Code of Conduct

by Kristine Smith

  “Oh, it is.” Evan hurried to her side. “The parks. The arboretums. You’d love it here in the spring.” He escorted her back into his retreat’s soothing blue-and-green depths. “I gathered your ride here from O’Hare was more exciting than you may have liked.”

  “That’s an understatement.” Jani sank into a chair across from Evan’s desk. “Nothing like a collision with split batteries to disrupt the flow of traffic on a twelve-lane skimway. Then the HazMat unit came. Then this storm. At least it held off until after I landed.” She shuddered. “I think my driver has a death wish. I’d yank her license.”

  Evan perched on the edge of his desk. “Quite an indictment, coming from you. I blamed my first grey hairs on our sojourns through Rauta Shèràa.” That little bon mot launched, he eased behind his desk and kicked back. “Chicago is the Commonwealth capital, Jani. Over seventeen million people live within the metroplex limits. I can’t tell you the exact square kilometers offhand, but the number borders on the ridiculous.” His look turned concerned. “I hadn’t considered culture shock. Are you?”

  “Shocked by the wonder of it all? I’ll live.” Jani massaged the hard knot in the back of her neck where augie had planted his foot. She had coped with the throbbing red lights on the emergency vehicles well enough, but the sirens had gotten to her. She held out her hands. The right one had finally stopped shaking. The left one had never started. Half-sane, at least, but which half? “Does this place have a gym? Exercise helps.”

  “Five. I’ll get you a pass for the one I use—it has the best equipment.” He picked absently at his fingernails. “We have a decent medical staff, as well,” he added carefully. “All Neoclona-trained.”

  “No, thank you.”

  “Oh, for crying out loud, stop acting like an idomeni!” Evan’s voice rasped with irritation. “What, I’m not your physician-priest, so you can’t talk to me? When was the last time you had your augmentation evaluated? Any augmented vet who works for Interior has to be checked out every six months and have at least one precautionary take-down per year.”

  “Forget it. Look, I received enough doctoring after the crash to last a lifetime. Half my limbs and most of my insides were grown in a tank. I’m sick of the smell of antiseptic, poking and prodding, and white sheets, not necessarily in that order. And forget any damned take-down. No one’s going to stick a blinking box in my face and short out my brain for my own good. I’ve had it. And speaking of ‘had it.’” She gave Evan a brief rundown of her thoughts with regard to his files. His headshaking grew more and more pronounced each time Jani alluded to the possibility that Durian Ridgeway had purposely withheld information.

  “I can’t accept that!” Evan’s feet hit the carpeted floor with a muffled thud. “Durian knows how important this is. Hell, he has as much to lose as I do if things fall to pieces. He’s been cleaning up after me for so long, his nickname around here is the janitor. Everyone knows if I show up, he’s never far behind. We’re joined at the hip—if I go, he goes.”

  Oh goodie—I’ve come between a dog and his man. And between both of them and what? Jani stared at Evan until he broke eye contact and began pushing his pen stand back and forth. “You’re still holding out on me.” She worked her hands over the brocaded upholstery that covered the arms of her chair. Only her right could detect the changes in texture.

  “Jani—”

  “Have you forgotten what I have to lose if things fall to pieces?”

  “No one could possibly—”

  “I’m wanted by the Service for mutinous murder and desertion. No dust has ever settled on that warrant. It’s reposted every six Common months without fail in every colonial Government Hall. Wherever I happened to be, I’d stop by, keep myself company.”

  “I know it must—”

  “Funny how oddly comforting I found it at times. Like a touchstone—”

  “Will you shut up!” Evan’s face had taken on a hunted look. “I didn’t want to tell you this. Knowing how you may react, I’m still not sure I should.” The pen stand jerked and shook. “Exterior’s looking for you, Jan. I arrived on Whalen only twelve hours ahead of a cruiser carrying members of Ulanova’s executive staff. I heard rumors of a Service ship trolling the area as well, but I couldn’t confirm them.”

  Jani crossed her legs to ease the pressure on her lower back. You’d think a Cabinet House would have better chairs. “Why now, I wonder?”

