes, switching out the delicate tunic and trousers for coveralls in drab dark grey. Her old Service duffel hung from her shoulder, nudging her hip with every step. Inside were her scanpack, tools, and spare parts. A verified copy of her Academy certificate, just in case anyone questioned her.

  Her shooter, just in case.

  “Ma’am?”

  Jani turned to find a baby-faced corporal with a recording board eyeing her expectantly. “Jani Kilian. I’m part of the Shèráin mission.” For the time being, at least. “I’m a documents examiner, and I wondered if they needed help with close-outs at the station?”

  Before the corporal could reply, one of the med techs piped up. “They do. I heard one of the doc techs say that they’re falling way behind. The station dexxie was going to put out a call.”

  “Looks like you won yourself a seat on the next nonmedical shuttle, ma’am.” The corporal glanced past Jani toward Niall, who hovered grim-faced like a doubt-filled father of the bride, then back at her board. “If you follow me over here, we’ll scan you in.”

  Jani followed her to the ID scanner. Stood still for the retinal, ear, and palm scans, and hid a smile as the diplomatic sigil popped up on the display alongside her confirmation. Thank you, Stash Markos. She held onto her duffel and passed on through to the boarding chute into the shuttle, then turned in time to see Niall step around the scanner and hurry after her. “Diplomatic immunity works even better than scanproof compartments.”

  “You’re armed, aren’t you?”

  “I’m sorry, Colonel?”

  “Goddamn it.” Niall followed her up the single aisle to a pair of empty seats. “What are you up to?”

  “Nothing.” Jani opted for the window view. “I wouldn’t lie to you, Niall. Not now.” She inserted her duffel into the grapple rack under her seat, then buckled herself in. “I know this isn’t a good time, but when can we talk to Nahin Sela?”

  “I knew you were going to ask that.” Niall fastened his own seat harness, then pressed a hand to the back of his neck. “I told Pascal to use his charm and see if he can get through to the station liaison, but I think they’ll tell us that they have enough on their plate for the moment.”

  “He’s proving useful, isn’t he?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  Around them, seats, grapples, and overhead racks filled. Then came a series of warning pings, followed by wave after wave of shudders as the boarding chute detached, the airlock sealed, and the hangar door swept open. Jani looked across the aisle to the starboard observation port and the view beyond, pitch-black tempered by a spray of stars. Felt the acid rise to the base of her throat and her stomach threaten rebellion as the shuttle directionals activated and the craft elevated then drifted to the side, freeing itself from its mother carrier and the bulk of her gravitational field.

  Jani glanced at Niall, who sat with his head resting against his seatback, his eyes closed.

  “I always like that floaty feeling when you first break away.” He sighed. “Like sleep without the dreams.”

  “You can have it.” Jani swallowed carefully. Breathed slowly. Looked out her portside observation port and saw only the gunmetal bronze surface of the carrier, fretted by seaming and welds and the odd bleached splash mark that developed when the destructive flash of the debris shield flared brightly enough to oxidize the surface coating.

  “You ever pull carrier duty?”

  Jani shook her head. “Never asked for it. The Academy degree pretty much guaranteed a slot at Rauta Shèràa Base.” More recollections surfaced. The entire damn voyage was proving one long gantlet run down memory lane. “And I’d heard stories about carrier duty.”

  “The old Service.” Niall grimaced. “I remember her well.”

  The shuttle began its swing around to the far side of the station, a maneuver that finally allowed Jani a clear view of the immensity that was the CSS Viktor Ulanov. Ten football fields in length and at least three in height, a sloping, featureless throwback to older style vessels that Service wits had christened “space whales.” In the distance, the winking lights of her escort destroyers and caravelles, arrayed in uncloaked patrol like worker bees guarding their queen.

  “Roshi’s making a point by taking her into the worldskein.” Niall leaned forward to take in the view, eyes alight with pride. “This is called a carrier group, Morden nìRau Cèel, and we’ve got thirty-three at home just like it.”

  “The idomeni have carrier groups, too.” Jani sat back. Ships had never impressed her during her Service days, and the feeling hadn’t changed with time. “Been years since I did close-outs. I’d hate to think that I can anticipate lots of practice.”

  They passed the undamaged side of the Capria, an ornate silver bird outfitted with useless but attractive turrets and masts. Every so often a Service hullwalker, welder in hand, would float into view before disappearing on the other side of the ship.

  Then came the darkness of Guernsey Station itself, a kilometers-long grid that dwarfed even Service carriers.

  “They’re going to drop us off on the other side of the main concourse, where there was no damage.” Niall settled back in his seat. “The hospital, all the waiting areas, they’re all on that side as well.” He licked his lips. “The morgue.”

  Minutes passed. Then came the clicks, hisses, and barely detectable bumps of docking. Another series of pings, followed by still silence. Then, as if on cue, everyone unsnapped their harnesses and gathered their belongings.

  The first thing that struck Jani as she entered the main concourse was the quiet. The area had been evacuated after the blast, passengers, vendors, and other personnel shunted off to station annexes to wait out the emergency.

  “It happened down there.” Niall pointed to a gangway entry halfway down the concourse, which had been sealed off with flex paneling and a semicircle of emergency cones. Station security paced the area, pulse rifles lowered but ready to be brought into play at any time.

  Jani looked down a nearby gangway, a long, bare tunnel capped at the far end by the ship juncture. “It was like dropping a grenade down a well, wasn’t it?”

  “Pretty much.” Niall muttered under his breath. “It wasn’t your fault, all right?” He nudged her elbow. “The paper pushers are all down here.”

  Jani followed Niall down a corridor that ran between lines of darkened shops and kiosks, then into a large room filled with desks, the only sounds the rustle of parchment and the occasional beep of a scanpack.

  “I think you can take it from here.” Niall waved her on into the room, then let the door close.

  Jani walked to the ne
arest desk, where a woman in a green station uniform ran her scanpack across an identity card. “I thought you might need some help.”

  The woman looked up. Her brown eyes were dull, her dark skin ashy from the shock of too much, too fast.

  Then she fixed on Jani’s face and her jaw dropped. “Jani Kil—” She stood. “If you’re here to take charge—” She motioned toward her chair.

  Oh, please, no. Jani shook her head. “Just show me a stack.”

  “Oh.” The woman stared at her desktop for a moment, then looked up. “Beah Lynn, Station Documentation.”

  Jani reached into her duffel and pulled out her scanpack case. “I’m traveling on the Ulanov. I heard you were shorthanded.”

  “Yes.” Lynn led her to an empty desk in a far corner, glancing over her shoulder every few steps as though making sure she was still there.

  Meanwhile, the stares from the surrounding desks. The buzz of voices.

  “Jani Kilian—”

  “Two of Six—”

  “Academy—”

  “Tsecha—”

  “Knevçet Shèràa—”

  “Here.” Lynn pulled out Jani’s chair, then transferred a stack of document slipcases from another desk. “These have all had prelim and collate. They just need to be closed.”

  Jani sat. Removed her scanpack from its case and ran a hand over the scuffed black surface, then touched the device’s underside, activating it. Took the top slipcase from the stack and started to undo the clasp until she realized that Lynn still stood by the desk.

  “I just want to say—” The woman rolled her eyes, struck her thigh with her fist. “Twenty-five years ago the Helier Express ran a series of stories about you and the other humans who attended the Academy. I saved them all, and I read them over and over.” Her face lit, despite the fatigue and the hell that surrounded them. “But yours especially, because you were a colony kid, like me, and I thought that if you could make it—” Her eyes filled. “I became a dexxie because of you, and now you show up to help.” One tear spilled, then another, and she turned and ran back to her desk.