Code of Conduct (27 page)

If I were Ulanova, I'd want someone like Doyle in charge of my enemy's security
. Jani paused to consider the concept, then took the steps two at a time until her cramping right hip told her to knock it off. The fourth-floor door opened for her as had the third. She flashed her ID at a trio of somber Security guards and studied wall maps until she found the corridor that led to the infirmary.

Tsecha shifted against the rigid metal frame of his uncushioned chair and watched the Xhà Pathen representative state her skein's case against the laes. Xhà did not possess the fluidity of Vynshàrau, or even of Laum. The female jerked rather than gestured; her voice sounded as though she spoke in a metal box. Tsecha looked away from her twitching form, focusing instead on a favored sculpture. But even smooth riverstone failed to please him. His back ached. His head throbbed. He had lost patience with the mind-focusing ability of pain.

When the female finished, Tsecha nodded in acknowledgment of her statement of position, then gestured for her to go, neglecting the customary benediction. She hesitated, waiting for the blessing, but he slashed the air again with his right hand. More roughly, this time. An insult.

I will hear of this from the Oligarch
, he thought glumly as the Xhà Pathen left him. Pathen-descended Haárin controlled much of the trade with Outer Circle humanish. They also claimed strong loyalty to their former born-sect. Tsecha sensed an upcoming trade slowdown. Perhaps even a strike.

A strike. How humanish of Haárin.
So well do they blend, even now
. Most as hybrid, even without the outward physical signs. The signs he and John Shroud had spoken of such a long time past as they sat on the Academy veranda, warmed by the sun and a blessedly hot breeze, and argued the possibilities of change.

But the reality of change is most different, and truly
. The
agent of change, his toxin, resided as prisoner within the bounds of Interior and needed to be freed. Did she even know herself to be imprisoned? Tsecha hoped not. Kilian's reactions under such conditions had, after all, proven unpredictable, even by her own kind.

My odd Lucien is to liberate her this night
. The thought made him uneasy. He did not fully trust his new guide. His dead Hansen had desired order of a sort, but Lucien seemed most content when all around him were confused. The Tsecha who had fought in a war rose from his cursed chair and massaged his numb thighs.
Confusion
and
rescue mission
, he felt most sure, were not a desirable combination.

His meeting with the Prime Minister had been put off until afternoon, so Tsecha retired to the quiet of his rooms. He studied the space, which appeared much larger than it truly was owing to the sparseness of its furnishings.
My Captain could hide here
. He bared his teeth at the disorder of the thought.
She could sleep under my bed
. During the day, she could labor at his workstation, deal with his tiresome duties, explain to him what he must do to survive humanish meetings.

But what would she eat
? The prospect of sharing food bothered him, but if such was what the gods demanded, he would allow his Captain his food. What she could eat of it.
She could grow ill
. He lowered himself into his favored chair and pulled at his red-trimmed sleeves.
She could die
. John had warned of such. The nutritional requirements of a hybrid would change constantly as its body altered. A food that once nourished could act as poison a short time later. A wretched, wasting death, which would bring an end to the future as well as his Captain's life.

No
. Tsecha settled back in his chair and contemplated a curve of polished sandwood in a niche across the room.
She cannot stay here
.

A sharp series of tones rang out, jolting him from his reverie.
A call to sacrament
? He glanced at the timeform at his workplace.
No, it is too early
.

The tones sounded once more. Tsecha slowly approached his comport. Across the surface of the device's input pad, illumins flashed and fluttered. “Someone has called me?”
But the unit did not allow incoming messages, and no other possessed his code.

This lacks order
. Tsecha activated the device's audio.
Thus do I know who calls
.

“NìRau?”

Ah
. “Lieutenant Pascal, this comport does not accept incoming.”

A pause. “It does now.”

Tsecha bared his teeth and waited.

“NìRau?” His lieutenant sounded youngish now. Plaintive. Then, like the turning of a page, the tone changed, becoming harsh. “I won't be selling it to the newssheets, if that's what you're worried about.”

I detect anger
. Good to know his disorderly guide could be vexed. He dragged his chair by the comport table and sat.

“NìRau, would you please activate your video?”

“Yes, Lucien.” Tsecha fingered the input pad. A side view of his guide's face filled the display. “I am most surprised to hear from you.”

“Obviously.” Lucien kept his head turned. Below the level of the display, his hands worked.

Tsecha saw a flash of white. Another. “Lieutenant?”