  Evan’s brow furrowed. “You don’t seem surprised.”

  Jani shook her head. “My record states, ‘missing, assumed dead.’ The gulf between that and ‘declared dead’ is very wide.” She poked her numb left arm. “No remains were ever found. No indestructible Service ID chip was recovered from the wreckage and canceled out. The Admiral-General doesn’t know for sure I’m dead; therefore, I am alive. That’s why the outstanding warrant. That’s why a rep gets sent out to follow up every rumor of my existence. I killed my CO. Then I violated the Bilateral Accord by interfering in idomeni affairs. Those are two biggies, Ev. You may think they’ve given up on me, but you’re wrong. They’re not going to rest until they nail me to the wall.”

  Evan’s expression grew confused. “What I don’t understand is how Shroud and his buddies managed to keep you hidden? What did they think they played at?”

  I remember them standing outside my door, when they thought I couldn’t hear. Laughing, calling one another Dr. Frankenstein. No, she took that back. John never laughed. “I don’t know how they did it. I think it was all a game to them; an escape from the boredom. Most of the humans had been evac’d by that time. They had nothing to do. So they built themselves a friend.” She walked over to the bar and poured herself a glass of water. She gulped the cold liquid, felt it cool her from within. It took her some time to realize Evan had remained silent. She turned to find him staring at her.

  “What do you mean by ‘friend’? Tell me what I’m thinking didn’t happen. Please tell me they didn’t—”

  “They didn’t, Evan. Parini’s homosexual and DeVries only likes blondes with big tits.”

  “What about Shroud? I knew him back then, you know. From his visits to the Consulate. He was strange then, and he hasn’t improved with time.”

  “I knew him, too. A little.” If encounters in the entryway of Nema’s house counted as “knowing.” He’d mumble, “Hello,” and stare at the floor. Poor John. Funny the things she remembered. How hands that performed the most delicate medical procedures could turn so clumsy when working under a different sort of pressure. “It’s over. Why worry about it? What am I going to do, sue for malpractice?” She returned to the bar and poured herself more water, this time adding ice.

  “I guess I understand your medical phobia now,” Evan said. “I’m surprised they let you escape.”

  “They didn’t. I slipped away during the final blitz.” Jani leaned against a bookcase. The odor of the leather binding seemed especially sharp, almost meaty. “Remember?”

  Evan nodded slowly. “The Night of the Blade. The Vynshà sent the Haárin into Rauta Shèràa first. Debriding the wound, they called it.”

  Jani picked up the thread. “They had set up observation points in the hills. I could see the halolamps flashing signals to the Haárin in the city center.”

  Evan gaped. “They let you walk the streets!”

  “I wasn’t walking. More like limping double time.” She tried to smile. “They didn’t want humanish at that point, anyway. They had other concerns.” She looked at Evan, sitting hunched over his desk. “Where were you?”

  “The sub-basement of the Consulate. We’d been down there for eleven idomeni days. Almost two weeks. The Service got us out at dawn, as the Vynshà entered the city proper. They’d just declared themselves ‘rau,’ and set fire to the ring the Haárin had erected around Rauta Shèràa’s perimeter. We could see the flames from the transport windows.” He swallowed. “There were bodies in that ring.”

  “Not all of them were dead, either.” Jani walked away f
rom the bookcase. The odor of the books was making her sick to her stomach. “The ring of souls released by cleansing fire. Supposed to guarantee peace and protection until the next imbalance of power.” She looked out the balcony window. The wind still whipped, blowing so much snow that the view looked like a malfunctioning holoVee screen. A roaring gust rattled the panes.

  It was Evan’s turn to visit the bar. He ignored the water pitcher and reached for the bourbon. “That convergence on Whalen may not mean anything. The way things have been going lately, a display of any type of proficiency with things idomeni would have been enough to attract attention. Ulanova may just be looking for translators.” He poured himself a single shot, downed it, then paused to catch his breath. “I slipped a decoy into NorthPort—one of my own people—to distract them.” He frowned. “She was one of my best Vynshà-watchers. I’m going to miss her. Probably take us months to get her back.”

