Code of Conduct (25 page)

But now Tsecha stood in his enclosure, watched the illumins far down the beach, and considered Acton's son.
He and my Captain—a most seemly pairing
. Or so it had appeared at the time.
But the father forbade it, and now the father is dead
. His Lucien's words returned to him.
She hides in plain sight, nìRau
. And his Calvin's words.
Your concerns are being explored
.

“Plain sight!” Tsecha hurried from the patio to the com
port booths located within the documents repository. No reason to obscure the fact of this call. This call was indeed most seemly.

Tsecha entered the code for Interior House. The young female whose face appeared on the display also maintained her composure—she had spoken with him before.

“Angevin Wyle, please, Sandra.”

The female bared her teeth, as Tsecha knew she would, and directed her attention to her House console. Her expression waned. “Ms. Wyle is unavailable, nìRau.”

“Do not summon her in her office—she is not there yet.”

“No, nìRau, I buzzed her residence. She's not home.”

“Where is she?”

“She's left no forwarding code, nìRau.” Sandra shrugged. Humanish, in Tsecha's opinion, shrugged too much. “I can leave her a message, if you wish?”

“No. No.” He could not wait for messages. Another humanish came to mind. Male, this one. Slumped as the Oligarch. Red hair, though not as godly as Hansen's daughter's. “Steve!” he shouted.

“Mr. Forell in Xeno?” Sandra applied herself to her console. “I know he won't be in at this hour.” The female's eyebrows rose. “His private code is blocked, nìRau.”

“Blocked?”

“Blocked, nìRau.” Yet another strange expression crossed the female's face. Something as a smile, and yet…“It means he's home, but doesn't wish to be disturbed.”

“Ah.”

“I can message them both, nìRau.” Sandra's brow now lowered. That meant confusion. Sometimes. “Are you sure you don't want to speak to the head of Xeno? Perhaps His Excellency himself?”

“No, Sandra. Message Angevin Wyle please.” He ended the call and returned to his rooms to dress for his appointments.
Today I see the Prime Minister, who will complain of my treatment of Detmers-Neumann, and a delegation from the Xhà Pathen, who will complain of my favoritism toward their brethren the laes
.

Both complaints held truth, of course.
I treat Detmers-Neumann as she deserves and the Xhà as they deserve, and
for much the same reason
. Tsecha secured the privacy locks to his sanitary room.
I do not trust them
. He removed the overrobe and trousers he had donned for his excursion to the maintenance shed and prepared to lave. His scars glistened pale in the overhead illumination—he stared at them in his reflection and felt every blade slice him anew. His meal rested as a weight in his stomach, his knees ached from the leap he had made onto the thermacrete, and if John Shroud had, by some godish whimsy, appeared before him at that moment, he would with great joy have snapped the man's neck.

My Lucien knew where she was and did not tell me
. His odd Lucien, who enjoyed disorder. Tsecha plunged his arms to his elbows in hot water, felt its steam condense upon and trickle down his face.
I must save her
. His Captain. With his odd Lucien's aid. And he would bury all who tried to stop him, as the Haárin had buried his Hansen.

Jani punched her pillow and turned over. Again. Again.
I will not look at the clock
. She looked. Oh-six-thirty. She'd have to get up soon. The thought wouldn't have seemed so daunting if she had managed to fall asleep in the first place.

She rolled on her back and stared at the ceiling. Her real limbs sagged into the mattress like stalks of lead, while the fake ones felt the way they always did. She kicked off her covers, then rose in stages. One leg over the side. The other.
Sit up. Wait for the room to stop throbbing. Stand. Walk
.

Showering proved a challenge. Her upper back, a skinscape of green and purple centered by a fist-sized swelling, allowed movement, but drew the line at assault by pounding streams of water. Jani faced the main showerhead as she washed her hair and got cleanser in her eyes, thus scuttling her films. By the time she emerged, eyes stinging and back muscles twitching, her stomach had begun to ache.
Can I go back to bed
? She checked the clock again. Oh-seven-thirty.
Nope
. She refilmed, threw on another expensive but ill-fitting trouser suit, and was halfway out the door before she noticed her comport's blinking message light.

