Endgame (19 page)

“We will bid security at Guernsey Station to hold her until we arrive.” Ní Galas gestured to another suborn, who opened yet another portable workstation.

“What reason will you give for holding her?” Jani held up a hand in apology as the Haárin stared. “She might refuse to remain behind. She may request her dominant's aide in obtaining her release.”

“Order is our reason, ná Kièrshia. A reason acceptable to all godly idomeni, Haárin or bornsect, suborn or dominant.” Galas bared his teeth. He radiated contentment now, like a cat that had locked up his quarry and could now torture it at his leisure. “Ná Nahin will remain in place until we arrive at Guernsey Station to question her. Such is her obligation—she will not refuse such.” He rubbed his hands together, a profoundly humanish gesture. “She is as ours.”

 

The library huddle broke up an hour later. Galas and his crew fingered four other Haárin for questioning, but none of them interested Jani as much as Nahin Sela and her single-minded walk through the concourse.

Then the scatter began. Meva and Dathim returned to the enclave to inform Feyó. Val and John hied off to prepare the clinic staff.

“And the panic is on.” Niall tossed a few under-his-breath orders to Lucien, who shot Jani a last loaded look before departing. “I should have a minimum two weeks to prep for this voyage. Instead I have a grand total of—” He checked his timepiece and winced. “—nine and one-half hours.”

Scriabin gave a silent chuckle. “Sit back, Colonel.” He clapped Niall on the shoulder. “Witness the effect that Family finger-snapping can have.”

“I'm off the hook, then?” Niall offered a crocodile grin. “You won't want an escort to the shuttleport or coverage on your way to the station? No escort to Guernsey, either. And oh, when you reach the worldskein and realize that the news has gotten there ahead of you that it was assassination instead of a brain tumor and a substantial proportion of the idomeni population wants to nail your hide to the nearest surface? I'm guessing your ministry security can handle it.”

Scriabin rolled his eyes. “Niall, I was just—”

Niall held up a hand. “Another thing we should get straight right now, Your Excellency, is that this is not a game. You want to play ‘my daddy's bigger,' feel free, but you'll be playing with yourself.” The chill cast in his eye indicated that he knew exactly what he'd said, that he meant every nasty little double entendre, and would be happy to clarify matters if pushed. “Now, I have a long haul to plan coverage for. By your leave.” He turned to Jani, and light in his eyes softened. “I'll check in later.” He yanked his garrison cap out of his belt and set it in place as he strode to the door.

Scriabin muttered under his breath as he watched Niall leave. “Arrogant bastard…”

“Pot, kettle, black.” Jani stood her ground when Scriabin turned on her, eyes wide and face reddening. “He's the AG's colonel for a reason, and he's worried. So am I. We've both lived through idomeni political strife and the Commonwealth's bungling attempts to turn it to their advantage.” She
waited until the man backed off, until his breathing slowed. “I think he trusts you. In any event, he's thrown in with you for good or ill because he believes it's better for his Commonwealth. It's your job to show that you merit his confidence. Announcing every five minutes that you're the
S
in NUVA-SCAN isn't quite good enough.”

Scriabin studied her through narrowed eyes. On close inspection, the sense of the brawler held true, from his wide, broad-nosed face to his blocky build and dockworker's hands. “Anais has filled my ears about you ever since we learned you were involved in this. You helped drive the wedge between her and Li Cao. She's been scrambling to keep a claw in ever since, and not having much luck.” He jerked his head toward the door. “Then to add insult to injury, you went and stole her bauble. I should thank you for that. Expensive bastard, our blond captain, and from what I've observed, not worth the cost.” His voice held the same quality of question as did every heterosexual male's when they pondered the survival skills of Lucien Pascal. “I would have figured you for smarter.”

Jani shrugged. This wasn't the time to discuss the matter of Lucien, and even if it were, Scriabin would never be the man she'd choose to discuss it with. “For all his complicating ways, he possesses a uniquely uncomplicated view of life. Sometimes, that can be a refuge.”

“And other times, it can be a trap.”

“I could say the same about Family loyalty. Capital F.”

Scriabin's head snapped back, in the manner of those who commonly questioned others' choices but never their own. “Tyotya Ani has her uses. She quiets the fears of the hardliners who worry that the Commonwealth is disintegrating. Before they realize what's happening, we'll be in.” His voice quieted. “Only an idiot would allow her any real power.”