“My apologies, nìRau—I'm experiencing a technical difficulty.” He at last held up a folded square of cloth and pressed it to the side of his face that Tsecha couldn't see.

“Lucien?”

“Yes, nìRau.”

“Lower the cloth.”

“No, it's—”

“Lower it!”

Slowly, Lucien did as he was told.

Tsecha touched his own face when he saw the four ragged, seeping gouges that ran from the middle of Lucien's cheek to the edge of his high Service collar. He recalled the humanish custom of sharing their homes with animals. “You were scratched by a pet, Lucien?”

Lucien's lips curved. “You could say that, nìRau.” The expression altered to a grimace and he again pressed the cloth to his wounds. “I've had a lousy day so far.”

“It will soon become worse.”

“Thank you. I wouldn't have known that without you telling me.”

“Then it is good we speak now, so I can remind you.”

“What would I do without you, nìRau?” Lucien lifted the cloth from his face and stared at the crosshatches of blood. “There's been a murder, nìRau. A young woman. A documents examiner. Kilian knew her.”

Tsecha felt a tightening in his soul. “Did my Captain kill her?”

“Why would you think that, nìRau?”

“The past—”

“Is the past.” Lucien shook his head. “Kilian wasn't in the Main House at the time of the murder.”

“And how do you know this, Lucien?”

“I have a source.”

“Ah, a spy.”

“Yes.”

“Ah.” Tsecha looked at his lieutenant, who had now become most as a wall. “This killing worries you.”

“Kilian was working with the dead girl, nìRau. They were investigating Lyssa van Reuter's death and its connection to what happened at Knevçet Shèràa.” The bright redness of Lucien's wounds made his skin seem most pale. “But we all know the connection. Acton van Reuter and Rikart Neumann were friends. After Kilian killed Neumann, van Reuter arranged the transport explosion. He did it for self-protection and to avenge Neumann's death. But there must be something else.”

“Something else?”

“Another connection we're all missing.”

“All will be connected in the end, Lucien. Such is the root of order.”

“NìRau, I can't use philosophy now—I need facts.”

Tsecha slumped against hard cushions. How often had he and Hansen argued of this?
There has to be something else, Nema
! His guide had stalked his rooms at Temple like a hunting animal.
How the hell did the order to blow up the transport get to the depot outside Knevçet Shèràa
?

“Does it matter?” Tsecha spoke as much to his dead friend as to the face on the display. “All we do affects all we know.
A deed performed by one is a deed performed by all.”

“The sins of the fathers, nìRau?”

“Sins are sins, Lucien—they taint the sect as a whole. That is why those who sin most greatly are made Haárin, to excise them from the whole and save the souls of their brethren.”

“Ok then,” Lucien sighed, “who in Interior House would you make Haárin?”

Tsecha bared his teeth. “My Captain, Lucien.”

Lucien emitted a guttural, Haárin-like sound. “That's not the answer I'm looking for, nìRau, and you know it.”

“But that is the answer you will receive from me. She must be excised from the rest of humanish. She does not belong with you any longer. She must be allowed to become what she must.”

“Which is?”

“She is toxin. The agent of change. She is change's spy.” He felt a tremor of satisfaction.
I thought of such without my handheld
. He was finally becoming used to this English.

“That's very poetic, nìRau.” Lucien touched his cheek and moaned softly. “I plan to excuse myself from my meeting tonight and track her down within Main.” For the first time, he looked Tsecha in the eye. “Eight o'clock, nìRau. One-half hour after the finish of midevening sacrament. You must be at your outpost with your Exterior skimmer, charged up and ready.”

So he knows of that as well
? Tsecha studied Lucien's face in return. Through the display, it did not seem such an intrusion.
Most as Haárin, my odd one's eyes
. From a sheltered corner of his memory, he heard the tensile song of blades being pulled from sheaths. “Yes, Lucien. For her to live is necessary for us both. You have chosen her as your dominant; thus you owe her your knife.”

“My dominant? Yes, I suppose you're right.” Lucien cocked his head. The gesture was not as idomeni. He looked as a humanish who contemplated the lines of a sculpture, or an object in a niche. “And you've chosen her for something else. Does she know what you plan for her?”

He knows
! How much as Hansen he was, after all. “You know of the blending?” Tsecha asked. “The hybridization? You know of what is to be?”

