Rules of Conflict (18 page)

“Yes.” The man looked over the top of Sam’s head, toward the
distant goal of the ScanLab.

“I’ve seen you before.” Sam nodded in recognition. “On ServNet
broadcasts. You accompany the Admiral-General to meetings.” He rattled off the
particulars as though the man’s ServRec lay open on a desk in front of him.
“Pierce. Niall. One I, two Ls. C-number
M-five-six-dash-three-three-dash-one-one-one-S. You were a sergeant, assigned
to the CSS
Kensington.
You led A Squad, Platoon Four-oh-nine-eight,
during the evacuation of Rauta Shèràa Base, during the Night of the Blade.”

Pierce lowered his gaze slowly, his scar smoothing as his smile
died. As each detail found voice, he grew more and more still, until Sam
thought he had turned to stone. “You have the advantage of me, sir,” he said,
so quietly not even his scar moved.

“Yes,” Sam said, “I do.” He sidestepped Pierce and broke into a
trot, darting into his room and pushing the door closed. He pressed his ear to
the panel, straining for any sound. He didn’t trust doctors, no, but he trusted
colonels even less. He couldn’t remember why, although he knew there had to be
a reason. Sufficient for now that he simply knew, that the instinct that helped
him hack his trails through paper would see him clear to the door with regard
to doctors who wanted to take away his freedom and colonels who wanted to know
his name.

He tossed the robe in a corner, followed by the pajamas. Pulled
his clothes from the tiny armoire and dressed as though the room were on fire.

Ward of the Commonwealth.
Sam cracked the door open, eased
his head out, and checked the hallway for colonels
and doctors. Then he dashed out of the room and down the hall in the direction
opposite the way he had come, not stopping until he found a doc tech office.

“Excuse me.” He stepped just inside the doorway and waited for one
of the techs to attend him. “I can make changes to the personal data in my file
here, can’t I?”

“Yes, sir.” A young woman approached him, smiling. Younger even
than Tory, and no one was younger than Tory. “What changes do you need to
make?”

“Next of kin.”

The tech scanned his patient bracelet with her handheld, then
waited for his file to open. “Name, please?” she asked, her stylus tip poised
above the device input.

“Jani. Kilian. She is a captain, on this base.”

“Could you define the relationship, please, sir?”

“Friend.” His only friend—this he believed with all his heart.
She
believed me
. She had looked him in the eye and told him so, when everyone
else preferred to trust in the lies.
She’ll take care of me.
He couldn’t
pinpoint why he felt so sure, but he did. He knew he could trust her. He just
knew.

Evan burrowed into the plush rear seat of the Neoclona
double-length and watched with a mixture of excitement and dread as the Chicago
skyline filled the windscreen. Months had passed since he’d last seen the city.

My arraignment.
He had stood before the Ministers’ Bench of
Cabinet Court and watched men and women he’d grown up with look upon him as a
stranger as they exiled him to his rose-infested Elba.
All except Anais.
Her scrawny face had been aglow with gloat. Evan treasured that memory, sick
though it seemed. At least she’d considered him an enemy vanquished, rather
than an embarrassment to hide away.

Since then, but for his sojourns to Sheridan, he’d remained rooted
to his suburban patch. His jailers met his medical needs with biweekly visits
from the local Neoclona annex, and had shunted aside his other needs as
unworthy of their attention.

But what John wants, John gets
. Joaquin suspected nothing.
He’d even waxed enthusiastic about Shroud’s sudden interest in Evan’s health
and dismissed his client’s protests that the good doctor’s real interest
revolved around Jani Kilian.
John’s a good Family man,
he’d said.
He
didn’t get where he is today by acting like an obsessed fool.

“Quino, I’m afraid that’s exactly how he got where he is today.”
Evan ignored the driver’s questioning stare in the rearview, and soaked in the
city views with the rapt attention of a condemned man watching from his
tumbrel.

The driver maneuvered down traffic-jammed State Street. “We’re
early, sir,” he said as he wove around a triple-parked
people-mover. “I can drive around the block, if you wish.”

Evan held out his hands, palms facing down. No trembling. The half
liter he’d downed for breakfast had seen to that. “Go on in. I’m ready.”

