Endgame (20 page)

—get through this without a—

“Fight!” Dieter hurtled past her, dodging around tables toward the shadowed far end of the courtyard.

Five minutes.
Jani pushed back from the table, sending her chair flying, and took off after him.
We lasted five fucking minutes!
She slid to a stop behind him as he struggled to push into the scrum. Three bodies, maybe four, a punching, kicking, biting mass of bright clothes and fists and elbows.

“Knock it off!”
Dieter deflected a blow to his chin, grabbed the back of a collar and yanked. “
Break it up now!”

Jani circled to the other side. Grabbed the back of a shirt, a handful of hair. Took a wild punch to the breast and struck back hard, heard the howl and rode it, felt the sensations rise. The cold burn of the flesh. The song in the blood. Brought back her fist again and—

“Jani?” Dieter shouted from the other side of the pile. “Jani!”

—lashed out, connected, felt the blessed warmth spatter across her skin. Caught hold of cloth and hair and pulled, lifted a body clean and slammed it against the stone wall. Heard the
hmph
of expelled air, the wheezing intake of breath, a curse. Caught a fist with the flat of her hand.

Recognized the face through the rage and the red.

“Do you want to fight me, Jemmie?” She saw the answer in the young male's widening eyes. That she was the Kilian of Knevçet Shèràa, and of other things whispered of, but not known for sure. That she leaned against him with all her weight, one arm braced across his shoulders, a knee against his leg and a fist in front of his balls, and that whatever advantage he'd enjoyed due to age or anger or strength, he'd just lost it.

Jemmie shook his head as he tried to wriggle out from under. “You said—humanish assassinate. Humanish killed ní Tsecha!” He struggled to point with an arm immobilized by her pressure on his shoulder. “He's humanish!” He twitched his hand toward another young male who Dieter worked to free from the mess.

“That's
Bryan
.” Jani paused, put her head back, breathed. “Are you saying that Bryan killed ní Tsecha?” She watched the two look at one another, then away.
Bryan and Jemmie.
They'd arrived at about the same time, did the program together. Worked in the greenhouses. Together. “You've both been here three months. At this point, he's only a little more humanish than you. You're practically the same.” She edged back, let Jemmie step away from the wall. “If you're thinking of telling me that it makes a difference that he began as humanish and you began as Haárin, I would beg you to reconsider your argument. You both chose to be made Thalassan, and you did so for a reason. Have you forgotten what it was?” She gave Jemmie's bright blue shirt and aqua trousers a once-over. “Or did you just do it for the clothes?” She watched Jemmie's face redden as the nervous laughter spread through the crowd of onlookers.
Humanish enough to be embarrassed.
Well, that was a start.

“You'll do nothing.”

Jani looked around to find the third member of the scrum looking up at her from the floor. One eye had already swelled closed and his lip glistened raw red.
Owen.
He'd come with his father. They'd been there from the start.

“You're up against the Commonwealth, and their Families, and their money.” Owen coughed, spit blood and phlegm. “They'll hide whoever did it, and if you fight them, they'll crush you.”

Jani stood over him silently, staring him down until he broke contact and hung his head. Then she held out her hand, waited until he took it, and pulled him to his feet. “Humanish or Haárin—it's all the same in this. We will be questioning Haárin who were in the vicinity at the time we believe
the assassin passed through Elyas Station. To see if they saw
anything,
if they know
anything
.” She looked at each of the fighters in turn, then at the rest of the crowd.

“We are working together in this, ná Feyó and ná Meva and I. Colonel Pierce. Governor Markos. The colony of Elyas, the Haárin enclave and Thalassa.” She shook her head. “If ní Tsecha could see you now, what would he say? You know what he would say, and he'd be a hell of a lot less diplomatic than I am.” She stepped over blood-smeared flagstones on her way back to the central courtyard. “Why are we here? Because some of us were ill, and the blending saved us. Because some of us believe that the blending is the future. Because we want to live longer and watch the changes and become that which we are meant to be.” She turned back to the three chastened brawlers, stopping them in their tracks. “Don't ever do this again!” Then she walked back to her table and her cold coffee. Sat down and breathed slowly and tried to silence the pounding in her head.