“I've read your prewar essays, nìRau.” Lucien wadded his bloody bandage and flung it out of range of the display. “I can't say I accept your conclusions.”

Ah
.

“But you want her to live, and I can't save her by myself.”

“I will be there, Lucien.” Tsecha watched his lieutenant carefully. “With my stolen skimmer.” At that, Lucien's mouth curved upward, as he had hoped. Before he could say more, a more familiar series of chords echoed through the rooms. “I must go now,” he said as the last series rang. “Midmorning sacrament. I will offer prayers for our success tonight.” He waited for Lucien to nod before disconnecting. The screen blanked. He meditated upon the greyness.

No, not as Hansen. Something quite different, I believe, and truly
. He smoothed a hand over the front of his overrobe, then reached for his handheld and picked at the touchpad. But the meanings he plumbed from the device's depths failed to help him.
He chose my Captain
. This young lieutenant whose eyes, whose soul, seemed wrapped in a death-glaze that could not be seen. The clatter of dishes and utensils reached Tsecha through the closed door. He felt a small rush of comfort at the sounds.

He chose me
. The summoning illumin shone. He rose. His soul felt heavy.
This strange, dead humanish
. He could not keep his mind focused upon his prayers; he pleaded with his gods for understanding.

Jani entered the infirmary to find Angevin in the midst of an animated discussion with the duty nurse. “How many times do I have to tell you”—she struck the check-in counter—“I'm not sick anymore. I'm fine!” The nurse, tall and heavily built, folded his arms and seemed ready to dig in for the duration.

“How about if she agrees to come back every couple of hours?” Jani leaned against the counter and gave the nurse a commiserating smile. “I know she's supposed to be in shock, but does she look shocky to you? I mean, she has her color back.” She leaned close to Angevin, who glared at her. “Her pupils look ok. I can't speak for confused behavior, but two out of three isn't bad.”

“I should have kicked you,” Angevin grumbled as they departed a few minutes later. Security guards were stationed near the elevators and stairwell doors; every so often, one would pop his head around a corner like a treechuck. “And why do I have to check in? It's so stupid—I feel fine!”

“It's a good idea,” Jani countered. “Doyle wouldn't have sent you up here if she didn't think you looked shaky.” The thought also crossed her mind that the colonel would want Angevin closeted in a well-guarded place as long as Steve remained at large, but she kept it to herself.

“Doyle just sent me here to get me out of the way. I fainted, ok. It was my first dead body.” Angevin snorted in disgust. “Doyle didn't take it so well, either. Saw her swallow hard a few times.”

“She's a human being, Angevin. The day she stops swallowing hard is the day she better change professions.”

“You didn't even blink! Just stood in the doorway and took it all in.” Angevin keyed into her office. The look she shot Jani held envy, but something else as well. As in,
I wish I could do that. I think
. “Did you spot any clues?” She made a show of checking her paper message box. “Anything that could clear Steve?”

Jani thought back to the scene in the carrel.
I spied with my warped little eye
…something she'd rather not say. Betha had looked so much like Yolan, and in looking like Yolan, she had brought Borgie back for a little while. Jani flexed her shoulders. Her back felt loose. Her hip worked smoothly. Her stomach had even stopped aching.
You ghoul—a young woman is dead and you react by feeling better than you have in weeks
.

“Where the hell could he be hiding?” Angevin locked the door, then headed for her comport. “He couldn't have had enough time to get off the compound.” She activated the unit and checked her voicebox. Message after message bit the trashbin after only a few words. “Where the hell is he!”

“Well, I should hope he wouldn't be dumb enough to leave you a message.” Jani dragged a chair deskside. “He'd have to know Doyle would check.”

“She wouldn't dare!”

“There's been a murder, Angevin. She can, she would, and more than likely she already has.”

“She wouldn't have deleted it, would she?”

“No, she'd let you hear it. Then she'd hope Steve would give himself away to you and you'd lead her to him.”

“Fuck.” Angevin dropped into her chair. “Risa, he didn't do it.” She pulled at the hem of her baggy pullover. “But why did he run away like that?”

“Durian had two V-40s pointed in his direction. The gut reaction of anyone with one working neuron would be to run.”

“You didn't.” That look, again. “You took it out of the guard's hands.”

“I got lucky—she didn't know how to handle it.”

“But you did.” Angevin's gaze was steady and decidedly
nonshocky. “Don't you have a guess where Steve could be?”