  “Sorry for the inconvenience.”

  Evan smiled. He hefted the bourbon decanter as though testing its weight, then set it back in its place in the bottle rack. “I think I know what Durian removed from the files. And I know where to find it. You’ll have it by tonight.”

  “Are you going to confront him?”

  “No. Not yet. He’s not here now, anyway. He and Ange are flying in later today from London. A visit to his family, I believe.” He flinched as another gust shook the balcony panes.

  That was Hansen Wyle exploding out of his grave. “A visit to chez Ridgeway? Really?”

  “Durian’s relationship with Angevin is completely professional,” Evan huffed defensively. “You just don’t like him.”

  “He doesn’t like me either. He tried to trip me up on the Arapaho. He threw some Josephani at me. I pretended I couldn’t understand his accent.”

  “Did you have a chance to study those language discs I slipped into your documents portfolio?”

  “That’s not the point!”

  “No. No, you’re right. I’ll have a talk with him.” He leaned against the bar. “Jani, nobody here knows you except me. In any case, no one who knew you eighteen years ago could place you now. Your face is completely different, your hair. You’ve lost weight—hell, you even look taller.” His aimless stare came to rest on her and sharpened. “You’re safe. I’ll keep you safe.”

  Jani raised her glass in a mock toast, took a last sip, and headed for the door. “I need to walk off my Chicago driving adventure. I’ll see you later.”

  “Jani?”

  She turned to find Evan had opted for the second bourbon after all.

  “You really killed Riky Neumann?”

  “Yes.”

  “But he drew first? It was self-defense?”

  “His hand went to his holster. I wasn’t going to wait to discover whether he was serious or just bluffing. Considering I’d just threatened to declare anarchy rules, relieve him of command, and place him under arrest, I don’t think he was simply trying to gauge my reaction.”

  “Anarchy rules? You were going to take over command?”

  “The integrity of the documents in my care was threatened. I saw no other alternative. I was within my rights.”

  Evan downed his second shot. His face flushed. “You killed him over a paper issue?”

  “You’re upset because he was a Family member?”

  “He was my father’s best friend. I grew up calling him Uncle Rik.”

  “And I served under him. Apparently he made a better uncle than commanding officer.” Jani rifled through her pockets for her key card. Her duffel and documents case waited outside in a locked desk. “I’ll see you tonight. In the meantime, I think I’ll explore.” She left without looking back. She knew what she’d see if she did. Evan, with his puzzled expression, liquor-fueled curiosity, and unspoken question. Why, Jani?

  Because when the first patient died, Neumann lied when I asked how it happened, and when the second patient mutilated himself, he told me the truth and expected me to go along. Jani recovered her bags from the desk, took comfort in their weight and shape. But it didn’t last. Her mind had set off down another trail, one she tried to avoid but never could for long.

  Human patients. At the idomeni hospital. At Knevçet Shèràa. She leaned against the anteroom doorway until the arrival of a flock of staffers forced her to brace up. Then she struck out in search of someone who could tell her where her room was.

  CHAPTER 6

  Jani sat in the living room of her suite, which occupied a substantial portion of the second floor rear, Interior House Private, and listened to the blizzard’s relentless assault against her windows.

  After requesting assistance from the occupants of an office down the hall from Evan’s, she had soon found herself being passed like a human baton from one black-clad staffer to another. Interior House Main, the Ministry headquarters, was a twelve-story-high, two-kilometer-long city-in-miniature, and Jani felt sure she had been ferried through every centimeter of hallway, lift shaft, and underground skimway before being deposited within the confines of her latest home.

  I could stop here for a while. Lots of green, icy on the walls, dark and patterned for rugs and curtains. Flooring and furniture in blond truewood; lamps and accent pieces in black, burnished copper, and emerald. The artwork, realistic seascapes and white curves of Channel School sculpture, were either originals or damned good reproductions.

  Makes a difference when you enter through the front door, doesn’t it? Figuratively speaking. Judging from the sounds filtering through the sealed windows, Jani didn’t expect to see a Chicago front door for at least four months.