Evan had recorded the message well after their aborted dinner. Dressed in pajamas, he sat hunched at the edge of his bed like a condemned prisoner on his bunk. “Jan? I'm asking you, no, I'm
ordering
you to stop. Just stop. Meet me for breakfast, and we'll talk over the reasons. But right now, as your minister, I'm ordering you to cease your investigation.” He rubbed his face, pressed his fingers to his forehead.

“Durian showed me some sceneshots, Jan. You and some punk from Exterior. I don't believe the things he told me about the two of you, but judging from the lengths to which he's gone already, I don't think it's a good idea to cross him right now. He'll do what he thinks he has to. That's his job. I'll let him. That's mine.” He held a supplicating hand out to her. “I love you. I want to take care of you. Isn't that enough?” The message ended in a twinkling fade, like a dream.

Jani sat on her rumpled bed, duffel cradled in her lap. “No, Evan. It's not.” She hit the touchpad and called up the time he had recorded the message. A little after one.

“Having second thoughts about bringing me here, are you?” With equal parts alcohol and Durian Ridgeway fertilizing the seeds of doubt. She hurried to the elevator, then rode down with her finger poised in front of the
STOP OVERRIDE
pad, ready to block anyone else from coming aboard. She didn't want to share the car with anyone. Especially someone who wanted to take care of her.

Jani entered Angevin's office to find her and Steve sitting at the desk, drinking coffee and talking in low tones. Both wore slacks and pullovers in shades of pale tan which, combined with their hair, made them look like a couple of lit matches.

Jani allowed herself a small feeling of satisfaction.
Nice to see the kids together again
. But an undercurrent of edginess and the thick haze of multiple nicsticks prevented her from thinking all was well.

Angevin confirmed the prevailing mood. “The idomeni ambassador tried to reach me early this morning. The House operator added the notation that he asked for Steve as well.”

Steve waved Jani a vague greeting, then busied himself pouring her coffee from a disposable reservoir. “What do you think it means, Ris? Think he's upset we're digging into his old paper?”

Jani accepted the coffee with a grateful nod and eased into a deskside chair. “If he was, he wouldn't call you directly. He'd lodge his complaint using proper channels. First thing you'd hear of it would be when the Xeno liaison called you into the office and tore you a new orifice.” She winced as
she drank. The coffee tasted as though it had been filtered through a sock. “The ambassador was close to Angevin's father, I believe?” She looked to Angevin for confirmation she didn't need. “Maybe it had something to do with that?”

Angevin scowled. “God, I'd hoped that had stopped.” She gave Jani a tired look and shook her head. “He tried to hook up with me as soon as he arrived. I don't know what he expected. I told him, ‘I'm not my father, nìRau.' He said, ‘I know, nìa—Hansen is most dead.' He's so damned literal.”

Steve rocked back in his chair. “That's how their minds work. I told you, if you don't want to talk with him, I will. Knowing how blunt he is, he'll come right out and tell me what's the problem. And we'll proceed from there. I were thinkin' of callin' him after the midmorning sacrament. 'Round ten.” He glanced at Jani. “Like to be there with me, Ris?”

“No.” Jani choked down another swallow of coffee. “Thank you. I doubt I'd do any good.” She ignored Steve's stare, leaving it to blister the side of her face. “We need to get to work. Let's see your paper.”

Angevin crumpled a dispo and bounced it lightly off Steve's chest. “Tell her.” Her voice tightened. “Or I will.”

Steve stood, stretched, and walked to the curtained window. “Mind if I open this? Sun's a bloody bitch this early, but I need to see some light.” He swept back the drape, revealing the shimmering lake, clear sky, and the sun hanging in the midst of it all like a self-suspending light set on high. “Not that bad, is it, with the filters in the glass?” He took his time pushing the drape into its niche.

