Endgame (27 page)

“Let's run through this one more time.” Niall pinched the bridge of his nose. “Meva walks down the aisle first, ahead of the reliquary.” He sat across a breakroom table from Jani, untouched vend alcove coffee at his elbow. “But you won't walk with her?”

“I told you before, I have no standing with Rauta Shèràa Temple.” Jani had plucked a lemon from the fruit bowl and started to peel it, piling the bits of rind on the table in front of her. “Meva and I have been messaging back and forth about this for the last two weeks—where were you?”

“Studying station plans. Working out routes. Ensuring you don't get killed anywhere between the docks and the embassy. Minor details.” Niall rubbed bleary eyes. “So you're just going to let Meva leapfrog you? Tsecha considered you his suborn, not her. She has no business escorting his reliquary.”

“The more important issue is Tsecha's status. He merits every honor possible, and he won't receive them if I'm seen anywhere near that procession. Besides, it would reflect badly on Feyó, and she needs all the boost she can get right now.”

“Ah-hah.” Niall took a packet of crackers from a dispenser
and peeled it open. “Feyó and Meva did see your interview-that-wasn't. I wondered what the reaction to that would be.”

It was good, and truly, priest-in-training, that you were not present when ná Feyó read your words.
“It didn't go over well.” Jani pried out a section of the fruit and popped it into her mouth. Felician lemon, green as emerald and sour enough to bring tears to a hybrid eye. “Meva had to explain repeatedly that questioning didn't equal accusation. She said Feyó accepted her reasoning, eventually. But given all the tensions, we felt that shunting me to one side during the official ceremonies was the best option.” Another wedge. A cough to add to the tears. “It seemed the best way to make up for John's and Yevgeny's delay in telling Feyó that it was assassination. You can't allow her to lose face within the worldskein if you expect her support for Outer Circle secession.”

“Your circumspection is commendable.” Niall took a cracker from the packet, but instead of eating it, he broke it into bits, then laid the bits out on the tabletop and moved them around like game pieces. “It's also out of character, which worries me no end.”

Jani ignored him, hunting through the spice dispenser until she found the pepper. “After Tsecha's soul is released, Meva technically becomes the propitiator and can walk behind the reliquary when it's transported to its final interment in the Temple catacombs.” She sprinkled pepper on the lime and took a taste, savoring the added bite. “I would like to see that, but there's no way they'd let me down there.”

“Who gets the honor of letting the old bird out of his cage?”

“It's all Meva.” Jani pulled off another lemon section. Sprinkled pepper. Chewed. Swallowed. Wiped her eyes. “It's the least awkward solution. Temple feels that the honor of a former Chief Propitiator will thus be maintained, and Tsecha's soul will be able to proceed to the First Star without further impedance.”

“If they wanted to maintain honor, they shouldn't have
kicked Tsecha out of the club in the first place.” Niall continued to rearrange cracker pieces. “I'm not just arguing for the sake of arguing. In a reasonable world, you would walk in front of his reliquary. You would officiate at the release of his soul.”

“In a reasonable world, he'd still be alive.” Jani returned the pepper to its slot and hunted for a new taste.
Ginger? Onion salt?
“Meva told me that Feyó told her that she still hears his voice.” A sprinkle of ginger on another section of lemon. More tears. “I need to let it be. It's not the fight I want to fight now.”

“You do understand that hearing you preach caution makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up?” Niall swept cracker remains into the tableside trash receptacle, then freed a 'stick. “Know what I think? I think you're laying low. You don't want to attract undue attention while you hunt for Nahin Sela.” He blew a smoke ring, then watched it until it dissipated. “I'm not saying I don't believe you. But we've looked. For three weeks we looked for any sign, any hint, any trace of evidence. Then we messaged ahead to embassy security and had them look.”

“They were most thorough, I'm sure.” Jani flicked a piece of lemon peel into the trash receptacle to join Niall's crackers.