  If I’m here that long. She sagged farther into her chair. The prospect of getting up seemed as daunting as that of leaving Chicago, post-augie jitters having given way to travel lag. She closed her eyes and tried to nap, but nosiness began sending “let’s explore” jolts through her system. She answered the call and started opening doors and checking drawers.

  Her bags had already been unpacked, the contents distributed among chests, armoires, and a walk-in closet the size of the NorthPort tracking station. A door she thought led to the bathroom actually opened to a fully applianced kitchenette. Jani checked the cooler and found it stocked with the fruit drinks and snack foods she vaguely recalled mentioning to one of the staffers as her favorites. She cracked the seal on a dispo of helgeth and took a tentative sip. The frothy purple juice tasted crisp and slightly astringent. She polished off that container and half of another before resuming her search. She hadn’t realized how thirsty she was.

  Another door, palm lock in place but not yet activated, led into a small office. The room contained a desk, also lockable, on which sat a workstation with a secured Cabinet link, the newest model parchment imprinter, and a vase of fresh flowers. Jani stashed the documents case in the desk, tested the chair, then drew aside the curtain and looked out at the storm-whipped lake. An office with windows—you’ve skipped up a few grades, Captain.

  She wandered into the bathroom to wash her hands, took one look at the multijet shower, and soon stood beneath pounding streams of hot water. Thus refreshed, she rooted through drawers for clean clothes, and pounced on a set of charcoal grey ship coveralls Lucien had scrounged for her. She dug out a matching tee shirt emblazoned across the front with the legend CSS ARAPAHO and freed her scuffed, black, steel-toed boots from the civilized confines of one of the armoires. Working a towel through her damp hair, she collected her duffel and returned to her office.

  She activated all her locks using a UV stylus she had liberated from the Arapaho inventory. That task completed, she tried to return the stylus to its scanproof pocket in her duffel, but something stiff and sharp-edged slipped into the space and dug into her hand, blocking her.

  Jani eased out the holocard, taking special care to avoid bending it. As she tilted the card back and forth, the two holographed sailracers swooped and soared like fighting birds. The brilliant purple-and-blue sails reflected the light like colored mirrors, while the r
acers’ multihued wetsuits shimmered with pearly iridescence.

  So, Risa, what’s your real name? I’ve told you mine—it’s only fair you tell me yours.

  Lucien, I’ll tell you mine when you tell me who you’re working for.

  Jani turned the card over and studied the blank writing surface. Lucien hadn’t signed his farewell to her, but then, one could hardly have expected him to leave a traceable signature. For her part, Jani had bug-scanned the card immediately. Twice. A show of respect. From one professional to another.

  She propped the card against the vase, tilting it until the two racers were displayed to their best advantage. Then she shouldered her bag, locked her office, and set out to explore.

  Jani paused in a sunroomlike walkway which, according to the large display in the center of the tiled floor, joined the Colonial Affairs Offices with Employee Services Section Two, the area she had just left. She stared at the network of connected mazes glowing in yellow and green on the display screen, groaning when she realized she was looking at the ground-floor map only. She touched a pad on the side of the display frame. The mazes shimmered and altered to form the second floor.

  She touched the pad ten more times.

  I’m not lost—I’m buried. Outside, snow sheeted against glass walls and tornadoed into curves and crevices, reinforcing the illusion. Jani again flipped through floor plans, this time with a better idea of what she wanted.

  Five hours later, she emerged from the Library the proud possessor of the passcard and linkcodes necessary to access confidential Cabinet references from her office workstation. She had also arranged for the delivery of several Earth-based and colonial newssheets, and impressed the head documents librarian sufficiently to ensure preferential treatment whenever she submitted a special request.

  She’d also stolen a magazine.

  I’ll give it back. Jani’s duffel banged against her hip accusingly, its sides bulging with the addition of an expensive, paper-bound gossip holozine, the slick cover of which bore the brutally unretouched image of a glassy-eyed, disheveled Lyssa van Reuter. I’m surprised Evan allowed this on-site. But librarians were a notoriously independent-minded lot, and the public’s morbid curiosity regarding the hard life and violent death of one of the more hologenic Family members apparently extended to those who should have known better.