“You're the one who did the number on Owen's lip. That's two in less than a day. Thanks for the assistance, but from now on, let me break up the fights.” Dieter sat across from her, a mug of tea in hand. “I left them in the care of angry home-parents.” He slid back the lid of a sugar bowl and plucked a couple of cubes, dropping them into his tea. “And so it begins.”

“Might be a good idea to introduce
à lérine
. It'll help release the steam.” Jani drank her coffee, and wondered if it would keep her awake until she boarded the shuttle. “We were bound to need it eventually.”

“Let them challenge one another?” Dieter slumped and stared at her. “We'll spend the next three weeks hosing the blood out of here.”

“I don't see an alternative.” Jani picked out a roll from the breadbasket, tore off a chunk and dredged it through a dish of herbed oil. “The idomeni in them will crave the structure. And it will prepare them in case any of the Elyan Haárin decide to express their opinion and start offering challenges.”
She tasted mild grassiness and wished it would burn, blister, keep her awake. “Talk to Dathim. He can recommend some friendly Haárin who can serve as trainers. I guarantee they won't put up with any crap.”

Dieter drummed his fingers along the side of his cup. “Someone could die.”

“Not likely, given we're right atop a damned clinic.” Jani fielded Dieter's stare. “I doubt anyone is going to assassinate one of them.” Another chunk of bread. More oil. “We've reached the one-day-at-a-time stage. Start with some organized violence, and see how it goes.” She looked up at the skylight, the sun already grazing the edge as departure time grew closer. “Forgive me for leaving you with this, but I have no choice.”

Dieter sipped. Shrugged. “There will be washouts, as in any trial by fire. Some may need to return for medical reasons, and maybe they'll eventually see sense. The rest of us should come through stronger, more united.” He forced a smile. “Your home will be here when you return.” Then he looked past Jani and the smile wavered. “Pierce.”

“Brondt.” Niall dragged a chair next to Jani and sat. “I seem to have walked into the middle of something.” He looked across the courtyard to the scene of the fight, where the guilty parties mopped the floor under the watchful eye of Owen's father. “I wanted to let you know the details so far.”

“Snapping Family fingers?” Jani managed a grin.

“Shut up.” Niall staged his own raid of the breadbasket. “Shuttle services to Elyas Station are being provided by Exterior, but you'll travel as far as Guernsey on a Commerce cruiser, the
Madelaine.
Pascal and I and a few other of my staff will be claiming billet privileges on both your shuttle and your ship. After we hit Guernsey, it will be our turn. We'll be giving you a ride as far as treaty allows. Then it's back to the
Madelaine
for the balance of the journey to Rauta Shèràa.”

“A Service vessel?” Dieter's brow arched.

“A carrier. The
CSS
Viktor Ulanov
, who history indicates
wasn't the worst Prime Minister we ever had, and who was less of a bastard than others of his family, small
f
.” Niall smeared butter on black bread, then swiped a cup from a nearby place setting and filled it from a carafe. “Roshi's orders.”

Jani calculated message central transmit times in her head. “He can't have received your messages already.”

“He can when he's already halfway here.” Niall grabbed another slice of bread, then offered a grinning “thank you” to a young female who slipped him a plate of ham. “He was already on his way out here to assess the Fort Karistos situation personally. He'll reach Guernsey about a week before we do.” He folded the meat into the bread and dredged it all through a dish of hot mustard. “It's the general feeling that it's the best way to protect the embassy. Let Cèel see a little of what we have.” He took a bite of his sandwich, nodding as he chewed.

Dieter tossed back the last of his tea, then stood. “Your gear won't pack itself.” He circled the table and headed for the stairway.

“Don't forget the small clothes.” Jani smiled as he turned and shook his finger at her.

“Think you're up to it?” Niall refilled his cup, then scanned the table for something else to eat.

Jani didn't have to ask what he referred to.
Rauta Shèràa in our sights.
She twitched a shoulder. “You?”

