Contact Imminent, page 33
“I am not going to let you rework the Service Code for your own convenience.”
“Why not? The Service reworks it for theirs. If they didn’t, I wouldn’t be alive today.” And neither would you. Jani kept that to herself, but she could tell from the flicker in Niall’s eyes that he heard it anyway. “A good attorney might argue that the bioemotional changes wrought by their hybridization rendered them incapable of proper Service behavior.” She looked to John, who eyed her with something dangerously close to cold-blooded admiration.
“That’s why you made sure Thalassa fell in under Feyó’s control,” he said. “To protect them.”
“I was thinking of Tsecha, but the same principle applies to them.” Jani pondered for a moment. “Do you know any good lawyers?”
John smiled. “A few.”
Niall glared at Jani, the hunter’s light in his eye returned. “I will say that I expected to have to go to round two on that one.” He nodded, and dragged his documents case onto his lap. “Heard much news lately?”
“From Chicago?” Jani shook her head. “I didn’t trust the security of the lines for anything important.”
“How about public?”
“The ’sheets? Haven’t had the chance to dig around much lately.” Jani felt her stomach tighten. “Why?”
Niall reached into his documents case and removed a newssheet. “Fort Karistos edition of Blue and Grey. Front page.” He unrolled the display parchment and handed it to Jani. “One of Elon’s security suborns challenged Pretty Boy. Depending on when the details can be worked out, the bout will be scheduled for the end of next month.” He reached into his shirt pocket and removed his nicstick case, shook out a cylinder, and bit down on the ignition tip with a decisive crunch. “If we leave now,” he said through a haze of smoke, “we just might get to Chicago in time for the show.”
CHAPTER 25
“This story isn’t very detailed.” Jani bit into a piece of flatbread, then brushed the crumbs from the newssheet surface. “Lots of extraneous garbage about Lucien’s personal life, but very little about why nìRau Ghos challenged him in the first place.”
“Everyone I talk to who knows Pascal thinks the ‘general principles’ argument covers the ‘why’ pretty well.” Niall set aside a glass of iced tea, then stirred and dredged the contents of his soup bowl. “We’re more interested in what he was doing at the Shèráin embassy in the first place. Granted, he does occasionally field for the home team, but most of the time, when he goes there, he goes there for you.” He sniffed at the contents of his spoon, then sipped. Paused to roll the broth around in his mouth, then swallowed with a shrug. “Tastes like good old chicken vegetable to me.” He picked up a slice of flatbread and crumbled it atop the soup. “He’s not talking, and he’s been pulling in various markers to avoid being pressed. The thought occurred that this might have something to do with Tsecha’s problem. What do you think?”
I think that either you already know, and you want to see if what I say matches, or Lucien is holding something back about the mine investigation. Jani played for time by picking at her food and looking around the half-deserted courtyard. The rain had stopped sometime before, and many of the Thalassans had dispersed to various parts of the enclave to check for storm damage. The few who remained bustled about on various errands, casting not so surreptitious glances at Jani, Niall, and John each time they passed their table. Of the regular residents, only Eamon had yet to show his face. John said that he was still clearing up after the postaccident onslaught, but Jani wondered. Gisa was Eamon’s horse, after all, and she had emerged in fine shape from a messy situation. A little gloating on his part wouldn’t have been out of character.
“Lucien spends a lot of his off-time at the Haárin enclave. He tends to travel with Dathim and Tsecha as though he’s a natural member of the entourage—he doesn’t always stop to think about what some humanish and idomeni think of that.” Jani pushed aside the newssheet and worked on finishing her supper—the chicken that hadn’t wound up in the soup, laced with a hot, dark brown sauce that tasted the way John’s voice sounded. “Add to that the fact that, as you say, he isn’t universally admired. It’s a miracle that something like this didn’t happen sooner.” She picked up a spice dispenser and shook more ground pepper atop her food. Lucien, of all the damned times—why now? “Dathim is training him. That’s something, anyway.”
