Correction, what the girl in the ID used to do to that neck.
Evan sipped his coffee. “The reason I didn’t attend the welcoming ceremony for the ambassador,” he said quietly, “is because the PM requested I stay away.”
“That makes no sense. You knew Tsecha when we were stationed in Rauta Shèràa. You’re the only minister who can claim that. Doesn’t Cao realize how valuable that experience is?”
Evan smiled grimly. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. I’ll add you to my list of supporters. There’s plenty of room—it’s shrinking as we speak.” He watched the storm rage outside. “How much have you heard out here about my wife’s death?”
“We heard what we were told,” Jani said. Every aspect picked over in sickening detail. Tsecha’s welcoming was the first program she had watched in the four months since. “Lyssa died at the spa on Chira.”
“An accident?”
“With mitigating circumstances. Hints she’d been ill.” Jani hesitated. “Later, there were rumors she’d been drinking, doping. She tried to hop the road skimmer she was driving over a narrow gorge. Road skimmers don’t hop. She lost control, flipped into a rock formation.” She remembered the OC-Net cut-in, the crumpled skimmer, and the reporter running his hands over the rocks in question with the bright-eyed wonder of someone who had never seen a person die.
“Any—” Evan’s voice cracked. He pulled the thermoflask from beneath the seat and refilled both their cups. “Any speculation that I could have been involved?”
Jani studied the side of Evan’s face. Only the way his jaw muscle worked indicated the tension he otherwise managed to hide. “No. Why would there be?”
“There have been rumors, damning enough for the Cabinet to initiate a Court of Inquiry. That’s why Cao asked me to stay away. Because things are so touchy. Our relations with the idomeni. Earth’s relations with the colonies. Our colonies butting heads with the idomeni colonies. Does the term ‘vicious circle’ mean anything to you?” Evan’s hand moved to his throat. “Cao’s trying to use it like a noose around my neck. She and her old school friend, Exterior Minister Ulanova. I don’t agree with the way they do business. They want me gone.”
“You once told me the occasional purge is a fact of political life.”
“I don’t possess the edge I used to, Jan. My wife is dead. Our children died years ago. I stink of death. It drives people away. People I thought I could count on.” The rain had intensified, sluicing down the windows as though they sat beneath a waterfall. “The knives are out for me this time. I can’t fight alone.”
Jani watched the rain. The statement that Evan was only forty-two, that he’d live to fight another day, remarry and father his own Cabinet if he so desired, didn’t seem appropriate. Death altered that scenario. It raised imposing questions. Questions of coping, closure, setting the record straight. And I know all about that, don’t I?
She heard Evan stir beside her.
“I believe Lyssa was murdered, too, you see,” he said. “I think since we’re on speaking terms with the idomeni again, someone wants me out of the picture. That’s why I need a friend.” He reached out to her, his hand hovering above hers without touching. “A friend who can find out what happened.”
“You want to take me back to Earth with you?”
“I need your help, Jan. I need a friend who knows me, knows the idomeni, and knows where the bones are buried.”
I buried some of those bones, Jani thought as she watched Evan’s hand. It shook. Very slightly. Did she make him that nervous? Or was he in that much trouble?
“I know what we had didn’t end well,” he said as he let his hand rest on the seat near her knee. “Do you hold a grudge?”
“No.”
“I didn’t think so. You’re not the type. You follow your own rules, your own code. You’re tough, but you’re fair.”
“You haven’t known me for a long time. I may have changed.”
Evan continued as though she hadn’t spoken. “For my part, I’d show how much I trust you by placing my career in your hands. All I ask is that, as events warrant, you proceed with caution.”
“That would be a first for me, don’t you think?” Jani studied her distorted reflection in her cup’s polished surface. “You really want to take me back to Earth?”
“You have to go somewhere. My blonde mentioned I blew your situation here.”
“‘Blew’ doesn’t begin to describe it. The Merchants’ Association blames me for your traffic slowdown. They think I’m a verifier. I’m probably being watched. If I returned to NorthPort after being seen with you, I’d be dead by nightfall.”
