Mireault regarded him pensively, fingers twisting at his goatee. "You are granted courtship rights, Randal Knox."
With a quick bow, Randal left to go find Jeni. A woman's point of view was definitely needed. Mireault's voice drew him up short. "If you break her heart I'll kill you while you sleep, Captain or no."
***
Bright light flooded the cell. Already awake for some time, Nabil covered his eyes against the painful flash. Blinking, he glanced at the clock. It spun lazily backward.
They would come for him soon, he thought. Often now his brain felt sluggish, a sensation like running in chest deep water. Sometimes he had to press hands to the side of his head; he could feel his brain splintering to pieces.
He screamed, pounding the floor. They were taking him away from himself; he could feel it. They wanted him to be them. They wanted to take his mind. He saw things now, things he knew couldn't be, but were there.
Every session now they would bring in other prisoners. Hold this bucket up; if you lower it we will kill this prisoner. But he could not. Every session another died. You killed him. You are no different from us, izmenik.
Always came the questions. Always about the past. But what was the past? There was no before, no after, only now. No day, no night, no long nor short, only sleeping and awake.
He nibbled at nails bit to bleeding. Thoughts came so quickly. He must keep control. Closing his eyes, he prayed. Praying held his brain together.
Paul preached to his jailers. Nabil tried to tell the doctor, but the doctor only laughed. The doctor said there was no God there, only the two of them. He said soon there would be no more izmenik — he would be the doctor, and the doctor would be him.
Clenching his fists, he shouted, the sound swallowed up by the padding coating the walls of the little room. The doctor lied. It was all lies. All the doctor's pills, all his needles and tricks couldn't kill God. Nabil would not hate, and he would be faithful.
***
Randal glumly tossed the stack of hard copies into the burn bin. They were destroyed daily for security reasons. Not that there's anything valuable in that lot anyway, he thought, frowning.
In the two weeks since learning Nabil's whereabouts, Pieter's scouts had maintained cast-iron surveillance on the penitentiary. It was hoped they could find a chink in the structure's defenses. Each day it seemed less likely.
Jeni breezed in, tossing a stack of hand-written notes on his folding desk.
"Good news for me today? I could use some."
"I'll give you the bad news first." The slender Asian woman plopped down on a battered chair opposite him. "My network says the pyres for the dead don't even shut down at night any more. It isn't just the elderly and the sick these days, Randy. Granted, most of the deaths are from disease, but the famine is getting critical."
He wished Jeni wouldn't look at him like she expected a solution. Of all people, she knew his limitations. She was always the first person to point them out. "The Abkhenazi are starving now, too. What little food they have they're guarding tightly. But I'll really see what I can do." She seemed unsatisfied with that, but he doubted she had a better idea. "So is there good news?"
Her face lit up. Leaning forward, she rifled through the notes, handing one across to him.
He read it by the light of his chemlamp. "The first supply convoy from Abkhenazia muscled its way through the snow yesterday. Our recruits in the countryside annihilated it. The Abbies might as well have been on parade, for all the security they'd deployed." Randal grinned. "That's great! They won't be so easily surprised next time, but this has got to be a huge kick in the teeth for their morale."
"The other nice tidbit is this — I tallied the troop estimates I gleaned from each of my goodwives' spot reports. The Abkhenazi really seem to be pulling troops southward. A few of the security sub-stations are closed down entirely."
That got his attention. "So maybe things really are going badly for them at the front. I didn't let myself believe it before."
"Exactly. I'd worried it might just be some Psy Ops ploy, but this is a very good sign." She splayed out her fingers, examining the nails critically. "So... how goes the courtship?"
Despite his best effort, he felt blood warm his cheeks. "It isn't."
"It's been a week. You mean you still haven't asked her?"
"I'm going to. We build to that."
"Well, is this romance thing all it's cracked up to be?"
Randal grinned. "It's wonderful. I'd read everything written about love from the Greeks to Stendhal. It's nice to finally experience it."