“We'll find out, won't we?” The filtered sunlight struck the side of his face, highlighting a throbbing vein and a bunched jaw muscle. “Sleeping well?” He didn't wait for an answer. “Might've been better for your overall health if you'd avoided the spat with your medical team.”

“It was more than a spat.” Jani broke off crumbs of bread and tossed them into the oil dish.

“I know. Pascal filled me in. I'm having a hard time adjusting to receiving my updates from him.” Niall touched his lower lip. “I did notice a spot of imperfection on that face you seem to think so much of.” He paused. “So why'd you hit him?”

Jani dropped the last chunk of bread into the oil. “Can I just say that he got on my nerves and leave it at that?”

“Much as I'd like to believe you've finally come to your senses where he's concerned, no.” Niall gave up the hunt for further sustenance and dug out his 'sticks. “Like I said before, he thinks they didn't tell me that Tsecha was assassinated because they thought I'd tell you. Why would that worry them?” He exhaled twin streams of smoke, watched it drift upward. “Of course you'd be upset. And you'd want to find out who did it. Not really a stretch. Did they think you'd try to take over the investigation? I thought you were remarkably well-behaved in the library.” He set his nicstick case spinning on the tabletop, and it flashed back sunlight like a beacon. “Pascal said he told you to let a pro handle it.”

Jani laid back her head. Sleep called again, and she struggled to ignore it. “Handle what?”

Niall swept his case off the table and back into his pocket. “It's bad enough adjusting to working with Pretty Boy. What's bothering me even more is that I find myself agreeing with him. Half the Outer Circle is on this case, Jan. Leave them to it. Let the courts, or a discreet professional, take care of the killer.” His timepiece beeped and he grumbled. “Can I use your comroom? I need to send Roshi an update. Take what I said to heart, please?” He made as if to rise, then sat back slowly. “Please?”

Jani watched him slump, the energy seep away, until he looked as tired as she felt. “Niall?”

He dropped his spent 'stick in a refuse dish and watched the last curls of smoke. “You first.”

Jani waited, while around her Thalassans talked and tried to laugh. “I'm caught in a sandstorm. It buries me.”

Niall nodded. “My long-range misfires, blows a hole in my chest. I look down, and I can see my heart beating. Then it stops.” He stood. “First one in months. Maybe I'm not so sorry that Pretty Boy woke me up early this morning after all.”

“You don't have to go.”

“You're going.”

“I don't have a choice.”

“Neither do I, gel. If we need to pick embassy personnel off the rooftops, I have to be there.” Niall put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “Do things right this time.” He released her. “See you on the tarmac.”

“Yeah.” Jani watched him maneuver across the courtyard to the lift and step aboard the cabin. Watched the doors close. “This time.” She finished her coffee and headed for her room.

Packing went quickly. Anything that she had left behind in John's suite was retrieved by a solemn Dieter, who considered all the diplomatic possibilities and made sure that the trouser suits outnumbered the coveralls, then added a few gowns to the mix as well. That task completed, they adjourned to the offices, where Jani affixed signatures, discussed contingencies, and wrote the letter formally requesting that the firm of Sikara and Cossa act on the enclave's behalf “in any and all legal matters.”

The sun had begun its downward trek as she walked out to the beach. Imprinted the view in her mind in case she never saw it again. After a time, she heard the footfall behind her. The weighty quiet. “He loved it here.”

Dathim drew up beside her. “We have put him aboard our shuttle. We leave at sunset. Feyó says little, so Meva speaks for both. She does that well.” He wore brilliant green and yellow, his ears arrayed with small hoops of gold, his brown hair freshly shorn. “You said you would show his killer the meaning of that which they did.” He looked down at her, eyes gleaming in the fading light. “You will kill them.”

“Yes.” Jani saw a glimmer in the distance, growing larger with the passing seconds. The Exterior shuttle, approaching at speed. “Are you going to try to talk me out of it, too?”

Dathim looked back out to the water. The lion, ever quiet, ever watchful. “No.”

“Glories of the ship's day to you.”

