Endgame

by Kristine Smith

“Val?” John’s voice was tight, his relaxed air vanished.

  “I can explain.” Val licked his lips. “It’s a long story, though.”

  “I have all the time you need.” John drew closer when he realized they stood surrounded by perked ears and curious glances. “Dammit. Of all the people you could have carted here—”

  “Pascal.” Niall stepped in front of Jani just as Lucien drew near, blocking him as well as any wall.

  “Colonel Pierce, sir.” Lucien came to attention and snapped a salute, then removed a documents slipcase from his trouser pocket and held it out to Niall. “Captain Lucien Pascal reporting for duty as ordered.”

  “What?” Niall took the sipcase, ripping open the seals and yanking out the contents, while off to one side John and Val argued in low tones.

  Lucien, meanwhile, offered nods and the occasional smile to the Thalassans who had crowded closer. He looked as always like a Service recruitment poster, desertweights fresh, shoes polished to mirror brightness. His orange rank tabs, ribbons, and designators had been perfectly aligned, and his garrison cap set at the optimum angle to imply just enough jaunt with a minimum of cocky. Add to that a frame graced with just the right amount of muscle to flesh out his ranginess, the face of a fallen angel, and chocolate brown eyes that reflected soulless depths, and what you had was the stuff of dreams.

  Or in my case, the odd nightmare. Jani surveyed the Thalassans who crowded around them, and to her surprise noted that it was Lucien’s forearms and not his looks that attracted the bulk of the attention. Crosshatched by raised scars that had healed white, they served as souvenirs of, judging from the mutterings, one of the more famous battles ever fought by a member of the Commonwealth Service.

  “He fought one of Cèel’s security dominants within the challenge circle—”

  “He killed him.”

  “He had no choice—”

  As usual, Lucien seemed oblivious to the upset he’d caused. He leaned as close to Jani as he dared while Niall continued to pore over his orders. “Speaking of taking my breath away,” he whispered in French.

  “And he shall spread discord wherever he goes,” Jani replied in English. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “Now, is that any way to—”

  “Pascal.”

  Lucien shot Jani a pointed look before drawing up straight and turning to Niall. “Sir.”

  “I haven’t had a chance to check my inbox for my copy of these orders.” Niall flicked a corner of the documents sheaf with his fingernail. “Signed by Supreme Command, as I’d have expected.” He chose his words with care, loath to even hint at the fact that his revered commander might have inflicted Pascal on him without so much as a “Do you mind?”

  “Yessir. Arrangements were made in haste.” Lucien’s voice came light, imbued with innocence and a sincere desire to help. “Due to the scheduling, I needed to impose upon Doctor Parini and invoke billet privileges in order to arrive in good time.” He turned to John. “Please let me know, Doctor Shroud, if Neoclona wishes to pursue remunerations.”

  “I intend to.” John shot another glare at Val, who swallowed hard and fixed on his shoes.

  Jani glanced at Niall, who looked ready to smoke the entire contents of his nicstick case at one go.

  “We should get inside.” Niall folded Lucien’s orders and stuffed them back in the slipcase, then turned to Jani. “I would like to use your comroom, if I could.”

  “Going to shoot Mako a missive?” Jani turned and followed John, who must have decided that they had provided the rest of the enclave with enough gossip fodder for one day and started the uphill trudge to the Main House.

  “You could say that,” Niall spoke in a rough whisper, mindful that Lucien had fallen in just a few paces behind. “Assigning that sonofa—to my staff.” His face flared. “What the fuck is he thinking?”

  “Are you sure the orders aren’t forged?”

  “Could you check?” Niall’s face lightened for an instant, then the storm clouds gathered anew. “Don’t bother. That professional piece of ass knows damn well that if he took Roshi’s name in vain, he’d take up permanent residence in the brig within a week. Even he’s not that reckless.” He smacked the slipcase against his thigh. “Goddamn it.”

  “Why?” Jani tried to catch Val’s eye, but he avoided hers, feigning interest in every stone and shrub he passed. She stared at the top of his head, willing him to look at her, but he remained fixated on the rocks and scrub as though they were the most fascinating things he’d ever seen.