"And you're ready for the instant daddy part, right?" She sounded skeptical. "I remember how agitated you were around Van Loon's kid."
He chewed his electronic stylus. "I think so. If I can be half the father Van Loon was, I'll be doing good."
"You'll do fine." A glance at her timepiece. "Oh! I have to dash. Onegin put out the sign for an emergency rendezvous this afternoon. The suspense is killing me."
Randal laughed wryly. "I think I'm not the only one with love on the brain."
She strolled to the door, flashing him a gesture considered rude in most inhabited systems.
***
Jeni threaded the walking path, her boots scuffing through ankle-deep snow. She fiddled unconsciously with the insignia of her Abkhenazi uniform as a trio of staff officer types walked by. Starched uniforms covered sleek, well-fed bodies, a marked contrast from the emaciated Abkhenazi infantry she was used to seeing. Like in all self-proclaimed utopias, equality was a flexible concept among the Abkhenazi.
Black limbs of the chestnut trees lining the path met overhead, coldly beautiful against the flat gray sky. Nearly every tree was stripped of bark by starving civilians.
The path split to circle the man-made lake slowly thawing in the center of the park. Gone were the ducks she remembered feeding. Onegin sat cross-legged at the water's edge, scanning a datapad.
She stopped a polite distance away, waiting to be recognized.
"Hello, Tatyana, my dear. Won't you sit down?" He patted the thermal blanket. "I brought a picnic if you're hungry."
Her eyes widened. Hungry? She was famished.
"That sounds nice," she said, trying not to appear desperate. Onegin broke open an insulated container, pulling out still-steaming shashlik, bread, a shallow bowl of beet soup and some fresh fruit. He poured them each a cup of tea — real tea from the smell, she noted wistfully.
With great effort she slid only one piece of meat or vegetable from the shashlik stick at a time. Besides making her look ridiculous, wolfing the food after such a long period of hunger might make her sick up. That would impress Onegin.
Silence always made Jeni jumpy. "So have you discovered anything about our friend?"
Holding up a finger for patience, Onegin reached into the container, and flicked a switch on the white noise generator concealed within. "Just because I haven't given them reason to suspect me doesn't mean I'm free of surveillance. With the war going badly, scapegoats are needed. They're purging officers left and right." Casting a wary glance around, he waggled a hand. "I haven't gotten to your friend yet. But there are a few angles I'm working."
"Thank you. And thanks for the chow." The suspense of why she was there was getting to her. "So, you wanted to meet?"
"I have something for you."
"For me?" That was a nice surprise.
"For your people. A memory chit." He palmed it to her while passing a pomegranate.
Jeni gave herself a mental kick. She was acting like a girl on her first date.
"On it you will find a recent holo of each of your targets, along with a brief bio. I assume you have a functioning holoprojector?"
"We do. Targets?"
"Targets. Each is known to reside at the Haelbroeck Chateau, approximately twenty kilometers north of Providence."
"I know the place. It's Abkhenazi central command, after all." Jeni squeezed the memory chit, feeling the edges dig into her
palm. "You want the targets flatlined inside the castle?"
Onegin shook his head, refilling her tea mug. "I don't want you anywhere near that deathtrap, dear Tatyana. But the powers-that-be want it. Very much. And they want it complete not before 2100 March the thirty-third, and not after 2300."
That was perplexing. "Why so specific, chumsley? Dead is dead, right?" Comprehension dawned slowly, and she flashed him a puckish grin. "New Geneva is planning a counter-offensive. It makes perfect sense — nighttime since we've got superior night vision. You want senior staff dead to paralyze the Abbie response time..." She was pretty impressed with herself.
Onegin's expression, however, was utterly level. "You didn't really expect a response to that, I hope." Then the corners of his mouth curled up in a way that told her all she needed to know.
Sitting back, she took some time to absorb the news. For so long they had fought with no end in sight, hoping only to bleed the Abkhenazi to exhaustion. The prospect of a decisive counter-strike was dizzying.
