Rules of Conflict

by Kristine Smith

  Chapter 11

  Evan burrowed into the plush rear seat of the Neoclona double-length and watched with a mixture of excitement and dread as the Chicago skyline filled the windscreen. Months had passed since he’d last seen the city.

  My arraignment. He had stood before the Ministers’ Bench of Cabinet Court and watched men and women he’d grown up with look upon him as a stranger as they exiled him to his rose-infested Elba. All except Anais. Her scrawny face had been aglow with gloat. Evan treasured that memory, sick though it seemed. At least she’d considered him an enemy vanquished, rather than an embarrassment to hide away.

  Since then, but for his sojourns to Sheridan, he’d remained rooted to his suburban patch. His jailers met his medical needs with biweekly visits from the local Neoclona annex, and had shunted aside his other needs as unworthy of their attention.

  But what John wants, John gets. Joaquin suspected nothing. He’d even waxed enthusiastic about Shroud’s sudden interest in Evan’s health and dismissed his client’s protests that the good doctor’s real interest revolved around Jani Kilian. John’s a good Family man, he’d said. He didn’t get where he is today by acting like an obsessed fool.

  “Quino, I’m afraid that’s exactly how he got where he is today.” Evan ignored the driver’s questioning stare in the rearview, and soaked in the city views with the rapt attention of a condemned man watching from his tumbrel.

  The driver maneuvered down traffic-jammed State Street. “We’re early, sir,” he said as he wove around a triple-parked people-mover. “I can drive around the block, if you wish.”

  Evan held out his hands, palms facing down. No trembling. The half liter he’d downed for breakfast had seen to that. “Go on in. I’m ready.”

  Finding Val Parini waiting for him by the VIP-lift bank didn’t surprise him. Shroud was the master, Parini the dog. And I’m the stick of the day.

  “Hello, Ev.” Parini looked ill—ashen skin, bleary eyes. His trousers and short-sleeved pullover were rumpled, as though he’d slept in them.

  “Val.” Evan congratulated himself that his own black trousers and black-and-blue-striped pullover looked much sharper. The last thing I need is that bleached bastard thinking I don’t give a damn. He followed Parini into the lift, and swallowed hard as the car shot upward and he felt his feet press against the floor.

  “How’ve you been?” Parini stuffed his hands in his pockets and leaned against the wall. “Considering.”

  “All right. Considering.” Evan forced a smile. “Tired.”

  Parini stared up at the ceiling. “Yeah, I know the feeling. I just got in from Felix. Six-week round-trip, not counting the couple of days in between to catch my breath.” He yawned. “I’m getting too old for that stuff.”

  Evan nodded politely. “Business?”

  “Special patient. Someone you know.”

  “Our social circles overlapped, Val. Care to narrow it down?”

  “Jani Kilian,” Parini said, contemplating the light fixture. “You remember her. Tawny damsel. Had a little accident a few years back.”

  Evan flinched as the car decelerated. At least the lift mechanism’s hissing whine drowned out the roaring in his head. “You saw her?”

  “Yes. She slipped out from under, though, as she is wont to do. Unfortunately, she walked right into a Service trap. She’s at Sheridan now.” A corner of Parini’s mouth curved. He knew surprise when he smelled it, the son of a bitch. “Didn’t Quino tell you?” He tsked. “Bad Quino. She’s been there almost a week.” The lift slowed to a stop and the door opened.

  Evan lagged behind Parini, eyes locked on the back of his neck. Just one good shot—Ridgeway’s crumpled body flashed in his mind, and the urge evaporated. “There was nothing on the ’Vee or in the sheets.”

  “Yeah, I don’t know how the hell they managed to keep it quiet.” Parini led him down a wide corridor. One side was glass-walled—glimpses of the Commerce Ministry compound and the lake beyond could be seen between the high-rises. They stopped in front of an unmarked door enameled with a purple so dark Evan at first mistook it for black. Parini palmed it open.

  Evan expected to enter an examining room—matte white surfaces, analyzers and viewscreens, a scanbed in the corner. Instead, he walked into an opulent sitting room—eggplant-colored walls, bloodwood bookcases and tables, Persian carpets.