“So you’re not worried. It’s just one of those things, and you see no reason to return to Chicago to check into it.” Niall shrugged. “Fine. After I finish this, Captain Eglin and I”—he nodded to his blond cohort, who sat downtable rooting through the bread basket—“will take ourselves off and leave you in peace.” He tossed back a swallow of tea, then started back in on his soup, hybrid-watching in between spoonfuls. “What are those things everyone has tied around their wrists?”
“Strips of cloth dipped in my blood.” Jani hid her smile at the sound of Captain Eglin’s fork hitting her plate. “We had a little excitement here a couple of hours ago.”
Niall looked from Jani to John, then back again. “Uhhuh.” Alarm warred with irritation on his face—his news about Lucien had been one-upped, and it was obvious from his twitchy expression that the curiosity was killing him. “Cutlery accident?” He raised a butter spreader point up and tipped it back and forth as he eyed the bandage on Jani’s arm.
“More a case of pied piper diplomacy.” John tossed his napkin atop his plate and pushed back from the table. “And on that note”—” He bent down and kissed Jani. “—I shall hie off to the clinic and see what Eamon’s up to.”
“Get him to look at your cheek.” Jani watched him walk to the lift, his only response to her concern a backhand wave. Brushing me off already, are you? The spice residue from his lips had left an enticing sting behind. Just you wait, Doctor. She licked it off, then turned back to the table to find Niall eyeing her with annoyance.
“OK, point to you.” He pushed away his bowl, then sat back and took his nicstick case from his pocket. “Do you care about this challenge to Pascal or don’t you?”
“Of course I care.” Damn it. Jani scrubbed her hands over her face and stifled a yawn. She needed sleep, and it didn’t look like she’d be getting it anytime soon. “Revenge for the Vynshàrau killed in the mine accident crosses one’s mind.”
“That was the first thing that occurred to us, too, but it’s never that simple these days, is it?” Niall took a ’stick from his case, but instead of igniting it, he held it lengthwise and tapped it on the table so it slid through his fingers, then turned it over and started again. “The only direct experience Burkett at Diplo has with challenges was what he picked up with yours last summer. His folks have studied, but you know as well as I do that it’s not the same thing. Tsecha’s problems have made him persona non grata at his embassy and have also compounded our difficulties in trying to work with him.”
“So he’s still in Chicago?” Jani hoped the relief in her voice wasn’t as obvious as it sounded.
“Yes, he is, for all the good he’s doing anyone.” Niall took a deep breath. “Not to put too fine a point on it, but we’re scrambling here, time is short, and tempers on both sides are just looking for an excuse. We need your help, and I’m authorized to deal to get it.” He spoke in a voice so low that even Eglin had to sit forward to hear him. “What do you want?”
Jani sat silent, conscious of Niall’s worried glower, Eglin’s more goggle-eyed assessment, the fidgeting of a group of younger hybrids who stood off to one side and waited for them to leave so they could clear the table. All they have to do is ask. Yes, sometimes it really was that simple. She glanced across the table at Niall, a move sufficient to set him fidgeting. So that’s how a friendship ends. When what once would have been a request, an appeal, turns to an act of barter. Fine. “I note the fact that you made this proposal after you tried to get your hands on Brondt and Hamil.”
“I really wanted them, Jan. Brondt especially.” Niall shrugged. “Can’t blame a man for trying.”
“Why ever not?” Jani cradled her right arm—the transfuser site ached and her wound stung every time she moved. “Leave them be. You want them out, medical them. I doubt Mako wants the news of Elyan Haárin dock infiltration to get out, anyway.”
Niall tapped the ’stick through his fingers one last time, then stared at it. “Is that all?”
“If I’ve any consideration left, I’ll bank it. If I can.” Jani looked to the skylight, the railed walkways, the gardens that surrounded them. Her color-coded dishes and the aromas that fed her just by inhaling. “When were you planning on leaving?” She tried not to think of the view from her bedroom window, the warmth, the sounds of the sea. I can ask John to come back with me. That idea, at least, gave her mood a boost.
“Tomorrow early afternoon. I would come here to get you late morning, to allow time for all those last minute complications that always seem to arise.” Niall nodded once, a shaky lowering of his chin. “Thank you. I’m gathering the impression that you really don’t want to leave right now.”
