Rules of Conflict (19 page)

Shroud’s voice droned funereal. “There’s no such thing as a quiet
execution.” He reached for the beverage tray—to Evan’s surprise, he chose
bourbon, too. “Well, Val, what do your sources tell you about the mood on
Sheridan? Is Jani’s presence rallying the colonials?” He poured three fingers,
added a single ice cube, and threw back a healthy swallow.

Evan checked his timepiece. Only midmorning.
Not a good sign, Johnny—don’t
tell me I’ve found a drinking buddy.

“I’ll admit, it’s pretty quiet.” Val slung his leg over the chair
arm and flicked grapes into the empty vase in the center of the table. In
between tosses, he shot anxious glances at the door. “Considering that Service
Diplomatic has been pulled in to help settle that idomeni food fiasco, I
wouldn’t be surprised if they dragged Jani in as well.” He shrugged at the
surprised looks that greeted the statement. “That’s what she used to do on
Shèrá. She has more head-to-head experience with the idomeni than anyone else
at Sheridan.”

Shroud’s jaw dropped. “They wouldn’t.”

“They would if they’re desperate.” Evan could hear the disbelief
in his voice when he, of all people, should have known better. “I’ve sat across
the negotiating table from idomeni. After a couple of hours, you’ve forgotten
your name, much less what you’re there for. If you meet them on their turf, you
have to contend with the heat and the paralyzing sensation that every move you
make is the wrong one. If they meet you on yours, you have to sanitize rooms,
knock out walls, and relocate all the vend alcoves.” And if the Service needed
Jani now, they sure as hell didn’t need him to give evidence against her. God,
he must have been brain-dead—why didn’t he think of it before?

The door opened, and a man entered. Mid-thirties. Tall, thin, and
mopey. The type Lyssa would have dubbed
homeless puppy.

“Sorry I’m late.” He wore medwhites; his dark hair covered his
ears and fell to his collar. He displayed the all-knees-and-elbows gangliness
of a twelve-year-old as he lowered into the chair next to Evan.

Parini, Evan noticed, watched the man’s every move with a look of
eager expectancy.
This is his new toy
? Quite a change of pace from old
Val’s usual pretty boys.

Shroud looked aggravated. “So happy you could finally join us,
Doctor.” He refilled his glass, this time adding ice. “Evan, this is Hugh
Tellinn. He’s an old friend of Val’s, from our Felix Majora facility.”

To Evan’s surprise, Tellinn held out his hand. If he knew his ex-Interior
Minister’s recent history, it didn’t show in his face or his attitude.
“Endocrinology,” he said, as though that explained everything.

“That’s Hugh’s way of saying, ‘hello’,” Parini said with an
uncertain smile.

Tellinn looked at the floor rather than his boyfriend. “I’ve been
studying the results of the tests Val performed on Jani Kilian.” He braced his
feet on the edge of the table. “Has anyone bothered to bring you up to speed on
the state of her health, Mr. van Reuter?”

Parini held up a hand. “Hugh—”

Tellinn ignored him. “I thought that’s why we were here. I thought
that’s why you’re suborning perjury, because of your fears for Jani’s health.”

Shroud tilted his glass back and forth; the clink of ice echoed.
“My fears for Jani’s health consume my every waking moment, Doctor.”

“She’s very ill.”

“Is she?”

“I believe she suffers from multiple metabolic and endocrine
disorders, the most serious of which is a type of acute intermittent
porphyria.”

“Really, Doctor?”

“Really.” Tellinn either didn’t see Parini’s increasingly frantic
gesturing, or once more chose to disregard it. He looked at Evan. “Porphyrias
are genetic diseases. Miscues at various points along the heme biosynthetic
pathway. Jani wasn’t born with the condition, according to the Service scans in
her patient file. Therefore, she must have had it thrust upon her during a
period when she was undergoing tissue rebuilding, rebuilding performed by
someone who didn’t know as much as he thought he did about the idomeni genome.”
He looked down the table at Shroud. “First, do no harm.”

Parini’s hand stopped in mid-slash.