  A panel slid aside and Shroud stepped into the room. The feverish glisten in his eyes spoke of freshly applied filming. Violet, this time, a perfect match to his daysuit jacket. “You’re early.”

  “Sorry, John,” replied Parini, not sounding sorry at all. “Guess what? Loiaza didn’t tell Evan that Jani’s at Sheridan.”

  Evan glanced around nervously. A large holoVee display dominated one corner, a pillow-strewn daybed, another. No way in hell I’m letting these two creeps examine me in here. “I’m sure Quino had his reasons.”

  Shroud gestured for Evan to sit. “He must be realizing that taking you on as a client wasn’t the wisest career move he ever made. I sense damage control in progress. You need allies.” His rumbling voice grew measured. “Quid pro quo, as we discussed before.”

  Evan looked at Shroud, who regarded him with relaxed contempt, then at Parini, whose distaste held an edge. Master told dog I’ll help them. He sank into a cushioned lounge chair and immediately reached for the bourbon decanter that rested on the nearby low table. “I’ve known Quino for over thirty years. He doesn’t leave clients to twist in the wind.” He poured a shot, tossed it back. Of course Joaquin had a reasonable explanation for not telling him about Jani. Which Evan would be damned interested in hearing as soon as he returned to Elba.

  Parini flopped into a chair opposite Evan. “Jani’s not in the news, either. ServNet’s no surprise—they do what Roshi Mako tells them to do, and he doesn’t think Service issues are the public’s business. But I talked with Dory in Commonwealth Affairs, and she said CapNet must have agreed to self-censor. She said that they only do that when they get pressure from the PM.”

  Shroud joined them. The chair he chose was less padded and straight-backed. You could have used his spine to draw a plumb line. “Jani’s news on ChanNet because she’s from La Manche. She’s news on FelNet because she was captured there under circumstances embarrassing to the Service and Felix is looking for an excuse to renegotiate the lease for Fort Constanza. No one’s made a fuss over her in Chicago because she’s not news in Chicago.”

  “You’re wrong, John. There’s a sizable Acadian population here in the French Quarter who would love to know what’s going on.” Parini ignored the beverage service and instead plucked at a bunch of grapes, popping them into his mouth with ballistic force. “I bet Nema has something to do with it. He’s been twisting arms all over town. He’d start a shooting war on the Boul Mich if he thought it would free his Eyes and Ears.”

  “Nema doesn’t exert any control over Earth-based broadcasting.”

  “Just because you hate him doesn’t mean he has no influence, John!”

  Evan listened to the two men bicker with the uneasiness of someone who found himself the captive audience to a marital spat. He looked from the animated Parini to the overcontrolled Shroud, and the question that had been the subject of dinner-party debate for twenty years parked itself inside his head and refused to leave.

  Do those two . . . fuck? Both sides offered cogent arguments, Parini’s many boyfriends and Shroud’s revolving-door women notwithstanding.

  Evan refilled his glass as his well-calibrated people-filter chugged in the background. No, not lovers. He still felt his master and dog theory explained the relationship. And sometimes dog refuses to stop barking and master has to go to the window to see what the fuss is about.

  Shroud picked up a nicstick dispenser from the table and turned the rectangular case end over end. His spindly fingers invited the image of spiders tumbling a victim in a web. “Why would Li and Roshi want to keep Jani’s story quiet?”

  “I can tell you the
reason they gave,” Evan offered. But first, he sipped. Shroud had him by the short hairs, true, but he also stocked the finest bourbon. “Commonwealth security. CapNet will sit on news if they’re told releasing it could threaten internal stability.” He’d exercised that option many times when Lyssa still lived, as her behavior grew more uncontrollable and her public displays more embarrassing.

  Shroud snorted. “What could Jani do to threaten Commonwealth stability!”

  The three of them looked at one another. For one brief moment, their thoughts coalesced. Only Parini felt it appropriate to smile.

  Shroud coughed. “Let me rephrase that. What happened to her on Felix that could threaten Commonwealth stability?”

  “John, she almost died!” Parini looked at Evan. “Those Service morons injected her with Tacit, an experimental sedative. It knocked her liver for a loop.”