“So, you need to get out of here.” Evan’s voice sounded stronger, surer. That made sense. He was negotiating now. “Ok, I’ll get you out of here. Where do you want to go?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then what’s wrong with Earth?” He counted on his fingers. “Look, we pass through four GateWays on the way. Amsun, Padishah, Felix, and Mars. If you change your mind on the way, I’ll give you whatever you need and let you go.” He leaned toward her, his voice coldly eager.
“But if you had a chance to work at a job that utilized your training, realized you could live a different life, wouldn’t it make sense to stick with me? Look around you, Jan.” He gestured toward the storm-whipped scenery. “You don’t belong here. You deserve a second chance. Officially, sure, the Service is still looking for you, but unofficially?” He shook his head. “They think you’re dead. You can reinvent yourself any way you want, and I’m offering you the opportunity to do just that.”
“If I work for you?”
“If you find out what happened to Lyssa. Call it working for me if you want. Call it anything.”
“You could be the bait in a Service trap. Why should I trust you?”
“Well, if what you told me about your popularity in NorthPort is true, you’d better trust me at least as far as Amsun.” He raised his cup to her in a toast. “What choice do you have?”
What choice, indeed? Jani stared into her cup. Then she drained it and handed it back to him. “You know, some old Service officer once said that if you fall back far enough, you’ll just wind up at the front again.” She pulled the second Naxin bomb from her duffel and punched a fingernail through the sealant coating. Popping up her door, she darted into the rain, pulled open the door of the single-seater, tossed the bomb inside, slammed the door, and closed herself back in the sedan before the first wisps of Naxin appeared in her old skimmer’s windows.
Evan stared at her. “That was quick.”
“The Service taught me things like that, remember?”
“Remind me never to pull up next to you.” He glanced down at the floor near her feet. His smile flickered back to life. “Still carrying your bag of tricks, I see.” He punched the sedan’s charge-through. The vehicle activated with a low hum. “I’ll send some people over to mop up. It’ll be like you were never even here.”
“They’re going to need HazMat gear.”
“People always need HazMat gear when they clean up after you. It’s one of the constants of life.” His eyes glistened with suppressed merriment. He reversed the skimmer out of its slot, then eased it forward. “Is there anyone you want to message before we leave? Anyone you need to notify?”
“No,” Jani said. That was the advantage with avoiding names—it always made bugging out easier. She reached beneath Evan’s seat for the thermoflask. “I didn’t watch the entire welcome program. Were you the only minister Cao took exception to?”
Evan steered the skimmer into a wide, banking turn. “No, there were more. Gisela Detmers-Neumann, the Communications Minister. Fitzhugh and Ebben, the deputies from Commerce. Unser from Education.”
Coffee sloshed into Jani’s lap, running down her weatherall and spilling to the skimmer floor. “Why them?” she asked.
Evan looked at her, then at the beading puddle on the carpet. “Now, Jani, you of all people should know the a
nswer to that.” He reached into the glove box, pulled out a dispo, and handed it to her. “Don’t get too nervous. This visit doesn’t have to be all business. Who knows, you might run into Tsecha. You were his pet at the Academy. I’m sure he’d enjoy seeing you again.”
“At this point,” Jani said as she dabbed at the spilled coffee, “I think any running I’d do with regard to him would be in the opposite direction.”
The faint glow of the shuttle pad glimmered in the distance. Evan pressed the accelerator. “By the way,” he asked, “who was that old Service officer? You always used to mention him in Rauta Shèràa, too.”
“Wasn’t a ‘him.’ Was a ‘her.’” Jani sighed. “It was me.”
CHAPTER 3
Amsun Primary’s VIP wing exuded the chilly luxury of a Family mausoleum. Jani hitched her duffel, eyed the sculptures lining the station’s carpeted gangway, and kept pace a few meters behind Evan, who was busy dictating orders to a quartet of Amsun annex staffers. Each underling took their position at his shoulder, then backed off and let another take their place, just like lead changes during skimbike races. It had been that way since they’d left Whalen two days ago. Every time Jani tried to question Evan about Lyssa, an advisor would turn up to drag him off.
