“Don’t let a superior hear you say that, or you’ll get an earful. The New Service is a proud organization. It does not embrace the malcontent.”
“Then why does it have its hand down my trousers?”
Lucien laughed. “You’ve got me there.” Shoulders still shaking, he tossed a wrapper in the trashzap and disappeared around the divider.
Jani edged out of the bathroom, leaned against the divider, and watched Lucien set out an assortment of newssheets. When he still worked as a security officer on Anais Ulanova’s staff, he had been deftly inserted into the crew list of the CSS Arapaho, the ship Jani had traveled on during her first trip to Earth. His duty had been ostensibly to serve as her steward; his true function had been to uncover her real identity. Even after the ruse had fallen through, he had still insisted on performing his cabin-attending duties. She’d had fresh flowers every ship day, liqueur waiting after dinner, laundry done daily.
He even massaged my neck once. She had just spent hours combing over some of Evan van Reuter’s files, and the conclusion that her ex-lover was guilty of bribery and conspiracy, among other nasty things, had resulted in a tension headache that left her photophobic and unable to move her neck.
But Lucien fixed. Did he ever. In the five weeks they spent together, that was the closest he came to getting her into bed. Letting him get those hands on her was one mistake she had no intention of repeating. But, if he wanted to spend part of his day replenishing her flowers and reading materials, she wouldn’t turn him down. “Is that everything?” she asked as she watched him stuff more wrappings into the trashzap.
“No.” He stepped into her bedroom, then turned to her and crooked his finger for her to follow. “One final surprise.” He held up the last package, removed the silver-and-black wrappings with a flourish, and held it out for her inspection.
She found herself staring into two shining brown eyes framed by a fringe of fur. “A teddy bear?”
It was an old-style toy, designed to do nothing but sit. Light brown fur, the closest match Lucien could find to his own hair. A black-plastic nose capped a snubby muzzle and a winsome, sewn-on smile. The uniform of the day consisted of a dark blue field sweater and fatigue pants, complete with a little blue garrison cap clutched in one fuzzy paw.
“What do you think?” Lucien propped it against the pillow, then reached out to adjust its sweater.
“It’s too cute for words.” Jani eyed the creature in bemusement. “I haven’t had a teddy bear since I was three.”
“That explains a lot.” Lucien ran a finger along the edge of the bed. “You know, I’ve been told I have teddy-bear-like qualities.”
“Yeah, you’re both glassy-eyed and stuffed.” Jani tapped her timepiece. “I have things to do.”
“The first thing you’re doing is dinner with me, but you’re not going anywhere looking like that.” Lucien pulled a comb from his trouser pocket. “This is Fort Sheridan. There are Appearance and Standards officers behind every bush.” He recombed Jani’s hair and made her retuck her shirt. Then he reached into his inside tunic pocket, removed a thin black rod, and tapped the side—a blue-green light flickered from one end.
“You carry a micrometer?” Jani watched him run the lighted end over her badges, check the readout, then pop the rod in his mouth like a nicstick as he adjusted the placement of one of her colonial service ribbons. “You can’t tell me the A&S-holes are that picky.”
“The wha—!” The micrometer wobbled as Lucien tried to suppress a laugh. “Depends whether they’ve met their quotas. They go on a binge about once a quarter; those demerit fines can really chew up your pay. You learn not to take chances.” He touched Jani’s short-shooter badge. “Expert. Really?”
“No, some officers steal clocks, I steal badges.” She pointed to the micrometer. “That’s bullshit.”
“And you’re all roses, my DI used to say, so suck it up.” Lucien knelt carefully on the carpeted floor and measured Jani’s trouser hems.
“You had a DI? I thought you emerged fully formed from a recruiting holo.” She watched him run a dispo over one tietop. “And don’t tell me that shoe’s dirty because I just polished it.”
Lucien looked up at her and shook his head in dismay. “You’ll thank me for this later.”
“This entire exercise is just an excuse to touch me.”