Finding Val Parini waiting for him by the VIP-lift bank didn’t
surprise him. Shroud was the master, Parini the dog.
And I’m the stick of
the day.

“Hello, Ev.” Parini looked ill—ashen skin, bleary eyes. His
trousers and short-sleeved pullover were rumpled, as though he’d slept in them.

“Val.” Evan congratulated himself that his own black trousers and
black-and-blue-striped pullover looked much sharper.
The last thing I need
is that bleached bastard thinking I don’t give a damn
. He followed Parini
into the lift, and swallowed hard as the car shot upward and he felt his feet
press against the floor.

“How’ve you been?” Parini stuffed his hands in his pockets and
leaned against the wall. “Considering.”

“All right. Considering.” Evan forced a smile. “Tired.”

Parini stared up at the ceiling. “Yeah, I know the feeling. I just
got in from Felix. Six-week round-trip, not counting the couple of days in
between to catch my breath.” He yawned. “I’m getting too old for that stuff.”

Evan nodded politely. “Business?”

“Special patient. Someone you know.”

“Our social circles overlapped, Val. Care to narrow it down?”

“Jani Kilian,” Parini said, contemplating the light fixture. “You
remember her. Tawny damsel. Had a little accident a few years back.”

Evan flinched as the car decelerated. At least the lift
mechanism’s hissing whine drowned out the roaring in his head. “You saw her?”

“Yes. She slipped out from under, though, as she is wont to do.
Unfortunately, she walked right into a Service trap. She’s at Sheridan now.” A
corner of Parini’s mouth curved. He knew surprise when he smelled it, the son
of a bitch. “Didn’t Quino tell you?” He tsked. “Bad Quino. She’s been there
almost a week.” The lift slowed to a stop and the door opened.

Evan lagged behind Parini, eyes locked on the back of his neck.
Just
one good shot
—Ridgeway’s crumpled body flashed in his mind, and the urge
evaporated. “There was nothing on the ’Vee or in the sheets.”

“Yeah, I don’t know how the hell they managed to keep it quiet.”
Parini led him down a wide corridor. One side was glass-walled—glimpses of the
Commerce Ministry compound and the lake beyond could be seen between the
high-rises. They stopped in front of an unmarked door enameled with a purple so
dark Evan at first mistook it for black. Parini palmed it open.

Evan expected to enter an examining room—matte white surfaces,
analyzers and viewscreens, a scanbed in the corner. Instead, he walked into an
opulent sitting room—eggplant-colored walls, bloodwood bookcases and tables,
Persian carpets.

A panel slid aside and Shroud stepped into the room. The feverish
glisten in his eyes spoke of freshly applied filming. Violet, this time, a
perfect match to his daysuit jacket. “You’re early.”

“Sorry, John,” replied Parini, not sounding sorry at all. “Guess
what? Loiaza didn’t tell Evan that Jani’s at Sheridan.”

Evan glanced around nervously. A large holoVee display dominated
one corner, a pillow-strewn daybed, another.
No way in hell I’m letting
these two creeps examine me in here.
“I’m sure Quino had his reasons.”

Shroud gestured for Evan to sit. “He must be realizing that taking
you on as a client wasn’t the wisest career move he ever made. I sense damage
control in progress. You need allies.” His rumbling voice grew measured. “
Quid
pro quo
, as we discussed before.”

Evan looked at Shroud, who regarded him with relaxed contempt,
then at Parini, whose distaste held an edge.
Master told dog I’ll help them.
He sank into a cushioned lounge chair and immediately reached for the bourbon
decanter that rested on the nearby low table. “I’ve known Quino for over thirty
years. He doesn’t leave clients to twist in the wind.” He poured a shot, tossed
it back. Of course Joaquin had a reasonable explanation for not telling him about
Jani. Which Evan would be damned interested in hearing as soon as he returned
to Elba.

Parini flopped into a chair opposite Evan. “Jani’s not in the
news, either. ServNet’s no surprise—they do what Roshi Mako tells them to do,
and he doesn’t think Service issues are the public’s business. But I talked
with Dory in Commonwealth Affairs, and she said CapNet must have agreed to
self-censor. She said that they only do that when they get pressure from the
PM.”