Jani rummaged through her duffel. She pulled out a squat brushed-metal cylinder, twisted the top, and set it on the desk. “This should buy us a few minutes.”

Angevin eyed the device skeptically. “What is it?”

“Insecticide.”

“She's bugged my office!”

“The court order was probably fiched over here while you were on your way to the infirmary. Just audio, probably. Holofield, they reserve for real crooks.”
Like us after today—who knows
? Jani adjusted the cylinder until it rested in a direct line between the two of them. “But don't be surprised if someone from Systems shows up soon waving a repair order you don't remember requesting. The interference pattern this thing emits reads a lot like a transmission from a blown workstation card.”

“How do you get hold of something like that?” Angevin's voice held the greedy wonder of someone ready to pull out a recorder and take notes.

“Oh, you can get hold of anything. All depends how much you're willing to give in return.” Jani stroked the device with a fingertip. “With regard to Steve, there are a few places I can check—”

Angevin shot to her feet. “Let's go.”

“Not so fast.” She waved the young woman back into her seat. “
You
stay here.”

“Bullshit!”

“Doyle has her eye on me sort of. You, she's watching like a hawk. The best thing you can do for Steve is stay here. Work. Make lots of calls. Walk the wing from end to end and talk to everyone you see. Check in at the infirmary every two hours.”

Angevin's expression slowly lightened. “You want me to draw attention away from you while you hunt around?”

“It can't hurt.” Jani raised a finger to her lips, then swept her device off the desk and back into her bag. “Keep a good thought,” she said as she headed for the door. “I'm going to head back to Private for a while.” Angevin offered Jani a thumbs-up, then turned back to her comport with a determined glare.

Where are you, Steven, you little jerk
? Jani stuck her head in the alternate breakroom and encountered two guards playing cards at one of the battered tables. No one else was in the room; judging from the surprise on the guards' faces, dexxies had been avoiding the place the entire morning.

Every elevator and stairway Jani passed was monitored by at least one guard. She stopped on the second floor and entered the women's locker room next to the main gymnasium. She checked the ceiling directly overhead.
They wouldn't have video in here, would they
?

She dug into her trouser pocket for the tiny key card she had stolen earlier from the gymnasium office and slid the uncomplicated plastic sliver into its lockslot. For the benefit of any viewing device, she rummaged through a stack of washcloths and towels. When she came to the towel in which she'd wrapped the Court of Inquiry report, she rolled it into a loose cylinder and stuffed it into her duffel. She followed with a washcloth and some soap.

She stopped at the sink to wash her hands.
Always have a reason to be where you are
. The soap was black, with the throaty scent of a humid summer night.
I came here to try this soap—I overheard people in the hallway talking about this soap—this soap is legend
. She wrapped the wet bar in the washcloth and stuffed it into her bag.

Only a few employees walked the hall outside the locker room. Jani paused to study the message board outside the gym. Then she stopped at one of the glass panels set at regular intervals along the wide hall and spent a few minutes watching a man and a woman play handball. She felt calm. The rest of the world seemed to be moving just a bit more slowly than she.

She entered a lounge area filled with uniformed and plain-clothes employees, sat at one of the small tables, and paged through the newssheet the previous occupant had left behind. When the noise level of the room dipped, she looked up. A pair of guards had wandered in and were perusing the contents of a vend cooler. Around her, she could hear the murmurs. “Murder…girl…the parts bins.” She checked her timepiece. One and a half hours since they had found Betha's body. Well, if Doyle wanted to alarm the entire House and
waste manpower in the process, she was certainly doing a good job. Jani watched the guards until they departed. Then she left as well.

Where are you hiding, Steven
? Jani shuffled down the hall toward the elevators. She didn't bother to eavesdrop on any of the groups clustered in corners and near doorways. It didn't take a genius to figure out what they talked about.

Fear not, citizens—your friends in Security have it all under control
. She rode down to the lowest parking level; once in the tunnel, she hitched a ride to Private on a grocery skim. She rode the elevator to her door and keyed herself inside. The housekeepers had been through, apparently. Her bed had been made and the air possessed the eye-watering scent of cleansing agents. Jani sniffed again and wrinkled her nose. Odd smell for a cleanser. Sharp. Spicy. Familiar.

Oh no
!

Out of the corner of her eye, she detected movement.

“Risa?” Steve walked into the sitting room, his cupped hand hiding his smoking 'stick. “Don't yell. I can explain.”