  “Tell me and we’ll both bloody know.” Niall jerked a thumb back over his shoulder at Lucien. “Go collect your gear, Captain. And hang onto it. You may need to move at a moment’s notice.” He exhaled with a growl. “Right back to Earth, if I have anything to say about it.”

  Jani glanced back at Lucien, who gave her a smile that might have counted as ingenuous as long as she didn’t look at his eyes. They shone, alight with the simple joy he always derived from making a difficult situation even worse. He pursed his lips and mimed a kiss, then turned and trotted back to the shuttle. “I don’t like this.”

  “You don’t like it?” Niall glared at the slipcase as though it held his death warrant. “It’s Roshi’s signature—I’d know that anywhere. His personal parchment.” He folded the case in half and shoved it in his trouser pocket. “Bloody fucking hell.”

  They continued the hike to the House. The wind picked up, blowing sand with abrasive force, as though hurrying them on their way.

  The sand around Knevçet Shèràa is darker. The sands of light’s weeping, that holiest of idomeni shrines. Until I desecrated it. Jani quickened her pace as grains struck her face and neck, a stinging cloud, as though she walked through an insect swarm. The sand stains. She remembered the smears on boots and fatigues. Rust red, like clay. Not like the color of blood. Not like that at all.

  “You all right, gel?” Niall trotted up to meet her. “You took off like a rocket back there.”

  “Fine. I’m fine.” Jani walked on up the hill, holding her head up despite the stinging, so she wouldn’t have to look at the sand.

  A hasty lunch was assembled from the remains of Thalassa’s communal mid-morning sacrament and set up in one of the Main House’s private dining rooms that overlooked the bay. Niall demurred, claiming prep for the next day’s meeting as an excuse, then headed for the basement comroom, Jani’s access codes in hand. Lucien arrived a few minutes after his new commander departed, and was about to be sent to the kitchen by John to scrounge what he could until Val intervened. The meal proceeded in awkward fits and starts until Val delved into the contents of the liquor cabinet and settled into his oft-assumed role as the unofficial entertainment.

  “…and so Eamon stands up before the entire banquet hall and holds up the biggest brassiere I have ever seen.” Val paused to take a sip of port, then eased back, glass in hand. “‘A contest,’ he announces, in that overwrought burr of his. ‘To the woman who can fill this goes the honor of spending the night with me.’ So I dig into the centerpiece, pull out two huge cantaloupes, and toss them across the table to him. ‘Eamon,’ I said, ‘just fill it with these. You’ll never know the difference, and you can name the first little blossom after me!’”

  Jani laughed while eyeing John, who grinned sheepishly.

  “Our annual conferences were once the stuff of legend.” His grin twitched. “They grew more sedate as we aged.”

  “Yeah, like the time you tr—” Val stopped, his mouth hanging open in mid-word. He closed it slowly, then silently dropped the subject by taking another sip of wine before turning his attention to the cheese platter.

  “Someone’s been holding out on me.” Jani smiled at John, who winked in reply. That elicited a restive grumble from Lucien, who had spent the entire meal listening to such reminiscences and had grown more irritated with each passing tale.

  All this shared history, and you’re not part of any of it. Jani glanced at Lucien to find h
im sitting slumped, fingers interlaced around the base of his brandy snifter, eyes fixed on Val.

  Val looked at him once, then again. Then, with a sigh, he set his glass on the table and slid back his chair. “This luncheon was extraordinary.” He patted his board-flat stomach. “And filling. If I don’t move around, I’ll fall right asleep.” He wadded his napkin and tossed it atop his plate. “I’ve been dying to see this place. Mind giving me the grand tour?”

  John looked at Jani, then at Lucien. Then he shrugged, placed his own napkin atop the table, and stood. “Why not?” He turned to Jani. “Just give a shout.” He shot a glare in Lucien’s direction, his jaw working, then nodded to Val. “Let’s go.”

  Jani watched them walk to the French doors, then bobble the “Who leaves first?” with the overwrought courtesy of new acquaintances. They sorted it out after a few moments, John standing on ceremony as host by stepping aside until Val exited ahead of him with a tight smile. She waited until the doors closed and the two had disappeared from view. “What did you do to Val?”