“If I wanted an excuse, I could think of much more interesting ones than this.” He yanked at her other fastener and retied it more neatly. “What are you going to name him?”
“Who?”
“The bear. He needs a name.”
“Oh, it’s a ‘he,’ is it?”
“Of course.” Lucien straightened up and stood before her in all his mainline glory. His hair shone more brightly than his badges, which in turn gleamed enough to flash the roomlight like stars. He’d pass any measurement test devised by man—oh yes, if you struck him, he’d ring. “What are you going to name him?”
Jani took a step backward. “Val,” she replied quietly. “After my old friend, Val Parini.”
Lucien looked heavenward and sighed. “I set out your gear, do your shopping, save you from A&S wrath, and what thanks do I get?” He pointed to the two badges decorating his own tunic pocket. “I have you beat. Expert, short and long shooter.”
“You had a head start. You were born with half the equipment.” Jani grabbed her scanpack from the desk, stuffed it into her belt pouch, dashed out the door, then waited for Lucien to catch her up. After some bickering while he adjusted her garrison cap, they proceeded to dinner.
They ate at the South Central Officers’ Club, and watched a freshly transmitted Cup qual match on the bar-mounted ’Vee. The German provincial team versus Elyas Amalgam in an Earthbound-colony tussle. Elyas was up five-zip at half-time—most of the faces at the bar appeared rather glum.
The temperature outside had reached record levels, according to the ServNet weather broadcast. Forty Celsius, with no cool-down expected for at least a week. The ’Vee viewers nursed their drinks and looked out the floor-to-ceiling windows to the bright, shimmering lawnscape beyond, delaying as long as possible the inevitable walk outside.
Jani stepped out onto the patio, sighing with pleasure as a Rauta Shèràa-quality blast of hell-spawned wind sucked the moisture from her eyefilms.
Lucien drew alongside. “Want to check out the beach?”
“We’re not dressed for the beach.”
“We can change.” He handed her a dispo of water. “You don’t even have to buy a swimsuit. You were issued one.”
“Was I?”
“Yep. They’re dark silver this year.” His look grew pointed. “That color would look great against your skin.”
“Would it?” Jani brushed off Lucien’s subdued leer. “I want to go to the SIB.” She chewed a mint leaf she’d plucked from her fruit cup—the fruit had been torture to choke down, even with pepper and hot mustard, but she found the gnawed mint leaves followed by a cold water chaser refreshing. “I need to talk to an archivist.”
“You start working tomorrow, not tonight. Tonight, you’re supposed to relax and have fun.” Lucien flashed a smile, white teeth brilliant against tanned skin. “That’s what I’m for.”
Jani let his rich brown stare draw her in. A less-experienced soul could drown in those cool, dark pools. Luckily, she knew how to swim. “Can I ask you a question?”
Lucien leaned closer. “You know you can ask me anything.”
“Are you using me to get close to Nema, or Nema to get close to me?”
His head snapped back. His smile vanished. He strode out onto the lawn. “A little of both. Does that matter?”
Jani remained silent. She knew he didn’t like it when she tossed his affections, such as they were, back in his face, but she didn’t relish him treating her like one of his suckers either.
He paced in front of her, with the occasional glance to see if she watched. “At least I tell you.”
“Only because I alr
eady know.”
He slowed to a stroll, then to a halt, and looked at her, his face a study in line and shadow devoid of emotion. Then the smile returned, grimmer and more knowing. “It’s too hot for the beach. How about a walk along the South Marina docks? At least the walkways are covered.”
“SIB.”
“There’s the indoor games room.”
“SIB.”
“We could see what’s playing at the Veedrome.”
“SIB.”
“SIB.” Lucien tugged at his tunic collar, then fanned his face. “Can I at least change into summerweights first?”
Jani studied him with what she liked to call her criminal eye. If I were stealing documents, would I worry if I saw you show up in the middle of my shift? She contemplated his trim, rangy frame, displayed to perfection in the formal uniform. His hard stare. Most particularly, she studied his packed shooter holster. “No. I like you just the way you are.”
