Rules of Conflict (30 page)

Evan sat and watched the moon, his mind emptying with the bottle.
No more thoughts of death. Jani. Lyssa. His children. By the time he returned
to bed, he felt numbed.
Nothing wrong with my memory
. But then, that was
the problem, wasn’t it?

Jani sat at her desk, her hands moving over her
workstation touchboard at their own pace, in their own world. She was
sufficiently adept at report assembly that she didn’t need to concentrate on
what she did in order to do it. Lucky for her.

With the help of some cold water and borrowed makeup, she had
pulled herself together by the time she met with Friesian, at least on the
outside. Their discussion began contentious, with a gradual shift to tense
treaty by the end. Yes, he would sit at her side during her Office Hours with
Burkett and yes, this did complicate any possible deal with the Judge Advocate.
Her special knowledge of idomeni customs would weigh in her favor. Any pressure
applied on her behalf by the idomeni ambassador would not. Nema had been told
exactly that after he called Burkett in person to protest her treatment, and
seemed to understand when told that his interference would only complicate an
already-messy situation. At least, he had nodded his head in a positive manner.
When Jani had commented on the many ways such a head-nodding could be
interpreted, Friesian had once again broken out the bright pink headache
tablets.

That meeting finished, she had returned to FT to find no one had
heard from Hals. The desk-pool techs watched her with coiled-spring wariness
when she emerged from her office to get coffee, which she drank from a dispo.
Her Acadia Central United mug joined the Gruppo Helvetica in the bottom drawer
of her desk. Ischi hadn’t been in the mood to take a joke, and she certainly
hadn’t been in the mood to make one.

Jani entered the last of the data-transfer parameters into the
report grid, applied the macro, and sat back to watch the report assemble
itself, section by section. Part of her monitored the formatting and data
retrieval with an eye that could detect a problem without consciously thinking
about it. The rest of her decamped to the dark corner of her soul and pondered
whether Sam Duong could actually be Simyam Baru.

He looks so different.
She caught a glimpse of her skewed
reflection in the display surface.
Join the crowd.

She wondered if she could dare broach the subject. She wondered
where she would start.
Hello, Mr. Baru. Do you remember me? I’m the one who
let it happen, the one who didn’t act quickly enough, the one who let you die.

Do you remember me?

I’ve never forgotten you.

“So this is how the other half lives.”

Jani looked up to find Lucien leaning against the doorjamb, arms
folded, examining her office with a doubtful eye.

“I thought there’d at least be furniture.” He sauntered in and
paced a circle in the large empty space between her desk and her window. “Great
view,” he sniffed as he walked past the pane. He flopped into her visitor’s
chair and put his feet up on her desk. “Do you know what time it is?”

Jani checked her timepiece. “Twenty-one seventeen.”

“Have you had dinner?”

“No.”

“When’s your next appointment with Pimentel?”

“Tomorrow.”

“He’s going to be perturbed.”

“Probably.”

“Well, that makes three one-word answers in a row.” Lucien tugged
at his trouser crease. He looked extremely crisp, as though he’d changed into a
fresh uniform just prior to dropping by. “Are you angry with me for not giving
you Nema’s code?”

“No.”
Not much.

“Good, because I spent the whole day busting tail for you.”

“Really?”

“That’s
five
one-word answers in a row. What’s wrong?”

Jani watched page after page of her export-license agreement pull
itself together from portions of other people’s reports.
That’s how Roger
thinks Sam’s mind works.
Every day, every hour.
And I have no good
reason to think otherwise
. “I talked with Sam Duong today.”

“And?”

“He’s sick.”

“I could have told you that.”

“I think he might—” No, she couldn’t give the possibility voice.
Not yet. “I think he might have a very good reason for being the way he is.”

“That’s not what you were going to say.” Lucien plucked her stylus
holder from her desktop and toyed with the charger. “Doing anything tomorrow
afternoon?”

“Burning a candle for my Office Hours appointment. Otherwise, no.”
Her workstation signaled the report complete, and she forwarded it to Hals’s
system for sign-off. “Why?”