Jani considered the Anais Ulanova she had dealt with in Chicago and couldn't help but smile. “Does she know that?”

“By the time it dawns on her, she will be too committed to
back out. She will have nowhere else to go.” Scriabin leaned close. His breath held the bare hint of whiskey. “Stakes, yes, I understand the meaning of the word. Risk.”

“You won't face a firing squad if it goes to hell.”

“Are you sure?” Scriabin glanced up at the sun, which had just become visible through the glass roof of the courtyard. “We must continue this discussion at another time. Perhaps your captain can keep score.” He snorted. “Assuming he can count that high.” He offered a curt nod in farewell and headed for the foyer, only to be intercepted by Dieter bearing a clothes bag containing his outfit from the previous day. He grabbed the bag without a word and left.

Dieter stood still for a moment, then turned to Jani. “You're welcome, Your Excellency. Wear it in good health.” He tried to grin and failed, his face showing all the fatigue and sadness and worry that marked the mood of the Main House, which was quiet as a church even as noon sacrament approached. “You'll need help preparing. I can have Gena help you pack, and—”

“I think we have more pressing matters to settle.” Jani beckoned him to follow her into the maze of demirooms.

Just track the voices.
Especially a certain weighty bass, dark as clouded midnight.

John rose when he spotted her, then sank back into the couch when she ignored him. “We're discussing how to handle matters in my absence.” He nodded toward Sikara and Cossa, both dressed in staid black.

“Ms. Kilian.” Sikara rose and bowed low. “Our deepest sympathies for the loss of your friend.”

“Indeed.” Cossa matched his partner's bow even as he eyed Dieter, who stood just outside the bounds of the room.

“Thank you.” Jani sat on the end of the couch as far as possible from John, a move that drew a raised eyebrow from Sikara. “I don't mean to sound unappreciative, but as John no doubt told you, we will be departing for Shèrá later this evening.” She motioned for Dieter to join them. “This is Dieter Brondt, my suborn. He will act for me in my absence, and I would like him to take part in this conversation.” She sensed John's glare, his desire to interrupt trumped by his reluctance to anger her more than he had already.
Yes, I've just hijacked your legal team. Try and stop me.
“I assume John told you that ní Tsecha was assassinated?”

Sikara nodded. “He informed us yesterday afternoon, yes.”

Jani looked at John, only to find him intent on his hands.
You told your lawyers before you told me.
She tried to speak, but a rise of anger choked her.
You told your goddamn lawyers!

“We actually did want to consult with you concerning your assessment of the current situation.” Cossa removed a recording board from the briefbag at his feet and activated it.

You mean you want to know whether John's back-door arrangement with Yevgeny Scriabin is still viable?
Jani took one deep breath, then another. “If things remain unsettled—” She stopped, then tried again. “That may work in John's favor. A solid source of money in a troubled region does wonders to calm shaky nerves.” She watched Cossa transcribe her every word, and wondered if he really hadn't already considered the point. “If there's war, all bets are off. Feyó may take her Haárin and go home, or she may stay, and Cèel would send warriors to collect her. Or Li Cao could send Service troops to drive her out.” She shot a look at Dieter, who had dragged a chair into their circle and now sat and watched her expectantly. “I'm glad you brought up the subject, Mister Cossa. Are you still taking clients?”

The two lawyers looked at one another. Then Sikara took over. “We represent cases involving matters of business. Bankruptcies. Dissolutions. Mergers.”

Jani nodded. “I admit that Thalassa isn't a business. More a medical condition wrapped around a state of mind. It consists of this house, some surrounding homes and outbuildings, a few crisscrossing roads. A lot of land—the original surveys are stored here in our offices. Governor Markos allows us some autonomy. I think the operative word is ‘allows.'” She paused, and heard only the intermittent
click
of Cossa's stylus. “I will be gone for several months. I need to leave some bastards in place to make sure that my home is still here when I get back.”

Cossa stopped writing and slumped back. “Thanks. A lot.”

“Settle down, James.” Sikara sat back more easily and folded his hands, the pose of a man prepared to listen. “I think we've just been paid quite the compliment.”

