Rules of Conflict (37 page)

“Well, General, why don’t we get started.” Eiswein’s voice,
flavored by her German provincial accent, sounded at the same time soft and
clipped. The rules of the game being what they were, if her sideline double
stars had been able to stand up to Burkett’s mainline single and quash any
disciplinary actions against Jani and Hals, that meant someone in Supreme
Command had thrown their vote her way.

Jani could imagine the scene. Perhaps it had even been Mako
himself who had said,
You gave the wrong orders, Cal, and
I’m ordering you to back off.

Eiswein proved gracious in victory, at least for the time being.
She ignored Burkett’s choppy mood, and had only smiles for her two rebellious
dexxie underlings. “Colonel, please bring Captain Kilian up to speed.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Hals activated her board; an open file bloomed on
the display. “Captain Kilian is, of course, an old hand in dealing with the
idomeni. She already understands our major issues.”

“Such as figuring out the difference between what’s important to
us and what’s important to them, ma’am?” Jani looked around innocently. Burkett
met her eyes, his face like stone.

“But surprises still occur,” Hals added hastily. “Scanpack health,
for example, has suddenly become a pressing concern.” Her voice lowered in
genuine distress. “Lieutenant Domenici’s ’pack suffered a stroke soon after we
returned from the embassy. It can’t recognize certain symbols anymore, and
can’t decode the right sides of chips. Scantech blamed the elevated temperature
in the embassy. They said nutrient degraded, formed a clot, and blew out her
fourth octant region.”

Jani thought back to the embassy visit. Everyone had complained of
the heat except her. “If ’packs are experiencing heat distress, the embassy
interior must have been at least forty-five degrees. You need to switch out
spent nutrient more often. Make sure you’re using a warm-weather brand, and
that fluid levels are topped off. Has that been the only stroke?”

Hals nodded. “Yes, although we have had some scares during
previous visits. Transient ischemic attacks—the ’packs malfunction for a few
hours, then snap back. Tech Service is starting to write papers about our
problems, and that is a worry.”

“Lieutenant Domenici will, in fact, need to have her ’pack
replaced,” Eiswein interjected. “I approved the requisition an hour ago. The
damage proved so extensive that it’s cheaper to grow her a new one than try to
fix the old.” She patted her own ’pack pouch absently. “They’ll farm her cells
tomorrow. It will be six weeks before she’ll have something she can begin to
teach.” Her eyes bored into Jani’s. They shone palest blue, like Burkett’s
steel. “So not only are we dealing with the replacement of an extremely
expensive piece of equipment, but I’m also out one experienced dexxie in an
already-stretched department for the time it takes her to retrain her ’pack.
How long does that take on average, Colonel?”

Hals called up another screen on her board. “Four months, ma’am.
On average.”

“And that’s assuming she returns to FT, of which there’s no
guarantee.” The color rose in Eiswein’s face as she hit her stride. “Dexxies
get edgy when their equipment’s threatened, and the knowledge that merely doing
their
routine
,
uncomplicated
jobs could result in irreversible
damage to the devices on which their livelihoods depend is enough to make them
pretty damned edgy!” Her anger held a particularly distressing aspect, like
being chewed out by your favorite aunt.

Burkett remained silent throughout, although he did twitch about
in his leather-upholstered chair as though he needed to adjust his underwear.
Especially after Eiswein spat out the words
routine
and
uncomplicated.
Direct quotes, no doubt. Jani almost felt sorry for him. If Eiswein hammered
him like this in front of subordinates, what had she said to him one-on-one?

Scheißkopf?
She struggled to keep a straight face. “So,
along with the measurable loss in equipment and efficiency, FT may also find
itself dealing with a serious morale problem.”

Hals sighed. “There are so many minefields where the idomeni are
concerned, things we think nothing of. We know we can’t wear red. That we can’t
carry in food, not even so much as a pack of gum. My concern is that one or
more of our rebellious souls might resort to sabotage. Considering how
important the idomeni think we are, the magnitude of the perceived insult would
be great indeed.”