“Interdepartmental soccer match. I’m captain of the Fourth Floor
Wonderboys. Star halfback, and a joy to watch.”

“Modesty becomes you.”

“We’re playing a team from North Lakeside.” Lucien rattled off a
tinny drumroll with two styli. “The Specials.”

Jani smiled for the first time since her SIB visit. “Spec
Service?”

He grinned. “I thought that would get your attention.”

“Pierce play?”

“No, but he attends all the games.” One stylus became an
orchestra-leading baton. “I juggled our schedule and brought the match forward
six weeks. The Sports and Activities department is not my friend anymore, if
you know what I mean. That’s what I spent all day doing, when I should have
been reading security investigation reports about the next place Nema’s
visiting.” Lucien pointed the other stylus at Jani like an overlong accusing
finger. “If anything happens to him at the Commodities Exchange next month,
it’s all your fault.”

“I’d worry about the Exchange, if I were you.” Jani brushed off
his aggravated stare. “I need to figure out how to approach Pierce.”

“You need to think why you’re putting your ass on the line for a
sick old man you don’t even know.” Lucien hunched his shoulders and sank down
in his seat. “I bet you wouldn’t do it for me.”

Jani considered the not-so-veiled cry for sympathy. “You know what
I think about sometimes?” She deactivated her workstation and dimmed the desk
lamp. “What you told me in the sunroom, the first time you visited me.”

Lucien shifted uncertainly. He had expected her to protest or
reassure him—he wasn’t sure how to respond. “I told you I was working with
Nema.”

“You also said you reported to Justice. Now that makes me
wonder—after Nema gets his and they get theirs, what’s left for me?”

Lucien pouted. “What do you want?”

“Your mind.” Jani finger-locked her desk drawers. “According to
Sam, all the missing documents have shown up except for some records for the
CSS
Kensington
. Death certs bubbled to the surface today. One, an SFC
named Caldor, was directly attributable to the Haárin bombing. But the other
three, Ebben, Unser, and Fitzhugh—mishandling their remains was the main reason
Mako was called before the Board.”

“Ebben—Anais used to talk about her.” Lucien kept his gaze locked
on his shoes. “They were best friends.”

“They deserved each other. Talitha Ebben CO’d Rauta Shèràa Base.
Phil Unser was her exec, and Matilda Fitzhugh headed Spec Service.”

“Anais always felt the Haárin killed Ebben in revenge for Knevçet
Shèràa.” Lucien glanced at Jani and shrugged apology. “That’s a big reason why
she likes to stick it to the idomeni whenever possible. She knows it’s bad
policy, but she can’t help herself. She hates them. She thinks they used the
Night of the Blade as a cover to settle scores.”

Jani shook her head. “The idomeni don’t operate undercover like
that—that was why the Laumrau’s conspiracy with Neumann upset them so.”

“Maybe if they felt angry enough, they’d make the exception.”

“No.” Jani twisted in her chair to stretch her stiff back. “They’d
feel no compunction about admitting to killings they felt were justified.

Lucien removed his feet from her desk and leaned forward. “So how
did they die?”

“The obvious answer is that they were murdered by humans. Problem
is, the list of suspects is endless. They were involved with every smuggler,
fence, and racketeer in the J-Loop and Pearl Way. It could have been that as
the war entered the final stages, they defaulted on agreements with people who
wouldn’t take ‘sorry, there’s a war on,’ for an answer.”

“But you’d know if someone like that had killed them, wouldn’t
you?” Lucien asked. “What’s the point of making an example if it’s just going
to get swamped out by background noise?”

“Maybe the signs were there, but Mako’s botching erased them.”
Jani contemplated her comport, then glanced across the desk to find Lucien
eyeing her in a much-less-attractive manner.

“And where were you during the night in question?”

“Very funny.”

“You were in the city that night, weren’t you?”

“I had just fled the hospital. I was trying to get to the
shuttleport, to wangle
a berth out of there.”