Shroud joined them. The chair he chose was less padded and
straight-backed. You could have used his spine to draw a plumb line. “Jani’s
news on ChanNet because she’s from La Manche. She’s news on FelNet because she
was captured there under circumstances embarrassing to the Service and Felix is
looking for an excuse to renegotiate the lease for Fort Constanza. No one’s
made a fuss over her in Chicago because she’s not news in Chicago.”

“You’re wrong, John. There’s a sizable Acadian population here in
the French Quarter who would love to know what’s going on.” Parini ignored the
beverage service and instead plucked at a bunch of grapes, popping them into
his mouth with ballistic force. “I bet Nema has something to do with it. He’s
been twisting arms all over town. He’d start a shooting war on the Boul Mich if
he thought it would free his Eyes and Ears.”

“Nema doesn’t exert any control over Earth-based broadcasting.”

“Just because you hate him doesn’t mean he has no influence,
John!”

Evan listened to the two men bicker with the uneasiness of someone
who found himself the captive audience to a marital spat. He looked from the
animated Parini to the overcontrolled Shroud, and the question that had been
the subject of dinner-party debate for twenty years parked itself inside his
head and refused to leave.

Do those two . . . fuck?
Both sides offered
cogent arguments, Parini’s many boyfriends and Shroud’s revolving-door women
notwithstanding.

Evan refilled his glass as his well-calibrated people-filter
chugged in the background.
No, not lovers
. He still felt his master and
dog theory explained the relationship.
And sometimes dog refuses to stop
barking and master has to go to the window to see what the fuss is about
.

Shroud picked up a nicstick dispenser from the table and turned
the rectangular case end over end. His spindly fingers invited the image of
spiders tumbling a victim in a web. “Why would Li and Roshi want to keep Jani’s
story quiet?”

“I can tell you the reason they gave,” Evan offered. But first, he
sipped. Shroud had him by the short hairs, true, but he also stocked the finest
bourbon. “Commonwealth security. CapNet will sit on news if they’re told
releasing it could threaten internal stability.” He’d exercised that option
many times when Lyssa still lived, as her behavior grew more uncontrollable and
her public displays more embarrassing.

Shroud snorted. “What could Jani do to threaten Commonwealth
stability!”

The three of them looked at one another. For one brief moment,
their thoughts coalesced. Only Parini felt it appropriate to smile.

Shroud coughed. “Let me rephrase that. What happened to her on
Felix that could threaten Commonwealth stability?”

“John, she almost died!” Parini looked at Evan. “Those Service
morons injected her with Tacit, an experimental sedative. It knocked her liver
for a loop.”

Shroud struck the nicstick case against his thigh. “Tacit is
safe.” The rattle of the plastic sticks against metal punctuated every word.
“Instances of hepatotoxicity have never been recorded.”

“For
humans
, John. It hasn’t been tested on idomeni—”

Evan shut out the men’s argument and considered his own
uncomfortable thoughts.
I asked Joaquin about illegal arrests of colonials
and he brushed me off.
The man had offices on Felix—the staff would have
Misty’d him immediately if rumors of Jani had surfaced.

My own attorney’s holding out on me? Why?

“Evan?”

He looked up to find Shroud glaring at him.

“Let me repeat the question. In your opinion, is Jani’s case
important enough to cause a furor?”

Evan nodded. “You said it yourself, John. The colonies are flexing
their muscles, and the idomeni, especially Nema, are jumping feetfirst into the
fray.” He should have worked it out himself, but living in exile, he couldn’t
access the catalyzing snippets of information that had once fueled his life.
“Li faces reelection next year. I’m betting that right now she wishes Jani had
never been found.”

Shroud scowled. He had the moody, tightly wrapped look of a
blanched El Greco. “What about Roshi?”

“He’s in a more difficult position. His proud New Service is over
two-thirds colonial. If he prosecutes Jani, he risks a breach that may never
heal at a time when a mixed-bag force may be called upon to quell colonial
unrest. But on the other hand, it’s not in his best interest to seem soft on
mutiny and murder.” Evan tried to put himself in Mako’s shoes—problem was, he
didn’t know the man well enough. How far would he go to preserve what he had
worked so hard to build? “He could be planning a quiet trial and execution.”
That would explain Roshi’s presence at the SIB. The born field officer, checking
personally on the progress of his investigative branch’s most sensitive case in
decades.