Rilas looked up from her solitary game of pattern stones to find another of the passengers standing before her table. A female, attired in the most seemly manner. Hair braided in a breeder's fringe. Trousers, shirt, and overrobe in shades of palest green and sand.

The female bared her teeth, and kept her eyes averted. “I am ná Bolan Thea.” She spoke Vynshàrau Haárin laced with gesture that was almost bornsect in its complexity. “You wish an opponent?”

“I—” Rilas looked down at her stones. They had transitioned to yellow and green spirals, and she had only three stones left to align to complete the required arrangement when ná Bolan interrupted. Now, as she watched, the pattern altered to cross-hatching lines. She had been so close—

“I have lost you your game!” Ná Bolan crossed her right arm over her chest, a most formal gesture of apology.

“Such is not important.” Rilas cast a final look at the stones before sweeping them off the table and into her cup. “I am ná Nahin Sela, and I do wish discourse. Since we departed Elyas Station, I have spoken to no other passengers.” She looked about the games room, empty but for herself and
ná Bolan. “One ship-cycle past, yet all still remain in their rooms.” She handed the other female the cup, then smoothed the table covering so the stones would tumble cleanly and lay well.

“They pray. They send transmissions to the worldskein.” Ná Bolan shook the cup and cast the stones. “Ní Tsecha Egri is dead, and they ponder that which comes after.” The polished rounds scattered across the table surface, the first pattern developing almost immediately. Left-hand spirals, a difficult design to manipulate.

Ponder?
Rilas watched her new opponent arrange the stones, hands moving with a quickness that rivaled her own. “They worry greatly, I most believe. Many considered ní Tsecha as their propitiator.”

“I did not.” Ná Bolan completed her arrangement just as the spirals altered direction “What status had he, the first Chief Propitiator to be made Haárin? He was anathema.” She then used her handheld to record her points and her time. “NìaRauta Sànalàn is my propitiator.”

Rilas fought the desire to bare her teeth as she collected the stones into her cup and shook them. So good after so long, to hear the words of a godly Haárin.

She cast her stones. X marks. The simplest design. She bared her teeth and arranged the pattern, hands moving as quickly as they had when she assembled her rifle. “I have won this round!” She activated her own handheld and entered her scores. “We shall play a series—”

“Ná Nahin?”

Rilas looked up to find a ship's security dominant standing before her.

“Glories of the ship's day to you.” He bared his teeth. “You will accompany me, please, to the security workroom.” He stepped back from the table, then paused, waiting.

 

“Detained?” Rilas leaned against the high seat the dominant had offered her. “There are issues with my documents? With the business I performed in Karistos?”

The dominant did not respond, but wrote a note on a piece of parchment with an inking stylus. As the other dominants on this Sìah Haárin cruiser, he dressed much as a humanish. Trousers and shirt of dark green, the uniform color of the ship. Around his neck, a strip of knotted cloth decorated with blue and green whorls. He wore his brown hair clipped short, which left visible the silver hoops that arrayed both earlobes from top to bottom.

Unseemly.
But security just the same, which meant that she needed to answer all questions and appear cooperative at all times. Even the godly act of disputation would be forbidden her, since Haárin who worked too long with humanish saw such as an attempt to evade and obstruct rather than as the blessed discourse that it was.

Rilas tried to climb onto the seat, but one of its legs proved shorter than the other three, which sent it tipping to the side each time she set her weight upon it.
Ungodly.
The male sought to disquiet her with his silences and his broken furniture, this she knew as surely as she knew her robes and her rings. She had spent season after season training against such. It could not be unexpected.

As though he had heard her thoughts through the air, the dominant stopped writing. He set down the stylus, then picked a hand light from a tray of writing tools and shone it upon the parchment, setting the inks. Then he sat back, hands clasped before him on the desk. “When we arrive at Guernsey Station, you will present yourself to this office. From here, you will be escorted to the Haárin Trade Board offices located at the station.”

