Rules of Conflict (45 page)

“Mr. Loiaza seemed confident this morning, sir. I hope that means
things are going well?”

“Things are great.”

“How many for lunch?”

“One.” He tasted the sound of the way it was. “Markhart, you said
your sister worked at Fort Sheridan, didn’t you?”

Markhart nodded. “Half shift in one of the snack bars. But only
two days a week.”

“Is today one of those days?”

“No, sir. Tomorrow is, though.”

Tomorrow.
Evan swallowed down a growl of frustration.
Take
advantage of it.
That would give him plenty of time. To word things
properly. To decorate the few facts he had with just enough bluff and bullshit.
“Ask her if she’d do me a favor.”

Markhart stared at him. “Sir—”

“Nothing illegal.” Evan grinned reassuringly. “I’d just like her
to deliver a note. To a friend.”

Pimentel balked when Jani mentioned attending the A-G’s
garden party. She wore him down over breakfast and had him convinced by lunch.
But late that afternoon, when Lucien arrived with her gear, he wavered once
more.

“I don’t like this one bit.” He watched Lucien lay out Jani’s
dress blue-greys on her bed. “You’re in no condition to be discharged, much
less attend a party.”

“It’s not like I’m going to dance the night away.” Jani nestled in
her visitor’s chair and tucked her bare feet beneath her. “It’s just a sedate
little gathering. I’ll make small talk, avoid the buffet, drink water, and lean
on the lieutenant for support when necessary.”

The supportive lieutenant continued his silent organizing, setting
out her mirror-polished black tietops and running a cloth over her dress lid’s
black brim. Then he reached into his duffel and pulled out hairwash, makeup,
and underwear.

When he removed the bouquet of miniature roses, however,
Pimentel’s eyes goggled. “What the hell?”

Lucien turned to him and smiled. It was an odd expression, one
Jani hadn’t seen before. It wasn’t a broad smile, or a boyish grin, but a
half-mast bend of lip accompanied by hard-eyed evaluation. It said that he
liked doing things like this, and would do them for the colonel if the colonel
wished. It added that he would do a lot of other things for the colonel, too,
if the colonel were at all interested.

Pimentel shifted uneasily. “I have to go.” He nodded brusquely to
Jani and darted out the door.

Lucien looked at Jani, shrugged, and arranged the flowers in a
handy water glass. He had already donned his blue-greys; his glossy hair had
the look of a fresh trimming.

Jani watched him bend and turn—it was a pleasure, as always. “He’s
a happily married man.”

“Most of them are.” He glanced at her slyly. “Jealous?”

“Only if I thought you gave a damn.”

“You mean there’s hope?” He dawdled over the bottles, rearranging
them according to size. “Guess I’m going to have to learn to give a damn.”

“You’d need a different implant in your head.”

“Oh well, so much for that.” He rummaged through the bag, then
turned it upside down and shook it. “That’s it. I don’t believe I forgot
anything.”

Jani counted the containers vying for space atop the small
dresser. “No, I don’t think you did, either.” She untangled her legs and
stretched her stiff muscles. She still couldn’t support any significant weight
with her right arm; getting up meant sliding to the edge of the chair and
boosting upright with only her left arm for stability. Since the animandroid
flesh was still sore, her legs felt rubbery, and her back ached, it resulted in
a significant portside lean.

Lucien took a step toward her. “Do you need help?”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re bent into a letter C.”

“I’m fine.”

“Let me be supportive.”

“Maybe later.” She straightened, flexed her right arm, mouthed an
“ouch,” and walked to the bathroom.

Lucien drew alongside and paced her, step for shaky step. “I can
wash your back.”

“Go harass a nurse.” Jani leaned against the bathroom entry.
“Track down Morley—she’s ripe for conquest.”

“No, she’s not.” Lucien kicked at the floor. “I know her.”

“Is that a fact?”

“She’s a lot like you.”

“I knew there was something about her I liked.”

“You’re up to something.” Lucien helped Jani ease into the
passenger side of a wheeled scoot. “You are being too damned . . .
military
.”

Jani unbuttoned her jacket and flared the bottom outward to avoid
rumpling it. “I thought that’s what you wanted.”

“If it crossed my mind for one second that you were doing it for
me, I’d check myself in for a takedown.” He squeezed behind the steerbar. “You
saluted Pimentel, fer chrissakes.”

“He’s a superior officer.”

“He almost readmitted you on the spot.” He pressed the vehicle
charge-through. The motor hummed to life, and they trundled up the track
designated for wheelworks. Progress proved slow; brisk walkers on the adjacent
path passed them easily, and one wag shouted that the playground was in the
other direction. “You aren’t going to tell me a thing, are you?”

The landscaping kicked up a few grades as they crossed the
Memorial Quad that separated South Base from North. Colonial shrubs outnumbered
native; the flowers possessed the glassine petals and jewel colors that were
the current fads among plant designers. “What do you want to know?”

“I want to know if I’m going to be court-martialed!” Lucien tapped
an agitated song on the steerbar. “I know it’s a minor consideration for you,
but we don’t all have your complete disregard for the things normal people care
about!”

“You’re normal compared to me, huh?”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” She waited until his fidgeting eased. “I know why
they’re discharging me.”

“Nema and the colonies will raise holy hell if they don’t, that’s
why.” Lucien glanced at her. “You don’t think so?” He looked away, his hands
tightening on the bar. “Anybody ever tell you that you think too much?”