“It’s not a good time, no.” Jani wondered if despite earlier signs, Feyó’s concussion was severe enough to incapacitate her, and if she would still be able to ride herd on the Outer Circle Haárin and maintain the newly mended union. If Gisa would make trouble again. If Niall’s word regarding Brondt and Hamil meant anything. “I might ask John to come.”
Niall brightened, which indicated how uncomfortable he felt at the prospect of spending over five weeks alone with her. “That would be fine. Whatever you want.”
“Yes.” Jani dragged her napkin off her lap and tossed it on the table. “Tomorrow, then.”
Niall stiffened as the fact of the dismissal soaked in. “Tomorrow.” He stood, his chair tottering as he pushed it back with force. “And tomorrow, and tomorrow.” He headed for the door, leaving Eglin to hustle to catch him up. “Not an appropriate quote for the moment, but it is still from the Scottish play, and anything with knives in it seems befitting now.” The door slid open and he vanished into the night, Eglin closing in behind him like a flustered shadow.
“We confirm Colonel Pierce’s information. Ní Tsecha is still in Chicago.” Ná Feyó lay atop the scanbed in the clinic’s largest examining room, holding a court of sorts, surrounded by suborns and a few of the hybrid Haárin that had come from her enclave. “His movements have been restricted more and more. It is feared and truly that he will simply disappear one day, and that the next we hear of him will be when we learn that Cèel has him.” The skin around her eye shone slick with anti-inflammatories, and the swelling had receded enough that she could partially open her eye. “This is not a time I ever believed I would see.”
“Ní Tsecha has changed. It’s as though he hybridized in the mind instead of the body.” Jani sat on a lab chair, which was situated high enough so she could rest her feet atop one of the lab benches. “He’s been delving into university libraries, reading of humanish religions and histories. I’m guessing his views would rattle any Haárin, much less a bornsect.”
“I wish to meet him, and truly.” Gisa sat in the far corner of the room, Bon as usual at her side. “You must bring him back with you, ná Kièrshia, so he may glory in his words come to life.”
Jani nodded as the tension ramped. Feyó lay her head back in an attention-getting swoon that drew two of her suborns to her side, an act that brought smiles from Bon and Gisa. This place is starting to remind me of Cabinet Row. She huddled in the medcoat one of the techs had given her to cover her bare arms. Maybe I need a vacation after all. Not that the trip to Chicago would count. Please let those damned wristbands keep working after I break orbit, Lord Ganesh, I pray. “My doctor must see to my injuries—please excuse me, ná Feyó.” She slipped off the chair and out the door before anyone had the chance to reply.
Chamberlain, where are you? Jani stalked the halls, shoved aside doors and searched empty labs and offices, on the hunt for Brondt. She had just completed a circuit of the basement and made ready to enter the lift when she sensed a presence behind her and turned.
“Ná Kièrshia.” Brondt first bowed in the humanish fashion, then stood as straight as he could in a posture of idomeni regard. A look of uncharacteristic puzzlement suffused his broad features, as though he couldn’t decide which protocol stated his feelings better. “I understand I owe you more than I can ever repay.” He finally settled for a variation of Service at-ease—feet shoulders-width apart, hands clasped loosely behind his back—which seemed to fit him best of all. “My thanks. Thanks from Hamil as well—he’s repairing a leaky roof at one of the greenhouses or he’d tell you himself.”
“You’re not in the clear yet.” Jani stepped away from the lift and started down the hall, pausing to allow Brondt to precede her. “Niall wants your hide—he believes your informing Feyó of station issues constitutes treason against the Commonwealth.”
Brondt stopped in mid-stride and looked at Jani over his shoulder. “Do you feel that way?”
“By his standards, I’m a traitor as well. Our friendship kept him from seeing it.”
“But you’re not friends anymore.” Brondt’s usually composed gaze softened. “I’m sorry.” He hung his head and resumed walking. “I should compliment you on your display this evening.” He raised his right hand in a mailfist salute, exposing the strip of bloodstained cloth tied around his wrist. “I knew blood would be shed, but I never thought it would be yours alone.”