Burkett finally opened his mouth. “And you’ve made no effort to
supply me with the names of those souls, Colonel, despite my repeated
requests.”

“Give those souls the tools to maintain their equipment and you’ll
stop the revolution in its tracks.” Jani pulled her scanpack out of its pouch
and studied the underside. “My ’pack was manufactured on Shèrá as part of a
joint humanish-idomeni project. Lots of effort went into synthesizing the
heat-dissipation system. It’s functioned flawlessly for over twenty years. I don’t
even consider it exceptional anymore.” She looked at Eiswein. “Did anyone talk
to Three through Six about this? They have the same type unit I do—they could
have advised you on what to expect.”

“Three through six?” Burkett muttered crankily. “What does that
mean?”

“The Captain is referring to her fellow Academy graduates.”
Eiswein made a notation into her board. “The funny thing is, Captain, that
whenever we dexxies talk about the fabled Academy days, we talk about you, and
we talk about the late Hansen Wyle. The others don’t make the cut.” She
regarded Jani intently. “Shortsighted of us, was it not?”

“Ma’am,” Jani replied. Eiswein’s examination possessed a
distinctly maternal quality, if one’s mother had the talent for seeing through
to the back of one’s head. “If you’re going to keep working with the idomeni,
you need to act. Right now, FT is taking all the hits. You need to start
dishing out.”

“That’s Diplo’s job,” Burkett growled.

“From what I gather,” Eiswein countered, “any negotiation with the
idomeni must take place on many different levels. They believe existence is a
series of incremental steps, like multiple stairways approaching from all
different directions, and every undertaking is approached the same way. Any
resolution of this Lake Michigan Strip matter will be reached in the records
room as well as the negotiating room.”

“My thoughts on that, I believe, have been added to the record,
General.”

“Yes, General, but be that as it may, we have our mandate from
Supreme Command—”

Jani glanced sideways at Hals at the same time Hals glanced
sideways at her. Then Hals activated her stylus and executed a quick sketch.
With a few rapid strokes, she outlined a pudgy matador, cape in one hand,
scanpack in the other, advancing upon a snorting bull that had been branded on
his backside with a single large star—

Jani faced front and focused on a point on the wall above
Burkett’s head.

“—and participate in this process, we will.” Eiswein smoothed an
errant lock of hair behind her ear and eased back in her chair.

Burkett drummed his fingers on his desktop. Once. Twice. Thrice.
“Could we just ask the idomeni to turn the heat down?”

“You could, sir,” Jani answered carefully. “But it would be better
if you made a bigger splash. They know you’re miserable—all they have to do is
look at you. They’re enjoying watching you sweat, both literally and
figuratively.”

She paused before continuing. “A visual display of your adjustment
to their conditions would act as an issued challenge, and win you a little of
your own back. It needs to be something obvious, something the idomeni can
appreciate. They find us so difficult to read that an explicit action by us
would both please them and take them by surprise.” A spot of personal whimsy
popped into her head, and she tossed it out to the house. “Wear base casuals
the next time you’re called in.”

Hals sighed. “God, that would be
so
comfortable!” She
starting making notes. “Do you think we could bring little cooler units, too?
The ones you can set up on your desk—”

“
Colonel!
” Burkett’s bronzed skin flared maroon. “That’s
outrageous!” He thumped his fist on his desk. “I’ll be damned if I ever
represent my Service in a T-shirt and trainers.”

“Don’t forget the shorts, sir.” Jani heard a tiny, strangled sound
emerge from Hals’s throat. Burkett twisted around in his chair to face her, but
before he could erupt, Eiswein cut him off.

“Calm down, General.” She beamed like Mère Christmas. “I like it.”

Burkett’s jaw dropped. “General—!”

“Well, why not! I’m always hearing about the idomeni’s playful
side, their need to make and accept challenge, the constant one-upmanship they
seem to thrive on. And here we are, with a golden opportunity to stick it in
their ear, and you want us to back off in the name of
propriety
?”
Eiswein gave the word a gamy twist, making it sound like something nice people
didn’t talk about.