Maybe I need a uniform and a title to get his attention. A possibility, but not one she wanted to consider. Even in her current circumstances, she wouldn’t have traded places with Evan or any member of his escort. Voices snapped. No one smiled.
We’re in Exterior country, my friends. Unlike every other Ministry, which located its main headquarters in Chicago and scattered its annexes throughout the colonies, Exterior had moved its Main House to the Outer Circle planet of Amsun and maintained only a token presence on Earth. That hadn’t seemed wise when the late David Scriabin, Lyssa van Reuter’s father, had set the transfer wheels in motion fifteen years before.
Smacks of genius now. Exterior burgundy formed the basis for every aspect of interior decoration in Amsun Primary, a constant reminder to all parties wearing Treasury gold, Commerce green, Interior black, and every other Cabinet hue in exactly whose sandbox they played.
Jani passed the portrait of a severe, dark-haired woman wearing a high-necked tunic in the ubiquitous colour du monde. Everyone thought Exterior Minister Anais Ulanova should have stood for Prime during the last election. When she didn’t, the Earthbound news services professed shock. The colonial reaction, in contrast, had been blasé. Why fight to be shepherd when you already own the sheep?
As she came upon yet another holosilk study in red and orange, Jani rolled her eyes. It was partly artistic opinion, partly aggravation. Red was the color of blood and warning lights to her augie, the chromatic equivalent of a scream in the night. Unfortunately, the action caused an eyefilm to shift. She tried to blink it back into place, and it hung up on her eyelid. Tears brimmed, then spilled as the film edge curled and split. She cupped a hand over the damage and searched in vain for a sign indicating a restroom.
“Ms. Tyi?”
Tyi? Tyi? That was her name now. Risa Tyi. Josephan. Bad choice. She couldn’t speak Josephani.
“Ms. Tyi!” Evan had pulled up short and stared back at her. “Is everything all right?” The look in Jani’s visible eye must have set off alarms. “Folks, I’ll get back with you.” He left his puzzled entourage behind and hurried to her side. “I knew you shouldn’t have flown so soon after the surgery.” He gripped Jani by the elbow and pulled her toward the elevator bank. “I hope the incision glue held.”
One of the underlings called out, “Your Excellency, if a physician is required—”
“No, no,” Evan said as he pushed Jani ahead of him into the first open car. “We’ll meet you at the Arapaho gate in a few minutes.” The door hissed shut. “What happened!”
Jani sagged against the wall. “Film broke.”
“Can you fix it?”
“Yeah.” She shivered as the odor of berries filled the elevator. Her mouth watered. What the overdose of red started, the stress of the moment intensified. She breathed through her mouth in an effort to block out the smell of fruit.
“Are you all right? I know red used to get to you sometimes.” Evan leaned close and blanched. “Oh shit.” As the door opened, he held her back and looked up and down the hall. “Still red—cover up.”
Jani pressed her hands over her eyes as she was herded, dragged, and prodded. Another door opened, then whispered closed. “Evan? What color are the walls now?”
“They’re a very calming shade of blue.”
Jani lowered her hands. The walls were indeed quite relaxing, but some of the fixtures appeared unusual. “Evan, we’re in a men’s toilet.”
“It was the closest door to the elevator, ok? People were coming.” He activated the lock. “There. That lights up the ‘being cleaned—come back in ten minutes’ sign.”
“If the hall monitoring picked us up—”
“This is the private section. Anais does any scanning here, I’ll have her ass.” Evan’s voice grew hushed. “That look you had in the eye I could see scared the hell out of me—like you were staring up from the bottom of a pit. Was that some kind of seizure?”
Jani walked to the mirror above the row of sinks. “No.” A few fissures had formed along the film’s black-and-white surface. “A combination of the stress and the environment. The nervousness of the moment. The augmentation kicked in.”
“Augmentation.” Evan gave each syllable a twist of disgust. “You were sideline Service, not mainline. How could you let them do that to you?”