  Shroud struck the nicstick case against his thigh. “Tacit is safe.” The rattle of the plastic sticks against metal punctuated every word. “Instances of hepatotoxicity have never been recorded.”

  “For humans, John. It hasn’t been tested on idomeni—”

  Evan shut out the men’s argument and considered his own uncomfortable thoughts. I asked Joaquin about illegal arrests of colonials and he brushed me off. The man had offices on Felix—the staff would have Misty’d him immediately if rumors of Jani had surfaced.

  My own attorney’s holding out on me? Why?

  “Evan?”

  He looked up to find Shroud glaring at him.

  “Let me repeat the question. In your opinion, is Jani’s case important enough to cause a furor?”

  Evan nodded. “You said it yourself, John. The colonies are flexing their muscles, and the idomeni, especially Nema, are jumping feetfirst into the fray.” He should have worked it out himself, but living in exile, he couldn’t access the catalyzing snippets of information that had once fueled his life. “Li faces reelection next year. I’m betting that right now she wishes Jani had never been found.”

  Shroud scowled. He had the moody, tightly wrapped look of a blanched El Greco. “What about Roshi?”

  “He’s in a more difficult position. His proud New Service is over two-thirds colonial. If he prosecutes Jani, he risks a breach that may never heal at a time when a mixed-bag force may be called upon to quell colonial unrest. But on the other hand, it’s not in his best interest to seem soft on mutiny and murder.” Evan tried to put himself in Mako’s shoes—problem was, he didn’t know the man well enough. How far would he go to preserve what he had worked so hard to build? “He could be planning a quiet trial and execution.” That would explain Roshi’s presence at the SIB. The born field officer, checking personally on the progress of his investigative branch’s most sensitive case in decades.

  Shroud’s voice droned funereal. “There’s no such thing as a quiet execution.” He reached for the beverage tray—to Evan’s surprise, he chose bourbon, too. “Well, Val, what do your sources tell you about the mood on Sheridan? Is Jani’s presence rallying the colonials?” He poured three fingers, added a single ice cube, and threw back a healthy swallow.

  Evan checked his timepiece. Only midmorning. Not a good sign, Johnny—don’t tell me I’ve found a drinking buddy.

  “I’ll admit, it’s pretty quiet.” Val slung his leg over the chair arm and flicked grapes into the empty vase in the center of the table. In between tosses, he shot anxious glances at the door. “Considering that Service Diplomatic has been pulled in to help settle that idomeni food fiasco, I wouldn’t be surprised if they dragged Jani in as well.” He shrugged at the surprised looks that greeted the statement. “That’s what she used to do on Shèrá. She has more head-to-head experience with the idomeni than anyone else at Sheridan.”

  Shroud’s jaw dropped. “They wouldn’t.”

  “They would if they’re desperate.” Evan could hear the disbelief in his voice when he, of all people, should have known better. “I’ve sat across the negotiating table from idomeni. After a couple of hours, you’ve forgotten your name, much less what you’re there for. If you meet them on their turf, you have to contend with the heat and the paralyzing sensation that every move you make is the wrong one. If they meet you on yours, you have to sanitize rooms, knock out walls, and relocate all the vend alcoves.” And if the Service needed Jani now, they sure as hell didn’t need him to give evidence against her. God, he must have been brain-dead—why didn’t he think of it before?

  The door opened, and a man entered. Mid-thirties. Tall, thin, and mopey. The type Lyssa would have dubbed homeless puppy.

  “Sorry I’m late.” He wore medwhites; his dark hair covered his ears and fell to his collar. He displayed the all-knees-and-elbows gangliness of a twelve-year-old as he lowered into the chair next to Evan.

  Parini, Evan noticed, watched the man’s every move with a look of eager expectancy. This is his new toy? Quite a change of pace from old Val’s usual pretty boys.

  Shroud looked aggravated. “So happy you could finally join us, Doctor.” He refilled his glass, this time adding ice. “Evan, this is Hugh Tellinn. He’s an old friend of Val’s, from our Felix Majora facility.”

  To Evan’s surprise, Tellinn held out his hand. If he knew his ex-Interior Minister’s recent history, it didn’t show in his face or his attitude. “Endocrinology,” he said, as though that explained everything.