“I ask again, ní—” Rilas checked the front of the male's shirt, then the top of his worktable, in search of a plate or disc bearing his name. She had seen such on the other ship dominants and suborns. Why did he not offer the same information? “Why am I to be detained? Are my documents not in order? Is there a question of my actions on Elyas?”

The male took a documents slipcase from the stack on
the side of his desk, and removed the parchment contained within. “You are a broker of decorative tiles?”

“Yes, ní—” Rilas fought to straighten, to relax her throat and lighten her tone. “Yes. I am a tile broker.”

“How long was your stay in Karistos?”

“Two Elyan days.”

The male nodded, a maddening humanish gesture that could mean anything or nothing. “When we arrive at Guernsey Station, you will be met by ná Calas Pélan, who is security dominant for the station. She will advise you of whatever you are entitled to know. You will be housed in suitable rooms, and communications will be sent from ná Calas's dominant to yours conveying our sorrow at the disorder of this interruption.” His hand paused in its movements. “Who is your dominant, ná Nahin, so that we may process the notification with godly haste?”

Rilas hesitated. Ná Nahin Sela was a tile broker of Rauta Shèràa, and thus had nothing to hide. She needed to behave as such. “My dominant is ní Kolesh Metán. His business rooms are within the Trade Board in Rauta Shèràa.” For this, she and nìRau Cèel had planned. Just as every godly Haárin acknowledged an Haárin dominant, so did she, for each of the Haárin she had ever pretended to be. And just as she had played the part of many Haárin, so had her dominant. The male owed his life and allegiance to nìRau Cèel, as she did. If he were ever contacted, he would respond as was appropriate to his skein and standing.

“We shall initiate contact with ní Kolesh.” The male dragged the input board across the desk until it rested before him. “The Trade Board is well outfitted with rapid communications, thus we will seek to contact him immediately.” Another worthless nod. “We shall address the skein dominant as well, and present our regrets over any delay.”

“The skein dominant?” Rilas felt her heart quicken once more. “Such would be an interference.”

“Such is the most formal of protocols, ná Nahin.” The
male's hands stilled in their labors. “I only seek to placate. To acknowledge your concerns and address them.” He began inputting once more. “If reparations are due the skein of tilemasters, we of the security skein will make them, and truly.”

Rilas watched the male work, and pressed a hand to her stomach, her roiling soul.
I could kill him before he knew I had moved.
And before she had reached her rooms, his skeinsharers would be on her, and all would be as lost.
But all will be as lost in any case, for the dominant of the tilemasters' skein will not know of ní Kolesh.
His name existed in the roll, but he had no formal presence as a tilemaster.
They would seek him and not find him.
“I would request that you delay contacting ní Kolesh until I have done so.”

The male tilted his head to one side, but since he did not alter his posture or raise either hand, it meant only more nothing. “Why, ná Nahin?”

“Because there is discord between ní Kolesh and the tilemaster dominant, unto the edge of challenge, and I most fear that any interruption of business will aggravate this discord further.” Rilas paused to breathe, and felt her heart slow. Yes, if one accepted order, the gods protected one, and granted one cleverness. “Such contact as you wish to make would compel either ní Kolesh or the dominant to offer challenge, and such is not seemly. I as a suborn should not be the one to provoke such. The provocation should originate between them.”

The male sat back and lowered his hands to the desktop. “And if I notify ní Kolesh, he may take the news to the skein dominant himself, and the challenge, if it is offered, may be offered in a more orderly manner.”

“Yes.” Rilas drew herself most straight. “I am gratified that you understand.”

“I understand why I am most content to no longer live within the worldskein.” The male folded his hands one over the other and rested them upon his knee. “I believe that given the tension between ní Kolesh and his dominant, it would be
more fitting if you contacted him yourself. That way, you could explain the circumstances most fully, and determine between you the best method to approach the skein dominant.”

Rilas bared her teeth. Her heart beat as slowly as if she slept. Those who worshipped the beauty of Caith would always be assured a well-illuminated path. “Such a solution would be most gratefully accepted, and truly.”