“The request came from Roshi. Damned right they were thorough.” Niall took of sip of his coffee and grimaced. “Take it from this old Victorian—if Cèel has one-tenth the brains I think he has, Nahin Sela will never be found. She died when her ship tried to punch through Samvasta, or she's sleeping the big sleep at the bottom of Rauta Shèràa harbor. If Cèel felt merciful—excuse me whilst I laugh—she's at some idomeni version of a resort doing whatever the hell it is that idomeni do for fun. But wherever she is, we can't get her, because there is a very powerful and ruthless male whose status as Oligarch depends on her continued absence.” He stood and walked to the sink, cup in hand. “Galling as it is to admit, I think the bastard won this round.” He poured the coffee down the drain, let the water run. “You ready?”

Jani didn't have to ask what he referred to.
Ready to enter Rauta Shèràa Station again? See the city from the shuttle windows? Walk out of the shuttleport and feel the heat and smell the flowers and the bay? Ready to stare your past in the face and remember?
“I found images of Rauta Shèràa in the library. Started slow, and worked my way up. I got to revisit all my old haunts. The old bazaar. The walkways along the river. Amazing how little has changed. I bet I could still trace my old route from the humanish enclave to the Academy and not get lost.” She wrapped the lemon remains in a dispo napkin and tossed the wad into the tableside receptacle to join the ghosts of Niall's crackers. “I'm as ready as I'll ever be. You?”

“Glad I've had enough to keep me busy is all I can say.” Niall leaned against the counter. His face had grown greyer since they'd departed Guernsey, his cheeks more sunken. His uniforms hung. Over the last three weeks, he had smoked too much, eaten and slept too little. But he hadn't taken a drink since the night of the
Capria
bombing, a struggle that had left its mark in the form of haunted eyes and a shortened temper.

“So.” He drew up straight. “We disembark
after
Meva and the reliquary, after we give the crowd that's come to greet Tsecha's wooden box a chance to clear out. Shuttle to the surface, where skimmers await. On to the embassy enclave, where we hook up with everyone else. You're wearing your shooter vest?”

Jani tugged down the front of her grey wrapshirt, revealing the silvery lacework beneath.

Niall nodded. “Embassy security's providing the bulk of the ground coverage. They have a decent relationship with the Station Haárin, if not the bornsect Council. They seem to know their collective ass from a hole in the ground.”

“Praise, indeed.” Jani tried to draw a smile, and managed, a little. “I'll be fine.”

“Yeah.” Niall reached into his pocket. “I want you to plug this in.” He pulled out a small metal flat that looked like a
smaller version of his nicstick case. “It's an ear bug.” He flipped up the top and shook out a small, milky disc. “We'll be able to remain in touch at all times. You'll also be able to hear all the chatter, know what's going on.”

“I've seen these before.” Jani took the bug from Niall, then walked to the sink. “Got anything to plug up the other ear?” She activated the tap and wet the disc, then massaged it between her fingers until it softened and expanded.

Niall drew a jittered breath. “Don't think that hasn't crossed my mind.”

“Cèel isn't interested in killing me.” Jani inserted the bug into her right ear, shivering as she felt it expand and fill the canal. A momentary muffling of sound, then a return to clarity. “He excised his particular thorn.”

“Proof, gel.” Niall motioned toward the door. “Can't take him down without proof.” He waited for Jani to draw alongside, and they walked into the corridor just as the approach klaxon sounded.

“One hour to go. I'll walk you to your cabin, then go on to the bridge.” Niall's step slowed. “‘And so we return to that place of war. To that place that summoned our blood.' To damned Shèrá.”

“I've been waiting for a quotation.” Jani fought to keep her voice light, even as her chest tightened. “They've been thin upon the ground of late.”

“Listen to you.” Niall smiled. “Henry the Fifth. One of my favorites. Especially the part where he rallied his men before the Battle of Agincourt. They were outnumbered, exhausted, that morning of St. Crispan's Day.” His expression turned grave. “‘In peace there's nothing so becomes a man as modest stillness and humility. But when the blast of war blows in our ears, then imitate the action of the tiger. Stiffen the sinews. Summon up the blood.'” He looked at Jani, beautiful eyes dark with the memories of what they'd seen twenty years before. “‘Once more into the breach, dear friend. Once more.'”