“I couldn’t cut Gisa—that would have signified declaration, which in turn would have led to a permanent schism here.” Jani passed a lab and wondered if John worked there, or Eamon. Whether they labored together or kept their distance from one another. “While Haárin are used to dealing with that sort of public animosity, humanish feel the need to escalate. Every drop of blood Gisa shed would have meant a corpse later on, of that I am most sure, and truly.” They came upon a small break area, and she herded Brondt inside. “Does Feyó still expect you to provide her information of what goes on here?”
“I believe that now more than ever she will expect such.” Brondt waved Jani toward the lone table in the alcove, and poured coffee from the community brewer that dominated one corner of the space. “You’ve granted Gisa her own power base and ordained it with the blood of the priest.” He grinned in memory as he trudged to the table, steaming dispos in hand. “Feyó’s not happy with you right now, I’m guessing. She’s hoping that if you bring ní Tsecha here, she can work her influence through him to keep you at bay.”
“This place is Chicago with palm trees.” Jani hunched over her cup. “What are you going to tell her?”
Brondt stared into his coffee. “What do you want me to say?”
Jani leaned forward, elbows on table, and propped her chin in her hands. “We need to strike a balance—if we look too strong, we’ll panic the Haárin. If we look too weak, they’ll leave us to twist in the wind.” She held up three fingers. “I’ll be gone three months Common, minimum. Repeated reminders that the one who started it all is coming should keep the lid on the place.”
Brondt sipped the coffee and made a face. “So, you are going to try to bring ní Tsecha here?”
“I have to. Chicago’s become too inhospitable, and he can never return to the worldskein.” Jani tried her own coffee, found it rather good, and felt pity for the soul responsible for making a brew that tasted reasonable to palates at multiple stages of hybridization.
They stood in silence for a time, lost in thought and subdued by fatigue. Then one of Eamon’s techs entered, her face brightening when she saw Jani. “Ná Kièrshia!” She held up her right hand, exposing the ubiquitous wristband. “Such a great thing, and truly. It is all we speak of—Doctor Eamon grew quite sick of our talk and bade us all leave his laboratory.”
“So Eamon is working.” Jani finished her coffee and returned to the brewer for more. “The accident took a great deal of his time, I understand.
“The accident?” The tech shrugged, an exaggerated lift of the shoulders that implied she had just learned the gesture. “All who were hurt have been treated. Basic injuries, and truly. Nothing complex.” She joined Jani by the brewer. “Doctor Eamon blends skin spray. He must balance the proteins properly, and eliminate those that would cause reaction. Otherwise, mess. Vast mess. Skin like ground meat, he says. So he tests and blends, a different spray for each who is injured.”
Jani leaned against the brewer case, enjoying the warmth on her back. “There weren’t any hybrids injured tonight, were there? During the storm clean-up?” She looked to Brondt, who shook his head. “John needs to get his cheek fixed, but he’s not—” Her mind blanked, and no brewer on Elyas would have been warm enough to ease her sudden chill.
“Ná Kièrshia?” Brondt took a step toward her. “Are you all right?”
“Where is John?” Jani had already left the alcove by the time the tech made it to the exit and called out the room number.
Jani stood before the laboratory door. Hit the entry buzzer. Heard the achingly familiar voice intone, “Come in.”
John sat at a desk, bowed over a notebook entry pad. He looked up when she entered, his face lightening. “Hello.” He smiled. Sometime after his departure from supper, he had found time to shower and change clothes. He wore medwhites now, the same outfit he had lived in during their Rauta Shèràa basement days, the neckline flecked with damp spots courtesy of his dripping hair.
“I never asked you about the message you sent Val.” Jani walked into the room and tried to examine John without seeming to. Still so pale. Still a snow wraith, untouched by the sun. I’m just jumpy. Letting her nerves get the best of her. I’m a damned fool.
“I asked him some business questions, with a few of your carefully worded concerns mixed in. I know it seems like ages, but it was only yesterday. If we’re lucky, Val will receive the transmit tomorrow. That’s assuming all transfer points are hitting optimally, though, and that’s seldom the case.” John held a stylus by the ends, and stared at it as though transfixed. “You’ll be gone by then, won’t you?”