“
Steve
.” Angevin reached for another dispo.

Steve thumped the pane with his fist. Once. Again. “Betha's gone, ok! No one's seen her since last night. She never returned to her flat. Her half of the papers are gone, too. I checked her locker. I checked her cubicle. The office she used last night. So that's it. No one's seen her since last night, and the docs are gone. What else do you want me to say!”

Oh shit
. “It's not your fault, Steve,” Jani said. “We were both sure she would stick.” Considering the scenarios running through her mind, Betha's merely running off would be a relief. “Where's your half?”

“My office. Locked in my desk.” Steve flinched at Jani's glower. “Didn't want to be seen carrying them. Not with the lien and all.”

“Let's go get them.”

They had to pass the Doc Control cafeteria on the way to Steve's office. The noise made them pause; the crowd drew them inside. As they pushed their way to the front, sharp voices cut through the swell.

“
Son of a bitch—where the hell is he
!”

“Oh God.” Angevin gripped Steve's arm. “That's Durian.”

People turned toward them. A few pointed. The sound level dropped as though someone had flicked a switch.

“What the hell's on, Barry?” Steve called out to the stricken young man over whom Ridgeway loomed. “Someone forget to sign a req for toilet roll?”

A red-faced Durian Ridgeway pushed past bystanders. “Where the hell is Betha Concannon, Forell!” Coffee sloshed and work clothes were spattered, but no one made outraged noises. Everyone was too busy staring at Steve. Behind Ridgeway, two fully loaded Security officers shadowed into view, long-barreled shooters gripped in their glove-protected hands.

“Oh fuck.” Steve took a step backward, his eyes fixed on the weapons.

“Don't run.” Jani made a grab for him, but he dodged with a quick sidestep. “Whatever you do, don't—”

Steve shook off Angevin's scrabbling hands and cut for the door like a sprinter out of the blocks.

“—run.”
Right
. Jani spun back around, let her bag slide to the ground, and took a step toward the nearer guard, who had raised her weapon. She gripped the barrel with both hands, tilted it to the ceiling, twisted it ninety degrees, jerked out and in. Gristly crunches cut the air, silencing onlookers' startled cries. The guard uttered a strangled half sob and sagged to her knees, her nose smashed and streaming blood, her fingers twisted.

Back muscles screaming, Jani swung the heavy weapon to her shoulder and aimed it at Ridgeway. Lousy weapon-handling on her part, but his stricken expression was worth a few broken rules.

Angevin waved and pointed toward the doorway. “Behind you. Trouble.”

Jani shifted her stance to find Colonel Doyle sauntering toward her. Behind the Security chief, onlookers scattered. “Your friend won't get far, Ms. Tyi. The elevators and stairwells are already locked down.” She reached out. “Hand over that weapon—it is not a crowd-control device.”

“No,” Jani said, “it's not. It's a V-40 Long-Range. Combat weapon. Enough power to punch you into the hallway and me through the wall if I fire. Stupid choice for indoors.” She pretended to take aim at a planter. As she hoped, people scurried, ducking under tables and behind chairs.

“If you back around one more table, you're clear to the door,” Angevin said. “Do you want me to get the other one?”

“
No
!” Jani shouted. One V-40 was enough. Thing had a kick like a skimmer head-on—it needed a strut support, damn it!

Just stand sideways like you're doin', and bend your back knee a tad. It'll brace you, Captain. You'll be fine
.

“Thank you, Sergeant,” Jani whispered. She aimed the weapon in Ridgeway's direction again. “Now, we're going to go somewhere and talk about this.”

“Like hell we'll talk!” Ridgeway pointed to the door. “That bastard buggered paper with Betha Concannon. Now she's missing. The time for talk is over. I'm ranking documents examiner on-site, and I have cause. I'm declaring anarchy rules now!” He turned to Doyle. “Order a door-to-door! If the little cunt tries to bolt, shoot to kill!”