  “Nothing he didn’t ask me to.” Lucien swirled the scant remains of his brandy. “God, talk about beyond the call of duty. Eamon and the melons—how many times did I hear that story? Five. Six.” His lip curled. “They all sounded the same after the first week. And everyone calls Val Parini a raconteur. It was enough to make me look forward to Pierce’s babbling about opera.” He raised his snifter toward the door in a solitary toast. “Thanks for the lift, Doc.” He lowered the glass and drained it, tilting his head back in order to extract every drop.

  “You poor, tortured creature.” Jani plucked a lemon wedge from her leftover garnish and bit into it, taking what pleasure she could in Lucien’s wince. “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “Mako wanted someone familiar with all the players to look over Pierce’s shoulder.” Lucien regarded his empty snifter for a time, then hefted the brandy decanter from the trolley alongside the table. “I mean, Pierce is his dog and all, but sometimes he wonders whether he’s as forthcoming as he should be, seeing as you’re involved.”

  Jani watched as he filled the snifter halfway, then added another splash for good measure. “I didn’t realize he trusted you that far.”

  “Some people appreciate my capabilities.”

  “No accounting for taste, I guess.” Jani stood and circled the table. The temperature of the room had been lowered in deference to humanish comfort levels, and the jacket she had donned failed to keep out the chill. “I need some air.” She pushed through the doors that led out to the balcony, felt the heat welcome her like an old friend, the bay breeze ruffle her hair. She leaned against the stone railing and spent a few quiet minutes watching bayskimmers from the Karistos Yacht Club fast-float across the water.

  When she heard the doors open again, she clenched her fists.

  “The scenery reminds me of the Greek Islands.” Lucien drew alongside, snifter still in hand, the fill level depleted by half. “Anais took me on a cruise to celebrate my appointment to East Point.” He leaned against the railing, and smiled for the first time since lunch began and the stories started. “And a good time was had by all, including a few she never knew about.” He paused to take yet another swallow of brandy, glanced at Jani over the rim of the snifter and stopped. “What?”

  “I’m not used to seeing you toss down the liquor.” Jani slowly opened her hands and pressed them to the warm stone. “Alcohol dulls the senses, you always said, and you needed to keep yours sharp.”

  Lucien lowered his drink, then set it atop the railing. “Chicago’s not the same since you left.”

  “Lucien, this is me you’re talking to, remember?”

  “I haven’t forgotten.” He stared at the snifter. Then he grabbed it, drained it in a single swallow, turned and flung it at the stone arch bordering the doorway. The glass shattered with a sound like a shooter crack, the shards flashing back sunlight as they flew apart and scattered across the tiled floor.

  One piece skittered in front of Lucien’s foot. He stepped on it, twisting his shoe into it, then pulled back and looked at the powder he’d left behind. His breathing came rough, as though he’d been running. “I haven’t forgotten a thing.”

  Jani remained silent. Every so often a fissure developed in Lucien’s carefully maintained veneer, a hint of what he could do if he ever threw off the restraints he’d imposed upon himself, ever said “Hell with it” and let fly. And he feels that way now. Which meant she had something else to worry about in addition to the reason for Val’s visit and tomorrow’s meeting with the governors.

  “You were always willing to believe anything about me.” Lucien paced along the railing, back and forth, like a caged animal. “Anything but the truth.” He stopped, eyes fixed on the water. “I had to see you. I was going crazy in Chicago—I would have said or done anything to pull an assignment here. So, I went to see Mako. I had done a few favors for him in the past. He owed me.”

  “You’re trying to drive a wedge between Roshi Mako and his colonel.” Jani stepped away from the railing and pretended to examine blooms on a potted shrub. “Don’t think Niall will forget that.”

  Lucien turned slowly. “I know what Pierce thinks of me. I know what he’ll put me through. I’m willing to deal with it.” His eyes met hers, bottomless wells of brown. “I love you.”

  Oh Lord—anything but this. Jani pressed her hands to her temples and squeezed. “Lucien.”

  “I mean it.”