"Can your people do it? My case officer will want my analysis."
Jeni shook her head to clear it. "Hmm? Of course they can."
He smiled approvingly. "That's very good news indeed."
It was a great smile. Abkhenazi men had never been her first choice, but there was something to him. He was either a good bad man, or a bad good one. Either way was fine with her, she always found a guy with a trace of wickedness more interesting.
"So," she said, leaning in a little closer. "If this goes well, everything should change. Any chance you might come in from the cold? Live a normal life somewhere sane?"
His face neared hers. "Regretfully not. If the soldiers win the war, it will be up to the spies to win the peace." Fleetingly he kissed her cheek, back near the ear.
Eyes still closed, it took her a second to realize he had risen to his feet. "Who knows, dear Tatyana, perhaps I'll look you up when all this is over. With an intelligence network to help me, I should have no difficulty finding you."
Flashing another of those smiles, he left without looking back.
Jeni watched him go, pouring herself another cup of tea. She'd see him again.
***
Ariane lay on her pallet, legs extended up the wall and crossed, hands resting on her stomach. Soft brown hair fanned out on the pillow. In the dim yellow glow of the chemlamp Randal thought it looked like spilled honey. She was adorable in that position. Then again, there were few things she did those days that were not adorable. "What's the first thing you plan to do, After Everything?"
That gave him pause. When the Irregulars discussed "After Everything," it was usually in the vaguest terms and in the hushed tones one might use to talk about a baby arriving seven months after a wedding. Being Calvinists, no one really believed in luck, but talking about life after the war seemed like a jinx.
"After Everything?" Randal asked, considering the question. "Find a way to contact my folks, I suppose. It always seems too far off to think about. You?"
Her smile was winsome. "I'm going to find a house with a bathtub and a working stove. I'm going to sink into hot water with about a meter of bubbles floating on top. Then I'm going to read a novel with absolutely zero redeeming social value and eat sweets until I'm enormous. And I'm not getting out of the water for a month, no matter how bad I prune up. It won't have the glamour of bathing in underground puddles, but I'll make do."
"I'm changing my answer. That sounds pretty good."
"Doesn't it though?"
One of their long periodic silences settled in. Girls at cotillion had always felt the need to fill every second with chatter. Ariane understood that the context of a moment could sometimes say more than any words that might be spoken.
Stretching out on Jeni's pallet, he folded hands behind his head. It was hard to sound casual as he asked, "But what about after that? What do you hope to do?"
Fingers drummed on her belly. He knew it was as hollow as it sounded. "I'd always hoped to go to medical university and then on to humanitarian work off-planet." A melancholy laugh. "After Jean-Marie was born it was more an escape fantasy than a plan. Being off-planet, no one would know or care who I was."
"I can understand that. The Defense Force was my escape hatch. The gray heads of the Founder's Party had the next thirty years of my life mapped out for me. Growing up, I tried for a long time to be what my father wanted, but I'm just not wired that way. Every time he gives a speech he's electrified. Me, I feel like I'm giving a part of myself away. There'd be nothing left of me when the crowds were done. Living life for the trideo cameras just isn't for me."
She tilted her head back to watch him upside-down. "So what do you want to do? Stay in the military? Become an officer?"
Randal shook his head decidedly at that. "No. I'm proud of what we've done here, but I've had my fill. My hitch was officially up over a month ago. I'm thinking of the Diplomatic Corps." He rolled to his side to face her. "Blessed are the peacemakers and all that."
"I can see you doing that. You kept Pyatt from killing Johnny for months. Preventing intersystem war will be... comment dites-on? Ah, small beans."
"It's funny you should ask about this." His throat was suddenly constricted and dry.
"Oh?"
"Well, yeah. I talked to your father. If you're interested, he's prepared to draw up terms of courtship for us." He bit down on his tongue. It was not the most compellingly worded proposal ever delivered.
Sitting up, he knelt on the pallet and asked again, pronouncing each word deliberately, eyes never leaving hers. "Ariane, if you're willing, I would be honored to court you. I want you for my wife and Jean-Marie for our son."