Jani nodded. “When we numbered only fifty or so, I once spent a few days making up sets of fake documents for everyone. A safety net, in case of disaster. Birth certs. ID cards. I even reconfigured inset chips, though I don't think they would stand up to full-bore ministry-level analysis. Now the place has grown too large, and I no longer believe that scattering the inhabitants to the four winds is a viable strategy.” Her jaw cracked as she swallowed a yawn. “Thalassa is in a grey zone. In case of war, I want it to be protected. I don't want Thalassans to wind up in prison, or be forced to revert to their original humanish or Haárin state if they don't want to.”

Sikara's eyes half closed, as though he listened to music. “The issue I see is one of jurisdiction. Mister Cossa is human, and a Commonwealth citizen, as am I.”

“Isn't it our decision?” Jani looked from the senior partner to the junior, searched for any hint of encouragement, and saw only professional blandness. “Can't Thalassa grant you the right to represent us?”

“Perhaps.” Cossa studied the tip of his stylus. “How have legal matters been handled in the past?”

Jani looked at Dieter, who shrugged. “We haven't really had any legal matters that required special handling. Internal disputes are handled…well, internally. Discussion between the parties, sometimes heated.” She leaned against the arm of the couch and propped up her head with her hand. Ached for sleep, even as she dreaded the prospect. “Externally—”

“Externally, all major dealings, including purchases of land, goods, and services, have been handled by Neoclona attorneys working on my behalf.” John's voice emerged warm, patient. He didn't look at Jani. He didn't have to.
Go ahead and kick me out of bed,
his tone implied, in a wavelength she had come to know all too well.
I still own you.

Cossa once more took notes. “So your primary source of wherewithal is Neoclona?”

“Over the last several months we've actually started to develop into something more than an extension of John Shroud's ego.” Jani paused until Cossa cleared the large smudge he'd scratched across his board and Dieter stopped coughing. “We're leasing a couple of docks from the Elyan Haárin, and one from a Karistos holding company. We've leased ships, and have begun exporting our food culturing technologies to other colonies. Ná Gisa Pilon, our dominant emeritus, is heading that project.” She hesitated, pondered wording, ignored John's mouthing of
dominant emeritus
. “And we've entertained the odd inquiry regarding our willingness to house large amounts of cash.”

Sikara's eyes opened wide. “Funds laundering?”

“That, too.” Jani rocked her hand in a so-so gesture. “Numbered accounts, mostly. Since we're outside Commonwealth jurisdiction here, I can understand the appeal.”

“We are considering the numbered accounts,” Dieter added, eyes still watering.

“Conservative projections are that these nonmedical ventures will earn sufficient to support this enclave, even allowing for an explosion in population, within four to five years—” Jani stopped when Sikara held up a hand.

“In event of war…”

“In event of war, there are no guarantees about anything.” Jani sniffed the air as the aromas of noon sacrament wafted. “But people will still need to eat, and some will still want places to park their funds that the Commonwealth can't touch.”

John started to laugh. “This is ridiculous, pie-in-the-sky—”

“If Misters Sikara and Cossa can tie up matters in the Commonwealth courts long enough, we'll have enough money to buy you out.” Jani avoided looking John in the eye. “Hell, Elyas already considers us an autonomous entity. We could just declare that the Commonwealth has no jurisdiction and nationalize you now.”

Cossa's stylus stopped in mid-word. “That's actually…” His brow arched. “It's a ballsy move—”

“That would get quashed by any—” Sikara tapped his
chin with his fist. “The decision concerning jurisdiction would likely end up in the Commonwealth Court.”

“If a procolonial autonomy figure like Yevgeny Scriabin won the prime ministry and packed the bench with like minds?” Jani finally looked at John, to find him glaring at her, gripping his couch cushion in a white-knuckled clench.

“Not often the patients wind up buying the hospital,” said Cossa, driving in the knife just a little deeper.

Sikara looked from John to Jani, and cleared his throat. “I won't ask. It's none of my business
yet.
I will only say that I do not handle divorces and have no intention of starting now.” He grew quiet, his lawyer brain already mulling the possibilities. “That being said, my partner and I will evaluate your overall situation. Whatever our decision, Mister Brondt may feel free to call on us at any time during your absence.”

Jani looked at Dieter, who nodded. “We have the wherewithal to retain you.”

John thumped his thigh with his fist. “Does the term ‘conflict of interest' enter into this anywhere?”