  “That’s Hugh’s way of saying, ‘hello’,” Parini said with an uncertain smile.

  Tellinn looked at the floor rather than his boyfriend. “I’ve been studying the results of the tests Val performed on Jani Kilian.” He braced his feet on the edge of the table. “Has anyone bothered to bring you up to speed on the state of her health, Mr. van Reuter?”

  Parini held up a hand. “Hugh—”

  Tellinn ignored him. “I thought that’s why we were here. I thought that’s why you’re suborning perjury, because of your fears for Jani’s health.”

  Shroud tilted his glass back and forth; the clink of ice echoed. “My fears for Jani’s health consume my every waking moment, Doctor.”

  “She’s very ill.”

  “Is she?”

  “I believe she suffers from multiple metabolic and endocrine disorders, the most serious of which is a type of acute intermittent porphyria.”

  “Really, Doctor?”

  “Really.” Tellinn either didn’t see Parini’s increasingly frantic gesturing, or once more chose to disregard it. He looked at Evan. “Porphyrias are genetic diseases. Miscues at various points along the heme biosynthetic pathway. Jani wasn’t born with the condition, according to the Service scans in her patient file. Therefore, she must have had it thrust upon her during a period when she was undergoing tissue rebuilding, rebuilding performed by someone who didn’t know as much as he thought he did about the idomeni genome.” He looked down the table at Shroud. “First, do no harm.”

  Parini’s hand stopped in mid-slash.

  Evan watched Tellinn. What had first seemed like clumsiness now revealed itself as an overwhelming effort to retain self-control. The man clenched his armrests. His whole body seemed to vibrate with deep-seated rage. He wants to pound Shroud into the carpet. Suddenly, he looked capable. The pup had wolf blood. “Well, well, John. Hugh’s saying that when you reassembled Jani, you gave her a life-threatening disease.”

  Shroud ignored him. His stare never left Tellinn. “In your opinion, Doctor.”

  Tellinn’s glower remained just as steady. “I believe the facts speak for themselves. Dickerson and Yevgeny have published a series of papers in JCMA describing an illness affecting members of a Haárin enclave on Philippa that is analogous to acute intermittent porphyria. The genetic mutations involved do not match those for the human AIP variant, and the idomeni ban on exchange of medical information has made it impossible for us to pinpoint them.” His voice leveled as his eyes deadened. “Therefore, while Service Medical may have an idea what’s wrong with Jani, they’re unable to nail the diagnosis and theref
ore the definitive genetic retrofit. Which means they’re falling back on heme infusions and dietary controls until they design methods to identify and fix her particular mutation.”

  Parini jumped in. “I’m also very concerned with the quality of the medical care Jani’s receiving—”

  Tellinn’s blank look silenced him. “On the contrary, I have always found the Service Medical staff I dealt with at Fort Constanza to be very sound. What I fear is that Jani’s ongoing hybridization has led to the development of so many anomalous metabolic disorders that the diet and drug therapies Service Medical has put her on could lead to serious adverse reactions.”

  Shroud started to speak, then stopped. His gaze flicked from one face to another, gauging mood without daring to look too deeply. Then he dug down and excavated a fragment of the old John. “In your opinion, Doctor,” he said, his voice like a tomb.

  Evan understood Shroud’s reluctance. He’d felt it himself these past months. Will you please tell the court what you knew and when you knew it? And Shroud knew, damned right he did. He knew that Jani’s hybridization had led to problems, and that Service Medical wouldn’t know how to treat her. And you’ve alienated them to the point that they won’t ask for your help or let you anywhere near her. Enter Evan, stage right.

  Tellinn graced his agitated lover with a bare glance. “That’s why Val persuaded me to accompany him to Chicago, because my opinion counted.”

  “I wouldn’t overestimate your value to this enterprise,” Shroud replied. “It wouldn’t be the first time Val thought with his prick.”

  Parini’s face flared red. “You should bloody talk!”

  Tellinn showed no reaction to either Shroud’s insult or the breaking storm. He stood up and turned to Evan. “When is your next visit to Sheridan scheduled, Mr. van Reuter?”