Rules of Conflict (52 page)

“Don’t say ‘rebuilt.’ You make yourself sound like a machine.”
John drummed his fingers on the desktop. “Yes, you suffered from a
porphyria-like disorder that affects a scant percentage of the idomeni
population.”

“An
idomeni
genetic disorder?”

“Yes.” The drumming altered to a slower turn of finger, as though
he pressed a string. “The idomeni tissue we used when we grew the new organ was
taken from an unbred born-sect. The born-sects don’t bother to repair
manageable genetic miscues until the member is ready to breed. Sometimes, not
even then. I didn’t learn that until after you . . . left.” He
glared at her. “Ridiculous, but there it is.” Whether he referred to the
idomeni practice or her running away, he didn’t make clear.

Jani’s skin prickled in alarm. “Which sect?”

Another curl of finger. “The disease is most common in Vynshàrau.
It affects point two percent of their population.”

“Did you use . . . Nema’s tissue?”

“
No!
” John’s face flushed anew. “Use your head, Jan! I despise
him—do you think I’d give you his tissue?”

“Right.” So she wasn’t related to Nema in any bizarre ways. Make
that any
more
bizarre ways. “You repaired this disorder?”

“Of course. Then . . . things snowballed.”

“Snowballed?”

John nodded. “You suffered from one or two arcane
connective-tissue disorders, and a defect in glycosaminoglycan metabolism. And
a glycogen-degradation defect that I believe accounted for more of your
symptoms than the porphyria.”

Jani pressed her hands together. Were the fingers of her right
longer than her left? “Human defects or idomeni defects, John?”

John’s hand stilled. “Defects.”

“Human or idomeni?”

“Jani—”

“Answer me! On a percent scale, how human was I when I came in
here and how much has that number decreased in the last five weeks?”

John leaned forward. “Jani, your transplant incision is almost
completely healed, and you were operated on only two weeks ago. Every patient
we’ve seen who was ever treated using a DeVries shunt remained bedridden for at
least six months and required extensive rehab. Rehab that, I may add, was
seldom entirely successful. Only twelve percent of those patients recovered
sufficiently to live unaided.” He nodded firmly, as though that proved his
point beyond doubt. “You’re walking around on your own and engaging in complex
social interactions after five weeks. And your distinctive personality”—he eyed
her in injury—“doesn’t seem changed in the least.” He touched the fingertips of
his left hand to the desktop, raising and lowering each in turn, like slow
scales. “The advantages of hybridization are becoming more and more obvious,
and we’ve learned better how to take what we need and leave the rest behind.
You won’t change physically—well, not much more, anyway—and the health
benefits—”

“You pushed me farther down the road. Hybridized me at a much
faster rate than would have occurred naturally.”

“We had no choice! The disorders you could have developed if we
hadn’t—”

Jani held up her right hand. Maybe the skin hadn’t yellowed—maybe
it was the light. “If I went to Cal Montoya or one of your other facility
chiefs and asked them to make me one hundred percent human again, would they be
able to?”

John shook his head. “You’ve altered too much. They wouldn’t know
where to start. You could develop more life-threatening disorders, the
treatment of which could lead to more problems.”

“So you did this for my own good.”

He looked at her. His long, sad face was the first thing Jani had
seen when she opened her eyes after the explosion. For a time, it had been the
last thing she had seen when she closed them at night. “That has always been
our foremost consideration.”

Jani crossed her wrists and compared the skin color. Maybe the
animandroid skin didn’t tan like the real thing. Maybe the muddy hue of her
pajamas made her look more sallow than normal. Maybe. “Val worries that I hate
you both, but I don’t blame you for what you did in Rauta Shèràa. You were
young and thought you knew everything, and you were honestly trying to help
me.”