Evan watched Tellinn. What had first seemed like clumsiness now
revealed itself as an overwhelming effort to retain self-control. The man
clenched his armrests. His whole body seemed to vibrate with deep-seated rage.
He
wants to pound Shroud into the carpet.
Suddenly, he looked capable. The pup
had wolf blood. “Well, well, John. Hugh’s saying that when you reassembled
Jani, you gave her a life-threatening disease.”

Shroud ignored him. His stare never left Tellinn. “In your
opinion, Doctor.”

Tellinn’s glower remained just as steady. “I believe the facts
speak for themselves. Dickerson and Yevgeny have published a series of papers
in
JCMA
describing an illness affecting members of a Haárin enclave on
Philippa that is analogous to acute intermittent porphyria. The genetic
mutations involved do not match those for the human AIP variant, and the
idomeni ban on exchange of medical information has made it impossible for us to
pinpoint them.” His voice leveled as his eyes deadened. “Therefore, while
Service Medical may have an idea what’s wrong with Jani, they’re unable to nail
the diagnosis and therefore the definitive genetic retrofit. Which means
they’re falling back on heme infusions and dietary controls until they design
methods to identify and fix her particular mutation.”

Parini jumped in. “I’m also very concerned with the quality of the
medical care Jani’s receiving—”

Tellinn’s blank look silenced him. “On the contrary, I have always
found the Service Medical staff I dealt with at Fort Constanza to be very
sound. What
I
fear is that Jani’s ongoing hybridization has led to the
development of so many anomalous metabolic disorders that the diet and drug
therapies Service Medical has put her on could lead to serious adverse
reactions.”

Shroud started to speak, then stopped. His gaze flicked from one
face to another, gauging mood without daring to look too deeply. Then he dug
down and excavated a fragment of the old John. “In your opinion, Doctor,” he
said, his voice like a tomb.

Evan understood Shroud’s reluctance. He’d felt it himself these
past months.
Will you please tell the court what you knew and when you knew
it?
And Shroud knew, damned right he did. He knew that Jani’s hybridization
had led to problems, and that Service Medical wouldn’t know how to treat her.
And
you’ve alienated them to the point that they won’t ask for your help or let you
anywhere near her.
Enter Evan, stage right.

Tellinn graced his agitated lover with a bare glance. “That’s why
Val persuaded me to accompany him to Chicago, because my opinion counted.”

“I wouldn’t overestimate your value to this enterprise,” Shroud
replied. “It wouldn’t be the first time Val thought with his prick.”

Parini’s face flared red. “You should bloody talk!”

Tellinn showed no reaction to either Shroud’s insult or the
breaking storm. He stood up and turned to Evan. “When is your next visit to
Sheridan scheduled, Mr. van Reuter?”

Evan could feel Shroud’s glare brand the side of his face. “Early
next week.”

“Well, perjure yourself as you never did before. Jani won’t live
out the month if you don’t.” Tellinn nodded to him, then shambled out of the
room.

Parini struggled to his feet. “Damn it, John!” He tripped over the
edge of a rug but bulled onward, rubbing his knee and cursing as he stumbled
out the door. “
Hugh! Wait!
”

Shroud watched the hot pursuit with a disgusted grimace. “Poor
Val. He certainly can pick them.”

Evan listened as Val’s shout rang down the hall. “Jani’s survival
instinct is knife-edged—she knew the Service was looking for her. She knew her
medical problems were so distinctive, she’d attract immediate attention. Yet
she still braved a visit to Neoclona-Felix.” He remembered the last time he saw
her, just before Justice arrived to arrest him—her lips tinged blue from lack
of oxygen, her breathing a rattle he could hear through his haze of pain. “She
must have felt like hell.”

“I’d worry about myself, if I were you.” Shroud stared into the
dregs of his glass. “Now repeat after me, I do not remember . . .
I do not recall . . .”

After a final warning from Shroud on the benefits of
acquiring alcoholism-induced amnesia, an actual condition with the name of
Korsakoff’s syndrome, Evan was passed off to a series of staff physicians. They
lectured him on diet, scanned his brain, and scoped his knee. No one gave any
indication that they cared who he was or who he had been. Oh, how the mighty
had fallen.