 

Jani took one last turn around her spacious sitting room as she waited for the
Madelaine
to dock. This leg of the journey had passed more easily than she feared. Only the odd mealtime had proved a challenge, between John's and Anais's determination to ignore her existence and Lucien's refusal to follow their example. This time around, Val had interceded in the matter of cabin assignments, snagging her a two-bedroom suite complete with working thermostat, as well as an office. The ability to access secure networks and Cabinet-class libraries and archives had allowed her to pass the time in productive seclusion. She had searched the records of shipping companies and research facilities in areas of the Commonwealth with a history of idomeni infiltration. The Outer Circle. The Jewelers' Loop. Hunted through manifests and invoices and directories, on the lookout for the materials that might have been used to manufacture the weaponized prionic, and for scientists who might have constructed it.

Proof, gel.
Niall's words rattled in her head. The haystack needle. The one-in-a-billion shot.
If I had more time…
She told herself that, even as she knew. Even as she feared.

…the bottom of Rauta Shèràa harbor…

“But that's too good for her.” Jani sat in a lounger, and waited for that mildest of bumps that would tell her the
Madelaine
had docked at Rauta Shèràa Station.

She yawned for the first time in days. She had managed to sleep, even as the dreams came. Convinced herself that any night during which she didn't die counted as a good one, and so managed to find some rest about half the time. Sent message central transmit communications to Dieter at Commerce expense, and viewed the replies until she could recite them by heart.
A few more fights…brought in Dathim's friends…the training is going much as you'd expect.
Dieter's skills at saying everything and nothing with the same words came into play repeatedly. She tried to read the truth in his eyes, in the way he'd lower his head as he spoke, as though exhausted. Trying to deduce, even as she dreaded what she might learn.

Nothing in the newssheets, at least.
No unrest in Karistos. Some problems in Meteora, its smaller sister city to the south, but those proved to be related to the local ComPol's mishandling of a political corruption investigation, not the aftershocks related to Tsecha's death.

It's like reading tea leaves.
Trying to divine truth over great distance with little concrete information. To compensate, the imagination ran roughshod, dragged the rest of the mind to places it didn't want to go—

“Jani?”

She flinched. Slumped and swore at the ceiling, her heart pounding.
Dammit, Niall.
She touched her ear, activating the bug. “
What do you want?”

“Could you please come to the bridge.”
Not a question, but a veiled command, delivered in a voice gone tight enough to string a violin.

Jani slapped the door pad. The panel opened to reveal a vision in dress desertweights, brimmed lid tucked beneath his arm.

“There have been developments.” Lucien stepped to one side, eyes fixed straight ahead, and waited for her to precede him down the corridor.

 

“The station stopped all shuttle flights at midnight, Rauta Shèràa time.” Niall hesitated, then shook his head as the feed from his ear bug claimed his attention.

Jani heard the same string of chatter, saw from the distant look in Lucien's eyes that he received it as well.

Felt the cold sweat bloom and trickle.

“An update for we the deaf would be nice,” Scriabin snapped. He wore tunic and trousers in Commerce dark green, an unfortunate contrast to his reddening face.

“Tsecha's welcoming committee is currently estimated at a quarter million inside the station proper.” Niall paused again. “Could be three hundred thousand. The ones who couldn't make it here are lining the Rauta Shèràa streets. Estimates there have topped the two million mark, but I un
derstand that number is swelling as I speak.” Another of his aides whispered something in his open ear, and his expression darkened. “Two point five million, and still climbing.”

“They came to see him home.” Jani smiled, felt a swell of pride nudge aside the fear. “Even though Cèel tried to marginalize him. Even though Temple declared him anathema and tore his writings to shreds.”

“I wouldn't read too much into it.” Ulanova entered the bridge, a flicker of black-garbed flame, her usual uniform of ministry burgundy set aside in deference to idomeni religious protocols. “Idomeni see things as they are. Whether for or against Tsecha, they would turn out, simply to watch.” She surveyed the narrow, instrument-lined room, gaze sliding past Jani and pausing on Lucien before settling on her nephew. “The embassy has sent an escort to clear our way through the mess, surely? There's no need for us to remain on board for hours to come.”