“Of course—you know we were—”

“But that was then and this is now. Could you have modified your
all-or-nothing approach? Made do with the shunt and the adjunct until I was
conscious and could make an informed decision?” She looked at the man who had
saved her life in the way he thought best because he loved her. The man she’d
fled when she realized what his love meant. “Angel—”

John’s breathing quickened. “Jani—”

“—could you have
asked
?”

He buried his head in his hands. “It was the only way to ensure
your complete recovery!” He looked at her over the tops of his fingers. “You
can trust me,” he said, his voice gone velvet. Soft, enveloping, suffocating
velvet. “I know more now than I did then.”

“You may know more about the science, John.” Jani reached for her
cup—more coffee sloshed over the rim as she pushed it farther away. “But you
don’t know a damned thing more about me.” Her knee gave out when she stood, and
she almost lost her balance. John reached out to help her, but when he looked
her in the face, he sagged back in his chair and let her go without a word.

The next morning, Jani entered the sunroom to find Hugh
Tellinn sitting on a lounge, leafing through a holozine. Almost three months
had passed since she’d first met him at Neoclona-Felix. In the interim, his
hair had been inexpertly trimmed into a flip-ended mop, and his state of
sartorial disarray had further deteriorated. He turned pages with a rapid,
slap-hand motion, as though sitting in the sunroom set his teeth on edge.

Then he looked up. “Jani!” It was the first time she had ever seen
him smile. The expression split his face from ear to ear. Instead of a
thirty-five-year-old man with a bad haircut and grab-bag taste in clothes, he
looked like a boy who had opened his birthday box and found the puppy. She
could imagine Val performing handsprings for a chance to savor that open-faced
happiness.

“Hugh.” She walked slowly to a straight-backed chair opposite his
lounge. She could sense his examining gaze, and knew
he watched her posture and coordination, whether she walked easily or had to
concentrate on how to place her feet. “Do I pass, Dr. Tellinn?” she asked as
she sat.

“You look good.” He tossed the ’zine aside and sat forward, his
hands clasped. “I’m glad.” The brilliant smile wavered. “I assume Val told you
what happened.”

“The barest bones.” Jani sat back, grateful for the support the
stiff framing offered her muscles, which still tired quickly. “The less he
discusses a breakup, the more it bothers him. He spent all of fifteen seconds
summing you up.”

Hugh blinked. “Really?” He tugged at a stretched-out cuff of his
dull brown pullover. “I was very fond of him, too. But sometimes that isn’t
enough.”

“He said you resigned from Neo.”

“Yes.”

“That was a drastic step.”

“It was the only way. I knew it from the start. Every time I tried
to talk about you, Val would nod and pat me on the back. Told me he understood
my concern. Five minutes later, John’s rattling off a list of all the things
they’d try the second they got their hands on you.” Hugh rubbed his cheek. His
face looked drawn. Thinner. “I lived with them for over three months. Longest
ten years of my life.”

“Three months seems the turning point. That’s how long I lasted,
too.” Jani felt a warm rise of concern for her fellow veteran. “What are you
going to do?”

Hugh’s shoulder twitched. “I have family in Helsinki. I thought
I’d visit them for a time. After that?” He rocked his head back and forth.
“Bullet train through the China provinces. Ski in the Andes. I’ve never been to
Earth and I have enough savings to see me for a year or two. Who knows what
I’ll do?”

Jani covered her mouth with her hand to hide her grin. Was there
anything funnier than listening to a workaholic discuss vacation plans? “You’ll
hook up with a hospital within a month,” she said through her fingers. “You
won’t be happy until you’re up to your elbows in glands.”

That smile again. “You’re probably right. What about you?”

“I’m stuck here until I’m stabilized to the world’s satisfaction.”
She crossed her legs. Right over left, no hoisting required. “My lawyer told me
yesterday that my adjudicating committee met two weeks ago and tried me
in
absentia
. Sentence, ninety days, commuted to time served. Alice loses some
privileges, but she keeps her head. I’ll be discharged from the Service two
minutes after I’m discharged from here.”
Don’t be surprised if they process
you in the lobby,
Friesian had added dryly. “I’ll need to find a place to
live. A job.”