His rage mounted as he descended to the parking garage, entered
Shroud’s loaned skimmer, and fast-floated through the Chicago
streets. By the time the driver deposited him in the front yard of Elba and
reset his security bracelet, his hands shook and his head pounded. Markhart
showed her good sense by remaining silent when she met him at the door. Halvor
showed even greater sense by staying out of sight entirely.

Joaquin’s secretary put him on standby. By the time the attorney’s
sere image formed on the comport display, Evan had to grip the edge of his desk
to keep from punching his fists through it. “
Why the hell didn’t you tell me
Jani was at Sheridan!
”

Joaquin blinked slowly. “You heard that from Parini, I’m sure. The
man’s a shameless gossip. Why Shroud tolerates him, I’ll never know.” He
pressed a hand to his forehead. “Evan, I only learned myself the day before
yesterday.”

“So why didn’t you
tell
me the day before—”

“Because I knew you’d do just what you’re doing now—work yourself
into needless panic.” He paused to sip from a cup. Tea, most likely. Earl Grey,
flavored with plenty of personality-enhancing lemon. “She was seen being pushed
through the O’Hare Service concourse in a skimchair. Immediately upon arrival
at Sheridan, she was admitted to the Psychotherapeutics Ward. I understand she
has since been released, but is under constant medical monitoring.”

Evan’s fingers cramped. He eased his grip on the desk and sat
down. “They’ve got her working with the idomeni, don’t they?”

“She is on restricted duty, yes.” Joaquin riffled through a
folder. “In the Foreign Transactions department.”

“Her old department at Rauta Shèràa Base.” Evan opened the bottom
desk drawer and pulled out a half-empty bottle. “Shit.”

“Evan, calm down. She hasn’t been deposed yet, but she will be. We
can’t control what she’ll say, but we will be able to counter. Is that clear?”

That’s what you think.
“Yes, Quino.” He cracked the bottle
seal and took a healthy swig.

“Good.” Joaquin closed the folder and pushed it aside. “So, how
did your examination go?”

Shroud grabbed me by the balls and squeezed.
“Fine.”

“Good, good.” Joaquin stilled, then reached for another file. “By
the way, why did you ask me to check into Niall Pierce’s background?”

Pierce?
The visit to Neoclona had rattled Evan so much,
everything else had slipped his mind.
Oh, Scarface.
He shrugged. “I
don’t know.” Finding the man’s Achilles’ heel didn’t seem important anymore.

“Well, you always did have a nose for the nasty.” Joaquin sniffed.
“He’s a Victorian. Orphaned at age four. Ward of the Commonwealth. Entered the
Service twenty-three years ago under the Social Reclamation Act, a nice way of
saying join up or go to prison. Numerous disciplinary actions against him—a
wonder he wasn’t booted out.” His eyebrows arched. “As a last resort, he was
transferred to the Fourth Expeditionary Battalion. After that, he seems to have
grown up, and the nasty ends.”

“Fourth Expeditionary?” Evan perked up. “They’re the ones who got
us out of Rauta Shèràa.”

“Yes, the Fourth was Roshi’s old crew, wasn’t it?” Joaquin
continued reading. “Roshi’s good with the hard cases. Pierce thrived. Promotion
through the enlisted ranks followed. To top it off, his actions during the
Rauta Shèràa evac earned him a battlefield commission.” He glanced up over the
top of the file. “Was it that bad?”

Evan took another swallow before answering. “Yes.”

“We should make more use of it.” Joaquin read on, his brow
wrinkling. “Pierce has actually become something of a scholar in his spare
time. Master of Literature from Chicago Combined. Published a well-regarded
essay on
Macbeth
—who would have thought? For the past few months, he’s
been a regular visitor to the PT Ward. He’s augmented, of course—most combat
Spacers were back then. Some of them go on to develop augment depression—he’s
apparently one of the unlucky.”

Past few months—define few!
Evan had always hated it when
aides became vague about time—it always meant they hadn’t done their homework.
“Can you be more specific as to the date?”