“Any witnesses?”

“
Thanks
.” Jani tapped out a search on her comport, then
rang through the code that appeared on the display. “Good evening, Mr. Duong,”
she said to the sad face that appeared.

“Captain!” Sam Duong’s expression lightened. Then his brow
furrowed in concern. “Are you feeling better? You didn’t look well when you
left.”

“I’m fine,” Jani replied, avoiding Lucien’s questioning look. “Mr.
Duong, who signed the death certs for Ebben and the rest?”

“Oh. They’re locked away now, and I can’t—” His eyes widened.
“Car—
Carnival!
”

Jani shot a dirty look at Lucien, who had clapped his hand over
his mouth to muffle his laughter. “Don’t you mean Carvalla?”

Duong blinked uncertainly. “Maybe.” He jumped as an alarm bleat
sounded at his end. “Disaster drill—I must go!” His face froze, then fractured,
leaving Jani to stare at the darkened display.

Lucien stood up with a growl. “Work day over—let’s go. We can go
to the South Central Club and watch soccer and argue.”

The darkness felt comforting, like a warm blanket. Jani felt her
mood lift at the sight of people dressed in base casuals—light grey T-shirts
with steel blue shorts or pull-on pants—and at the squeak of trainers on
scancrete that cut the still air.

But she needed to talk to someone, and Lucien wouldn’t do. Not for
this. He had no use for sympathy. She doubted he had much use for hope,
either.

She tapped his arm. “Is there a Misty Center nearby?”

“Why?” He pointed down the walkway, toward the brightly lit
entrance of the South Central Officers’ Club. “At twenty-two up, drinks are two
for one.”

“I don’t think Pimentel wants me to drink.”

“So I’ll drink yours, too.”

“
Lucien
.”

“Why now?”

“Because I need to talk to someone.” Two someones, really, whom
she should have tried to talk to long before this.

“Code?”

“Acadia one-two. Ville Acadie TG-one-seven-X-one.”

“Name of contact?”

“Declan and or Jamira Kilian. Ninth Arrondissment, Seven Rue
D’Aubergine.”

The civilian clerk continued to read items off a checklist
attached to a recording board. “You realize sending family messages via Misty
is considered nonessential use of an essential service?” She sniffed quietly.

Jani leaned against the wall of the transmission booth and folded
her arms. “I seem to recall that the real reason message central transmit was
invented was to relay Cup match results more quickly between bases.” She
sniffed louder. “Apocrypha, I’m sure.”

“If you brought a Form Eight-twelve from your CO defining this as
an emergency communication, I could waive the fee.” The clerk’s high-pitched
voice kicked up an additional third. “This is going to chew up half your
monthly. Are you sure you don’t want to go ServNet?”

Jani nodded. “I’m sure.” In a way, she was punishing herself for
taking so long to get around to this. She should have done it sooner, but when
she thought they were going to kill her, she didn’t see the point.

She handed her ID card to the clerk for scanning, then pressed her
thumb against the input pad to authorize the deduction from her salary account.

“The instructions are—”

“I’ve Misty’d before.” Jani slid into the chair behind the
console. “Thank you.”

The clerk executed a jerky about-face and closed the door after
her. The last thing Jani saw was Lucien’s face disappearing behind the sliding
barrier, lips thinned in exasperation.

She straightened her shirt, fluffed her hair, then fiddled with
the adjust angle on the relay screen until the slider base squealed in protest.
She sat quietly, took a couple of steadying breaths, then punched the timer
countdown on the side of the screen.

The changing colors marked the seconds. Red. Orange. Yellow.
Green.

Green.

“
Âllo, Maman. Papa. C’est Jani.
” She fought the compulsion
to stare down at her hands, forcing herself to hold her head up so the relay
could light her properly. “I know I look different. I was assured my voice
hasn’t changed, though. I hope you can recognize it.” She spoke slowly,
pronouncing words in her head before saying them, but they still sounded
strange when she said them aloud. That’s what she got for working so hard to
lose her Acadian accent.