  “Lucien, it’s a one hundred twenty-five meter drop into the bay from this balcony. Don’t bloody tempt me.”

  Lucien stared at her, his expression blank. Then, as though some internal valve finally released, he smiled and sagged back against the railing. “We both just need to relax.” He patted his trouser pocket, then reached into it. Pulled out something, and held it out for Jani to see. “Remember this?”

  She caught a glimpse of dull coral shine, the color silvered by the sunlight. A small sphere, a centimeter or so in diameter. Oh. Hell. Her face burned.

  “I showed it to Val on the way here. He offered to buy it. How’s that for tacky?” Lucien rolled the pearl between his fingers. “He kept commenting on the color. Pink or peach—he couldn’t make up his mind. What would you call it?” When Jani failed to reply, he shrugged, his smile altering from simple and open to something with an edge. “I didn’t tell him how I came to acquire it, of course. Did you even realize that the string had broken? I know I was focused on other matters.” He held the pearl up to the light. Then he raised his other hand, pressed the tip of the index finger to the bottom of the pearl and massaged it. “Do you know what this reminds me of?” He watched her face as he slid his finger against the pearl from tip to base once, then again, and again. “It’s just like—”

  “Please keep it to yourself.” Jani looked down and found she held the crumpled remains of a half-opened bloom, its stem snapped at the neck. “You’re never this coarse. You are drunk, aren’t you?”

  Lucien pouted. “I keep souvenirs. You know that. I’ve got one of Val’s—”

  “What is the real reason you came here?”

  Lucien took a deep breath. Pocketed the pearl and stood, brow furrowed, as though trying to recall something. An Angel of Death, at a loss as to what to destroy next. “The usual. Spread wrack and ruin. Doom, death, disease, and despair.”

  “Mission accomplished.” Jani tossed the remains of the flower over the railing. “Does that mean you can go home?”

  “Mako sent me to observe the general situation and report back. A second pair of eyes. Sometimes I do tell the truth the first time.” Lucien passed a hand over his face. “I have missed you, you know, disinclined as you are to believe it. I won’t ask if you missed me. Judging by the expression on your face, I know your answer.” He glanced over the railing. “Hundred twenty-five meters. I’ll have to remember that.” He turned and headed for the doors. “If you’ll excuse me, I really need to find a bathroom.”

  �
��Lucien?” Jani waited until he stopped. “Whatever shit you’re thinking of pulling, reconsider.”

  Lucien tried to turn, but caught the side of one shoe on the edge of a tile and stumbled. “God, I am drunk, aren’t I?” He righted himself slowly, shaking his head at the wonder of it all. “You have enough to worry about without looking for trouble from me. Val’s visit is not social, in case you haven’t guessed. The PM ordered him to buy out Shroud’s share of Neoclona. A single digit percentage of what that share is worth, and that number’s a hell of a lot closer to zero than it is to ten. No more research. No more consulting. He’s to find other things to do.”

  What lunch Jani had managed to eat congealed in her gut. “Why?”

  “As a warning to other bad little captains of Commonwealth industry who might consider hybridizing. Or working so closely with the Haárin.” Lucien paused to breathe. The alcohol had him by the throat now. “Things are tense, in case you haven’t noticed. Human separatists are bombing Haárin docks, Cèel wants to sever diplomatic relations with the Commonwealth, and—the first shots—in any war would likely be fired—in a place like Elyas.” Sweat soaked his shirt and slicked his face, making him look as though he’d been caught in the rain. “Now, two percent of Neoclona is still more money than any normal person might expect to see in a lifetime, but it isn’t just the money. It’s the power, and the influence, and let’s not forget the medical research capabilities.” He pulled a linen square from his pocket and wiped his face, his neck. “With your principal means of support gutted, where does that leave Thalassa? Where does that—leave you?” He grimaced. “I need—Excuse me.” He turned and double-timed through the dining room and out the door.

  Jani leaned against the railing as soon as Lucien disappeared from sight. Her gut ached. Her legs felt weak.

  Two percent. She imagined John’s expression as Val broke the news. The sun still warmed, but she couldn’t feel it. The bayskimmers still floated, but she didn’t see them.

  CHAPTER 4