SIB Archives, like most repositories Jani had known, had been originally designed to be much smaller, then expanded over time to its divinely ordained size. The area, which took up half the basement, was comprised of an interwoven network of secured storage rooms and jury-rigged tech bullpens. She and Lucien walked through the hallways twice, drawing questioning looks from the techs who filed and performed preliminary doc checks in cubicles or at open tables.
Lucien eyed his surroundings with a complete lack of interest. “Forgive me for questioning your absolute authority, but what are you going to do?”
Jani stopped before a bulletin board and read some of the postings. The usual announcements of parties. Lost jewelry in the washroom. A memo from SIB Safety complained about the lousy clear time during the last evacuation drill, and promised repeat exercises until people “got it right.” “I thought I’d play the registrar. Poke around. Ask a few questions.”
“Oh. You mean overstep your jurisdiction and meddle in things that are none of your business.”
“It’s my ServRec that’s missing—I have a right to look for it.”
“Hmm. What do you want me to do?”
“Look like your day won’t be complete until you arrest somebody.”
“You know, I like being a lieutenant. Someday, I’d like to like being a captain.”
“It’s overrated.” Jani entered the archives room with the most traffic and walked around the perimeter. She opened a file drawer, leafed through a report that lay open atop a desk, and smiled at everyone who looked her way.
“May I help you?”
Jani turned and found herself being subjected to the critical appraisal of a rotund man in civilian summerweights. “I’m Odergaard. Tech One on this shift.” His face was flushed, his skin shiny, as though he’d just been taken from the oven and basted.
“Captain Jani Kilian, First D-Doc.” She cocked her head toward Lucien. “This is Lieutenant Lucien Pascal, Intelligence.”
Around them, the skritch of styli stopped. Whispers fell silent.
Odergaard’s gaze widened as it flicked from Jani’s name tag, to her scanpack, then to Lucien’s sidearm. “Is there a problem?”
“I’m trying to obtain access to my Service record, but I’ve been informed by my attorney that portions of it have been mislaid.”
What ruddiness remained in Odergaard’s face after Kilian and Intelligence vanished upon mention of the word attorney. “We have been transferring files from the Judge Advocate’s to new bins in this building for the past few months, and the inevitable cross-ups have, of course, occurred—”
“I’d like to speak to the shift archivist.” Jani made a show of looking around the room.
Anger flared in Odergaard’s eyes. “That would be Mr. Duong.” He took a step, then hesitated, but another look at Lucien’s sidearm decided him. “This way, please.”
They walked to a more sheltered work space in the far corner of the room. A small, dark-haired man sat at a workstation, entering document tag numbers into a grid. Most of the numbers were blue, but the occasional red string could be seen. Red had meant “missing in action” when Jani interned in Consulate Archives. She doubted that had changed in the years since.
“You’re running inventory.” Her voice lowered in commiseration. “I always hated inventory.”
The man turned with a start. Older, fifties probably. Earthbound Asian or Bandan—Jani wouldn’t know until he opened his mouth. And suspicious. The look he shot at Odergaard held that special brand of distrust reserved for meddling managers.
Odergaard spoke first. “Sam—”
Sahm—he’s Bandan. Jani smiled. This could wind up working quite well.
“—this is Captain Kilian from First Doc—”
“Apa kabar, señorìo.” Greetings, sir. Jani’s Bandan wasn’t perfect, but it was formal, which came in handy when working with the pedantic precisionists that usually populated the archivist ranks. She held out her hand to the man. “I’m looking for my life—can you help me find it?”
He looked up at her. His eyes were old brown—dull, with yellowed sclera. His face held confusion, as though he remembered her face but couldn’t recall her name. “You speak Bandan?” His handshake consisted of the barest touch. His voice emerged very small.
“I lived there for a time. Near the university.”
“You know the university! I worked there for years—”
As Duong rattled on, Jani heard Odergaard grumble under his breath. Yes, they were being rude, but she needed Duong’s help more than his boss’s, and she couldn’t help thinking that Odergaard deserved to get his tail twisted.