“I was still Service, Ev. When they tell you to peel and bend over, you drop your drawers and think of the Commonwealth.” Jani dug into her duffel. “Guess they thought we all needed it, with the way the Laumrau-Vynshà situation was heating up.” She shrugged. “I have mixed feelings about it. It helps me think more clearly in emergencies—almost like a permanent tranquilizer implant. If I get hurt while it’s active, it kicks on adrenal and thyroid boosters, and helps the wounds heal faster.” She checked her clear face in the mirror. The peeling skin and rash caused by her brief exposure to the Naxin had healed in two days, instead of two weeks. “Dulls pain.”
“Helped you survive the crash,” Evan added with an encouraging smile.
“That’s why I have mixed feelings.” Jani freed the bottles of film former from the depths of her bag, then blended the memory film with its activator. “Sometimes I think justice would have been better served if I’d died with everyone else. Or if I’d died, and they’d lived.” She looked up to find Evan’s reflection staring at her in shocked surprise. “Don’t worry. I won’t go suicidal on you. Just a little objective over-analysis on my part.”
“Really?” He studied her skeptically. “I know some people back home you could talk to about it.”
“PTs?” Jani peeled the ruptured film from her eye. The tear-swollen black-and-white fragments smacked wetly into the sink. “Ev, if the psychotherapeuticians ever got me, they’d never let go.” She activated the faucet, cupped tepid water in her hand, rinsed away the last specks of old film, and washed them down the drain. She didn’t notice Evan’s approach until he stood beside her.
“Jesus!”
Jani stared into the mirror at her eye. The iris was still the dark jade of her childhood. But the sclera, instead of white, shone a lighter, glassy green that took on a bluish cast in the harsh bathroom lighting. Corroded copper coins—built-in pennies on my eyes. At least the pupil hadn’t changed in shape or size. And her sight had never seemed any better or worse than other people’s.
Evan drew closer. “How the hell did that happen?”
“Contaminated starter tissue, the doctors said. No time to grow them over.”
“The doctors?”
“The doctors. John Shroud, Valentin Parini, and Eamon DeVries.” They had worked out of the Service hospital in Rauta Shèràa. They had rebuilt her after the crash, gave her strange eyes and numb limbs, and remained together af
ter the war to form Neoclona. Now, they controlled all the hospitals in the Commonwealth that were worth a damn. Jani tilted her head back and counted out the drops of film. One…four, five. She held her lids open for ten seconds, then looked in the mirror. Her purple-black eye gazed back with teenage clarity.
Evan cleared his throat. “Don’t you think you should do the other one?”
“I just did it three days ago. Barring incident, the stuff lasts seven to ten.”
“I think you should make sure.”
Jani watched Evan in the mirror until he turned away. After some hesitation, she peeled, poured, mixed, and counted. “Are you sure you want to go through with this?”
“That sounds hopeful.” He turned back to her. “Does that mean you’ve decided to come at least as far as Padishah?”
“Amsun’s too close to Whalen. I’d feel better a little farther out.”
“How will I know when you feel you’ve gone far enough?”
“You won’t.” Jani dabbed away a drop of film former that had spilled down her cheek. “I’ll just be gone.”
“That sounds familiar.” Evan hoisted himself on the counter next to her sink. “Sorry. Completely inappropriate.”
“Yes, it was.”
“What’s past is past. I apologize.” He fingered the soap dispenser. “So, how’ve you been?” He shrugged off Jani’s incredulous look. “I’ve been weighed down with work the past two days. This is the first chance we’ve had to talk since I rescued you from that hellhole.”
“I’m fine, Evan.”
“Really?”
“Really.” Jani’s back twinged, and she leaned against a urinal for support. “You?”
“Fine.”
“I’m sorry. About your wife.” The words came haltingly. She’d never had a talent for saying the right thing; anything she thought of now seemed inappropriate. Death didn’t just alter. It razed. Annihilated. “Your children, too. That was tragic.”
“Yes. Thank you. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of them.” Evan looked at her and sighed. “You’ve wanted to ask me something delicate for days. I can tell. Go ahead.”
Code of Conduct Page 3