 

Rilas restrained herself as the communications suborn instructed her on the use of the headpiece and showed her more times than was necessary the order of activation of the various relays and feeds. She knew more of the workings of such communications than any suborn.
But a tile broker would not know of such matters.
Thus did she remain silent, and gesture gratitude when the suborn completed his useless teachings and departed the cubicle.

The security dominant so readily allowed me this.
Rilas stood before the recording screen and prepared herself to speak.
Does he believe that I will say something of interest to him?
She fully expected that he would intercept her message, or perhaps have it relayed directly to his workrooms.
He thinks himself most as humanish.
Crafty. Devious.
Do you believe, you with no name, that you are the only idomeni who is this way?
One of the first lessons nìRau Cèel had taught her was how to adopt humanish ways, to defeat the enemy by becoming as they were.

Across the narrow cubicle, the screen indicators altered in countdown. Rilas stood straight, tilted her head to the right in regard, curved her right hand and brought it level to her chest.

“Ní Kolesh.” She bared her teeth. “Glories of the day to you.” She elevated the pitch of her voice. “With regret I tell you that I will not be able to attend our planned meetings at Phillipa Station. I will be detained at Guernsey Station for an unknown span of time. I am to be asked questions by ná Calas Pélan, security dominant of the Guernsey Haárin. I have not been told that which these questions concern.”
She stopped, held her breath and listened, even though the cubicle was enclosed, soundproofed so that no one outside could hear that which was spoken within.

“Such is all I can say, ní Kolesh, for such is all I know. May our ventures be blessed by Shiou in spite of the efforts of Caith to hamper our path. Blessings of future days grace you, and all who labor for you.” With that, Rilas gestured farewell, and stepped out of range of the display. She had done what she could, which was more than could have been hoped. She had notified nìRau Cèel of where she traveled and who would detain her. She prayed to Caith that by the time she arrived at Guernsey Station, some order would have arrived from Shèrá releasing her from having to respond to ná Calas's questions.
But if such is not forthcoming…
Another method of interference would suffice. She could think of several that would affect an older station such as Guernsey. Provided access to the proper materials, she could construct the devices herself.

Rilas pressed the cubicle door pad, waited for the door to open fully. Stepped out into the corridor and followed the path to the games room. She found ná Bolan Thea still seated in the same chair, executing a complex solo game with three sets of stones.

“Have you committed crimes, ná Nahin? Is that why security dominants demand to speak with you and take you away from your games?” The female bared her teeth. “Nahin the criminal. I shall warn everyone of you.”

Rilas clenched one hand. Imagined Bolan's neck and the blow required to break it, then stopped herself.
Ná Bolan is a godly Haárin, and such is her way
. The combative, challenging way of idomeni. The way she, Imea nìaRauta Rilas, would have recognized had she not been so concerned with humanish-acting security dominants who did not comprehend the custom of nameplates.

“I am indeed a criminal.” Rilas bared her teeth and sat, and prayed to Caith for a disaster to befall Guernsey Station.

 

As the ship-cycle passed, more and more Haárin ventured out of their cabins. Rilas remained among them, and behaved most as that which she was supposed to be. She studied business dispatches prior to mid-afternoon sacrament, participated in movement sessions in the gymnasium and in discussions in the ship's veranda. Through ná Bolan, she met others. They filled the games room and discussed ní Tsecha's death in between the clatter and toss of the stones.

It did not surprise Rilas overmuch when the male security dominant who had questioned her earlier entered the games room. Their ship was small. They would be bound to encounter one another. Even so, she felt relief when he did not acknowledge her and sat at another table.
Nahin the criminal
, ná Bolan announced, and she accepted the mocking with bared teeth. Cast her stones. Arranged her designs. Kept her scores.

Rilas won several rounds, and played until the corridors darkened, a sign of the ship-night. She left the loud ná Bolan and the others behind and returned to her rooms. Entered. Paused in the doorway and studied the worktable, the altar alcove, the laving room and bedroom beyond. Could detect no sign that someone had entered during her absence and searched her belongings, yet trusted the sense she had acquired over many such journeys and accepted that someone had. The male security dominant, possibly. One of his suborns, more likely.