Sikara's chin came up. “We are looking after your interests, John, in a manner that isn't so dependent on the outcome of a Chicago-run general election. If your share of Neoclona was successfully nationalized, you'd retain control of all research and medical facilities, and Thalassa would begin to acquire some sort of…national identity, for want of a better term.” He looked to Jani for confirmation, and frowned when she took her time nodding her reply. “You would likely lose some control of operations and decisions concerning expansion and whatnot, but it would beat the hell out of two percent, give us your ball, and go home. If I were you, I wouldn't dismiss it out of hand.”

Dieter stood and clapped his hands silently, a
let's go
gesture that implied how eager he was to flee the room. “I can give you a quick tour of our offices on your way out. We have a retired attorney and a paralegal organizing matters.”

“Yes, I'd like that.” Cossa stood, stuffing his board in his
bag as he nodded to John and Jani, then hurried along, as eager as Dieter to exit stage left.

“I'll catch you up in a moment, James.” Sikara stood. “Safe journey to you both.” He held out his hand to John, who shook it eventually, then bowed to Jani. “As I stated before, what's going on between you isn't yet my business. I would prefer it remain that way. Remember that you're on the same side. We will be blazing new legal trails here, and Chicago will throw every mud-coated roadblock in our path that they can devise. A united front is essential if we are to succeed.” He straightened his jacket, adjusted the fan fold of his pocket square. “It is about control, in my experience. The money loses meaning—a fight over seashells could prove as deadly.” He started after Dieter and Cossa. “When in doubt, try acting as adults. And remember what you're working toward.”

John waited until the man was out of earshot. “And I thought Val was a sandbagger.”

“I want this place protected. These people.” Jani heard the rise of voices behind her, and turned to the courtyard to find it filling. Those who sat at tables stood and looked toward the demiroom, while the overflow filled the perimeter of the space. “If it's a choice between your pride and their lives, it's not really a choice, is it?”

“I am not going to let you steal my life's work.”

“Who's stealing? You'll still have it. You'll still be able to work, but you'll be working for Thalassa, not Neoclona. Does the name change matter that much to you?” She started toward the courtyard, then stopped and looked back to John. “If it does, what the hell are you doing here?” She left him smoldering and entered the courtyard to find that someone had already set out an empty crate for her to use as a dais. She stepped atop it and faced the crowd. Sensed their confusion and the questions and, most strongly, their fear.

“I'm guessing from the looks on your faces that you've heard a little and inferred a lot.” Jani paused, tried to grab words out of the air, and decided the hell with it. Words were not her gift. All she could think of to say was the bare truth,
and bare truth stabbed like blades. “Ní Tsecha was assassinated. We don't know who did it. No group or individual has yet claimed responsibility. We'll find them. That's all I can say.” She felt the pressure of shocked stares, unspoken questions, the first glimmers of anger.
Stay with me, please.
She put her hands in her pockets, then took them out. Looked toward the upper floors and saw more Thalassans standing at the walkway railings, watching her.

“Tonight, Doctor Shroud and I will be leaving for Shèrá as part of a funeral delegation. We will be taking ní Tsecha's soul home.” Jani pulled in a shaky breath. “The fact of the assassination is not yet common knowledge. It will disseminate over the next few days, and the reaction will be swift and profound. Only humanish assassinate. The worldskein will blame the Commonwealth, and even though Morden nìRau Cèel cast out ní Tsecha and declared him Haárin, he will still proclaim grievous injury. He—” She stopped herself. Now wasn't the time for a history lesson, even though part of the history was hers. “What I'm trying to say is that things will become very difficult. Elyans may pull away from us. The Haárin may, as well. Sides will be taken, and we straddle the line here.” She sensed the further quieting as the realization settled over them. The silencing of the silence.

“Questions?” Jani fielded shock, the loss for words she knew all too well. “Talk to me, to Doctor Shroud. To Dieter Brondt, who will serve in my absence. Talk to one another.” She started to step down from the crate, then stopped. Every speech needed an ending, and she'd never possessed the knack for those. “We have sustained a great loss. But we will survive it, and grow, and thrive. We will do it in Tsecha's name, and in spite of those who would stop us.” She stepped down, and soon found herself surrounded, the questions battering like shot.
How? What?

Why?

She answered as best she could. Tried to comfort, although she had never possessed the knack for that, either.
Looked past the bodies that crowded her, and saw John doing the same on the other side of the courtyard.

Then someone handed her coffee, and someone else led her to a seat, and they sat and talked some more and tried to eat and she wondered if maybe, just maybe, they would be able to—

“Hey!”