The girl knelt, facing him across the narrow divide separating the pallets. She searched his face, lower lip pulled in thoughtfully. Just when he began to fear he'd overstepped, she smiled gently. "Of course you may court me, Randal." She stretched a pillow over her lap, twisting bits of it absently. "And thank you for having the courage to do it right. To go to my father. It's hard to explain, but it's important to me that it's done right."
"You know, my family's home church is the National Cathedral."
A hand rose to her hair, unconsciously straightening it. "That church is gigantic. It'll be gorgeous!"
"It'll be watched by half the country," he added wryly. "You'll have to get used to the screamsheets and trideodrones."
"All the more reason to go off-planet, n'est-ce pas?"
Leaning across the divide, he kissed her lightly. "It won't be official until I tell your father. Let me go wake him up so he can outline privileges and restrictions for us."
"Don't be long. I hope he allows for kissing."
"Me too. How about one more just in case?"
CHAPTER 19
The tyrant dies and his rule is over;
The martyr dies and his rule begins.
—Søren Kierkegaard
Pain. Everything hurt now always. If only it would stop for a second. How would a second feel? Could a second stretch on like a day? A day is like a thousand years.
Nabil rubbed at the skin of his face. It felt thin, as if he were slowly losing his substance. It was harder to think now, to focus on any one thing.
A light appeared as the door opened and two guards entered. "Izmenik, on your feet," one of them said as they lifted him under his arms. They dragged him into the corridor, past the silent faces of guardsmen and workers. Where were they taking him? Lead me not into temptation, but deliver me from evil.
One guard rapped knuckles on a door painted in peeling green and then opened it. Hands twisted Nabil's arm behind him, shoving him into the room. Beyond the door was a desk. Behind the desk sat a man. "Wait outside. I will deal with the izmenik," the man told the guards. He smiled and sat on the edge of the desk. "Your Doctor Gvozdyov will not be coming back. He met with an accident."
The man crossed the room and locked the door. He motioned for Nabil to sit. Nabil fell into the chair. "You can call me Onegin w
hen we're alone. Perhaps your friend Jeni mentioned me? I'm here to get you away from these cretins."
Nabil only stared at him slackly for a long while, memories of the outside world slowly resurfacing from the dark place where he had shoved them. "Jeni's contact. . ." he mumbled softly.
"Quite right," the man said, taking a seat on the edge of the desk. He held up a small sheaf of papers. "This is your full confession, where you admit to being a terrorist and tell us everything you know about the resistance. I've put in just enough half-truths to make it credible and enough false trails for the Abkhenazi to stumble into ambushes trying to follow them. All I need is your signature and then I can help you."
"Help me?" Help was the farthest thing from his mind. Lot's wife had looked back; he would not. Nabil would gain the crown of life. It was probably all a trap anyway. He turned his eyes to the confession, but the words seemed to skitter senselessly across the pages like black insects. It did not matter. Whatever was on the pages had not come from him.
The man cleared his throat, shooting a glance at the door. "They have you slotted for genetic experimentation. I 'removed' your doctor from the case and replaced him, but there's only so much I can do. I can't get you out of here, but I can save you from a fate worse than death. . ." He spread his hands helplessly, the way Pilate might have.
The words hung in the air and Nabil nodded. He felt almost lucid after a few minutes away from the devised insanity of the interrogation chamber. "I understand." He took the stylus and scrawled his name on the document.
The man stood. "Rest here. I'll go make the arrangements."
Nabil sat quietly in the chair, his mind committing every detail of the drab office to memory. He was not afraid of what was to come; he only hoped it would be over quickly. Under his breath he prayed softly, giving thanks for the trials he had faced. Accepting Christianity had begun as another form of revenge against the Abkhenazi, a change of loyalties but not of the heart. It had taken the war to teach him forgiveness of those he hated. Only after forgiving them did he start to comprehend the Forgiveness he had received.
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