Burkett looked stricken. “Aren’t there any alternatives?” The hard
look he directed at Jani held a hint of pleading. “What did you wear, Captain,
when you were stationed at Rauta Shèràa Base?”

“We were issued desertweights, sir.”

Burkett nodded in relief. “We can ship some of those in from
Bonneville or Aqaba. We’ll have them in a couple of hours.”

Hals shook her head. “Base casuals are an official part of the
Sheridan-issue uniform set, sir. If you name it Uniform of the Day for our trip
to the embassy, no matter how strange it may seem to some, we are technically
in A&S compliance. But desertweights are
not
an official part of the
Sheridan-issue uniform set; therefore, we would need sign-off from A&S
before we could even place the order.”

“We’re in a crisis situation, Colonel.”

“Yes, sir. The problem is, sir, that if you go to A&S with
this type of request . . .” Hals faltered. “It’s the Joint
Perception Committee, sir. The Cabinet-Service group that monitors how the
civilian public perceives the Service. They’ll get wind of it, and once they do
they’re going to stick their—get involved.”

One little vein stood out in Burkett’s temple. “Which Cabinet
Ministers sit on that committee?”

“Exterior Minister Ulanova, for one—”

“Scratch that,” Eiswein entoned glumly. “Ulanova would kick our
sand castle over just to watch us cry.” She pondered. “We place the nice,
aboveboard order for the desertweights, via A&S, and amass our weapons for
the fight. For this next visit, which is scheduled for early tomorrow morning,
we go casual.”

“You need my buy-in for any off-the-beaten-path scheme.” Burkett’s
voice had thinned. The stressed metal had been drawn very fine, and seemed
about to snap. “I want it on the record that I disagree strongly with our
constantly and consistently putting idomeni sensibilities before those of our
own people.” He didn’t look at Jani as he spoke; he didn’t have to. “Why are we
always giving in to them?”

“They gave in to us just by the act of coming here,” Jani said to
the side of his face. “Just by the act of living here. We’ve discussed this
before, sir. Your refusing to see the point doesn’t make it any less valid or
any less important.”

“In other words, what’s a little dignity if it saves us the Lake
Michigan Strip?” Eiswein deactivated her board and stuffed it back in her
briefbag. “Your buy-in, as you call it, would certainly make the row easier to
hoe, but if it doesn’t prove forthcoming, I suppose we’ll have to carry on
without it.”

Before Burkett could counter, a voice piped from the far corner of
the room.

“Ma’am? Sir?” Friesian spoke quickly, as though he’d been trying
to fit a word in edgewise for some time. “If Captain Kilian is to leave the
base so soon, we need to clear her through the JA immediately.” He looked at
Hals. “Colonel, with whom did you talk to arrange clearance for the captain’s
previous trip off base? I did not receive a restricted-movement repeal related
to that trip, and with her status, it’s vital I have those on file.”

Burkett stared at Jani. “You’re restricted to base?”

“Yes, sir.” She cast a wary eye at the four confused faces
watching her. “I assumed everyone knew.”

“I did, but . . .” Hals fell silent.

Burkett seemed to be having trouble wrapping his mind around
Jani’s status, too. “You were under
official
restriction when you
traveled off base to the embassy?”

“Yes, sir,” Jani answered, more harshly than was prudent. “Is
there a problem?”

“I don’t understand this at all.” Pimentel stood in front of
the imaging display and flipped through the multiple deep-tissue scans of
Jani’s right arm. “Where did the calcification come from?”

One of the many new medical faces that had surrounded Jani for the
past two hours spoke up. “My best guess is that when they implanted the chip at
Constanza, they used standard nerve solder, which is, of course,
human-compatible.” She nodded toward Jani. “Captain Kilian rejected the solder
as foreign material and sealed it off from the rest of her tissue. In sealing
off the solder, she sealed off the rest of the chip as well, causing the
security function to fail.”