Duong rose from his chair. “I’ll show you my dead,” he said as he gestured for Jani to follow him. “Maybe in my dead, is your life.”
“Maybe.” Jani wondered if Duong’s Bandan expressions ever colored his English. Bandan was an interesting language, but it tended toward the poetic, and some of the literal translations struck the uninformed as odd.
Just as they were about to cut across the hallway into Duong’s file bin of choice, a younger man in sideline summerweights blocked their path. His yellow collar tabs marked him as a lieutenant. His holstered scanpack marked him as the ranking examiner on the shift.
“Lieutenant Yance.” Odergaard transformed into a round-shouldered hand-rubber. “This is Captain Jani Kilian. Her attorney, Major Friesian—”
“Captain.” Yance nodded sharply. “I think the documents you’re looking for may prove much more accessible than you’ve been led to believe.” He brushed past her into the bullpen, all shined shoes and elbows.
Jani glanced at Lucien. “I don’t want to talk to the ranking.”
“They sure as hell don’t want you talking to Duong.” The first glimmers of attention showed on his face. “Odergaard almost jumped out of his skin when you started speaking Bandan.”
“I did not put those there!”
Jani hurried back into the bullpen, Lucien at her heels. She recognized Duong’s voice, and the mounting panic she heard in it.
The bullpen residents had swarmed around Duong’s work space. Jani shouldered through them in time to see Yance pull a thick file from a desk drawer. Light grey parchment in a light grey folder. Old Service paper.
“What else has he got in there?” Yance craned to look around the bulky Odergaard, who was down on his knees, pulling more files out of drawers.
“I did not put those there!” Duong rocked from one foot to the other as though the floor scalded his soles.
One of the techs made a “slow down” motion with her hands. “Mr. Duong, please—”
“I did not put those there!”
Jani thumped Yance on the shoulder. “Lieutenant, what’s going on?”
“Captain, please.” He leaned close. “He’s done this before, ma’am. He has a problem.”
Odergaard twisted around. “I found some of the van Reuter stuff, too.”
Jani glanced at the faces surrounding them. Some held surprise, others, disappointment. One or two snee
red. “I don’t like this,” she said to Lucien.
He held up an open hand in an “oh well” gesture. “But it looks like you’ve got your records back, so what difference does it make?”
“You would think that, wouldn’t you?” Jani stepped around Yance, who was busy talking into a handcom, and planted herself between him and the shaking Duong. “Mr. Duong?”
Duong looked up at her, eyes wide and glistening. “I did not put those there.”
“You didn’t lock my life away in your drawer?”
“No!”
Jani looked into Duong’s stricken face. She had no reason to believe him—she had known him for all of five minutes. He’s an archivist. Archivists had earned a well-deserved reputation for strangeness. Sometimes they grew jealous of the documents in their charge, resented others touching them, using them. Sam Duong could just be one of those disturbed few who had decided that if he couldn’t have them, nobody could.
Do I believe that? She considered the trembling figure before her, and tried to get the sense of him. She had lived by her instincts for eighteen years—they’d served her well. It was only when she disregarded them that she found herself in trouble.
She touched Duong’s arm. “I believe you.”
It took a moment for her words to sink in. When they did, the tension drained from Duong as though someone had flipped a release, and he slumped forward.
Jani snaked her arm around him to keep him from falling. “Get this man to the infirmary!” She eased him into the arms of two techs, who helped him out of the room.
“You really shouldn’t have said that, Captain. It only encourages him.” Yance ran his scanpack over one of the papers, waited for the display to show green, then repeated the action with the next. Judging from the thickness of the piles, he had a long night of ID confirmation ahead of him.
Jani fingered a page from her Service record. My transfer orders to the Twelfth Rovers. She could almost feel Rikart Neumann’s presence in the paper, like a layer of grime. “So he’s done this before?”
“Nothing this blatant. Misfiles that he claimed someone else must have done.”
Rules of Conflict Page 10