“Stop. Telling. Me. My. Job.” Doyle pointed an accusing finger at Ridgeway. “
You
said the other Cabinet Doc offices were in a panic.
You
said a threat to the Commonwealth existed. Now you've scared off the only person in this building who could confirm either condition, and, mister, until you have confirmation, you do
not
have cause, and you do
not
give me orders!”

Oh good—dissension in the ranks. Does that mean I can hand this disaster-on-a-stick off to someone
? Jani lowered the V-40; the other guard's shoulders sagged. She gave him a barely perceptible nod, which he returned. “I will safety the
weapon and hand it to Colonel Doyle,” she said. “Then we will go to a nice quiet place, and talk.”

“You will be under arrest!” Ridgeway sputtered, his face purpling. “You threatened—”

“I just prevented a massacre by your order, Durian.” Jani keyed the adjustment diverting the weapon's prep charge. The stock warmed as the heat dissipated. “The pulse packet from this thing could have blitzed half this room. Packets can be unpredictable, you know. I've seen them circle their targets and boomerang back on their source when conditions were right.” The conditions involved magnetic interference caused by the lift-array rupture of a troop transport, but no reason to mention minor details when things were going so well.

Jani's words had the desired effect. Around her, outraged mutters rose dangerously high as a roomful of aggravated paper pushers shifted their attention to Ridgeway. She smiled at the nervous man, then handed the V-40, stock first, to Ginny Doyle. “Let's talk.” Her eyes met Doyle's, and the colonel's glare turned even stonier. Jani recovered her bag and gave Angevin a smile she hoped appeared reassuring.

Jani, Angevin, and Ridgeway waited in brittle silence outside the cafeteria for Doyle to return from escorting her injured subordinate to the infirmary; they then adjourned to Ridgeway's office. He barked an order that they not be disturbed to Greer, who had witnessed the episode. The young man stood gaping at them until his boss shut the door in his face. “Probably be selling bloody tickets in a minute,” Ridgeway muttered as he engaged the lock.

It was obvious he couldn't decide whom to play to. He pointedly ignored Jani as he walked to his desk, instead bestowing a look of professional neutrality upon Doyle. The colonel's narrow-eyed response was far from neutral, and could only be considered professional if you thought of occupations such as assassin. Ridgeway pulled in an unsteady breath as he sat and offered Angevin a wary half smile.

She beamed in return. “I'm thinking of finally taking your advice, Durian,” she said in a sprightly tone.

Doyle glanced at Jani and cocked an eyebrow. Jani responded with a
beats me
shrug.

“Oh?” Ridgeway settled back in his chair.

“I'm going to look up those dexxies who went to the Academy with my father.” Angevin paced in front of his desk and counted off on her fingers. “Senna and Tsai. Aryton and Nawar. The Big Four. The Hands and Feet and Left Armpit and whatever the hell other assorted body parts they comprise.” She planted her hands on the desk's edge. “If anything happens to Steve, I will sic them on you like a pack of dogs. Mom always said I had Dad's mouth. Good a time as any to try it out, don't you think?”

During Angevin's speech, Ridgeway's expression altered from surprised anger to stern disapproval. “You've backed the wrong horse, my dear. That unfortunate young man has a long history of knocking over fences. Your championing him could do your own career irreparable harm. He's a common thug.”

Doyle dragged a couple of chairs over to Ridgeway's desk. “Let's reserve judgment until we talk to the boy, Durian. My people should corral him anytime now.” She sat, then motioned for Jani to do the same. “I need proof. All I see now is oversolicitous mentoring.” She stared at Ridgeway, who scowled and tugged at his neckpiece.

Angevin, oblivious to Doyle's allusion, smacked a fist against her open palm. “He doesn't like Steve because he's colony.” She fell into a chair and folded her arms across her chest.