Hugh cocked an eyebrow. “Val had mentioned hiring you into the
Neoclona Documents Group.”

“
Not bloody likely
.” Jani looked at Hugh to find him
regarding her with sad amusement. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

“I understand. Believe me.” He pressed his knuckles to his lips.
“Well, I just wanted to stop by and say so long.” He stood awkwardly, his
too-large trousers rumpled and bagged at the knees.

Jani started to speak. Hesitated. Tried once more. “Could you do
me a favor? I want you to read a MedRec.” She handed him a slip of paper on
which she’d written a name. “Then I want you to come back here, so we can talk
about it.”

One hour passed.
This is taking longer than I thought.
She knew that Hugh suffered a disadvantage not being a neurologist, but she
felt sure he’d grasp the essentials. He’d read her Rauta Shèràa file. He’d make
the connection.

Several patients had wandered into the sunroom for their
postbreakfast/prelunch newssheet reading by the time Hugh returned. He paused
in the entry, searching faces. When he finally saw her, the life drained from
his eyes. He shoved his hands in his pockets and slouched across the room.

“I spoke with Roger.” He reached out to her. “We’re going to meet
with him.” He maintained his gentle grip on her hand as they departed the
sunroom and negotiated the halls.

Pimentel sat at his desk waiting for them. Jani memorized the
details of his office, the bookshelves, the watercolor, the view, in the
sincere hope she’d never see them again.

“Jani.” He glanced at Hugh. A look of back-and-forth argument
passed between them.
You start
.
No, you start.

Jani sat down in her usual chair and rubbed her damp palms over
her pajama-clad thighs. “Well?”

Hugh walked behind Pimentel’s desk and perched on the windowsill.
His choice of seating gave the scene an “us versus them” flavor. “Roger told me
that Sam Duong had named you his next of kin.” He turned to look out the
window. “He was admitted the same night you were. Discharged two weeks ago.” He
toyed with the light-transmission touchpad, the taps sounding harder as he
continued talking. “During his stay, he revoked your NOK designation. Legally,
therefore, you have no right to know anything about his condition.”

Pimentel occupied his own nervous hands by paging through a file.
“However, he did mention to me things that he wished he’d told you. I’m taking
that as permission to discuss him with you. Besides, the faster we clear this
up once and for all, the better for both of you.” He pushed a hank of hair out
of his eyes. “He spoke about you quite a bit. He even volunteered to help talk
you through your coma, but I refused to allow it. He was too weak to be
subjected to that sort of stress. We operated on him the night he was
admitted.”

Jani tried to read Pimentel’s closed expression, his careful
wording. “You removed the implant?”

Hugh sighed. “No.” He finally turned from the window. “Sam Duong
suffered from a benign neoplasm affecting the paramedian posterior region of
his thalamus—”

Jani tapped her temple. “A mass in the middle of his head. Thank
you. Roger told me all about it.”

“Jani and I have discussed the particulars of Sam’s condition. She
believes some of the experiments the Laum conducted involved augmentation of
the thalamus.” Pimentel removed sheets of coated parchment from the file and
laid them on the desk in front of him. “I have to admit, some of the things you
said jolted me. So I contacted Bandan Combined University and requested they
send me whatever ID they had for Simyam Baru.” He slid three pages of parchment
across the desk toward Jani. “I also requested that they search their records
for a Sam Duong. Three men with that name turned up. Two still work there. The
third left about five years ago, to take a job as a civilian archivist with the
Commonwealth Service at Fort Sheridan.”

Hugh turned back to the window.

“I took a sample from Sam. It matches that of the Sam Duong who
came here from Banda. It doesn’t match Simyam Baru’s.” Pimentel sat back
slowly, gaze locked on her face. “Simyam Baru and Sam Duong are not the same
man.”