“Only anybodys trying to hide things from me.” As if to illustrate
her point, the Base Command complex came into view. “It’s bigger than I
thought,” she said, as they passed building after building. “How many people
work there?”

“At any given time, about half.” Lucien didn’t even bother to
grace his own joke with a smile. “
Well?
”

She told him. When she mentioned Sam Duong’s framing, he
threatened to toss her out of the scoot. By the time she explained about the
agers, Pierce’s ghosting, and the timing of Mako’s invitation, his protests
dwindled to the occasional sharp question.

The working portion of Sheridan gave way to the leisure regions.
After passing the Officers’ Marina, they puttered through a sprawling park.
Another turn of corner and the A-G’s whitestone residence loomed into view, a
boxy, four-story edifice that resembled a well-landscaped office building more
than a home. Uniforms and dressy civvies streamed in from all directions,
guided by the faint glow of half-lit patio lights.

“The tent’s on the north side,” Lucien said halfheartedly, as he
wheeled the scoot into a remote charge lot. Then he muttered something dark and
Gallic, and smacked the steerbar with his open palm. “What do you need me to
do?”

“Just stay within shouting distance.” Jani patted her trouser
pocket, checking for the slip of paper she’d tucked there. Sam had made good on
his errand—she had spent most of the previous night reading snatches of
Paradise
Lost
beneath the covers. Memorizing. Making notes.

She slumped into her hard seat, tried to figure a way she could
get through this without depending on Lucien for help, and realized she
couldn’t. She still didn’t know where he and duty parted company, didn’t know
the point at which his fear of Nema outweighed his loyalty to the Service or
whoever else had laid claim to his attentions.

Lucien sighed loudly. “Shall we go?”

“I guess.” Jani tried to slide out of the scoot by herself, but
her right knee gave out, forcing her to wait for assistance. She leaned against
Lucien so heavily he murmured in pleased surprise, and they joined the rest of
the crowds streaming toward the Residence like ants toward the world’s largest
honey trap.

The years spent as Anais Ulanova’s protégé had trained
Lucien to deal with situations most people found daunting. He negotiated the
social reefs and shoals of the tent like the seasoned sailor he was, dropping
bon mots and names, eliciting greetings, laughter, and the occasional lustful
stare.

Jani just nodded, mumbled “good evening,” and watched the master.
“You’re good,” she said, when they finally took a break and laid claim to a
table near one of the numerous buffets.

“Ani gave a lot of parties.” Lucien had collected ice water for
her and a piled plate of hors d’oeuvres for himself. “It was either learn to
play the room or check coats and work in the kitchen.”

“She made you work?”

“One less temporary staffer she had to hire. One way or the other,
she always got her money’s worth.”

Jani surveyed the scene around her. The tent was immense, and
already filled from end to end. The buffet tables and bars that lined the walls
were crowded, and the soundshielding fought a losing battle with the noise
level. “Didn’t you care for her at all?” She knew as soon as she’d asked that
it was a stupid question. Partly inborn and partly inserted, Lucien’s ability
to care stopped at the end of his nose.

He shook his head, dark eyes blank. “She gave me what I wanted.
Nice room. Nice skimmer. Clothes. Money.” He had chosen the most select
offerings from the buffet, exotic seafood, cheeses, mushrooms, and breads.
“When I graduated prep school, she wangled me an appointment to East Point. I
ranked fourth in a class of fifteen hundred and seven. That qualifies as good
return on investment, by any measure.”

“Why the Service?”

“I . . . like rules.” He had the sense to smile.
“Most times. I like knowing what I’ll be doing the next day.”

“Then why me?”

“You’re for the rest of the time.” The smile turned saucy. “When
I’m in the mood to be totally confused.” He glanced out at the milling crowd.
“Speaking of which, do you expect something to happen, or are we supposed to
force their hand?”

“I think it’s happening now,” Jani said, as an unfortunately
familiar face came into view.

The dress blue-greys looked hand-tailored rather than line-cut,
and the number of ribbons and badges arraying his chest was formidable. Despite
that, Niall Pierce should have given up long ago. His damaged face and sinister
air would forever mar any attempt at North Lakeside polish. Jani took a swallow
of water and held it in her suddenly dry mouth.
Wonder why he never got his
face fixed?
Maybe the ragged scar served as his equivalent of the healing
gashes on her arms.
Wonder if whoever gave it to him is still alive?

“Good evening, Captain Kilian.” He waved for her to remain seated,
his quick smile appearing snarl-like in the tent’s subdued lighting. “Heard
about your match. Congratulations are in order, I understand.”

Jani swallowed the water with an audible gulp. “Thank you, sir.”

Pierce looked at Lucien, who had stood up like a good looie, and
his manner frosted. “Lieutenant. Tough loss the other day.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Your sweeper stinks.”

Despite his social training, Lucien’s grin visibly tightened.
“We’re working on replacing him, sir.”

“The sooner, the better.” Pierce then caught Jani by surprise by
offering her his arm. “I wondered if you’d accompany me on a tour of the house,
Captain.”

“Sir.” As Jani rose, she shot a sharp look at Lucien, whose return
glare could only be interpreted to read “he outranks me.” She held Pierce’s arm
as lightly as she could, and allowed him to lead her from the tent.

“You should watch him.” Pierce’s ‘across the Yard’ voice lifted
easily above the party din. “I’ve been asking a few questions of my own. He
meets with Justice Ministry officials every day.”