Endgame (37 page)

For a time it seemed as though he hadn't heard. Then came the voice, from twenty years away. “They keep me posted, like old friends. I hear Ebben scream like she did when she saw the others die and realized she was next. I see the look on her face when I aimed the long-range at her. I feel the pounding of my heart, the certainty that if I let her get away, she'd flee to her friends, save herself by giving Roshi and the rest of us away.” He doffed his lid, scratched his head, set it back on. “I relive it all as if it was yesterday.”

“And you likely always will.” Jani pressed a hand to her mended stomach. No pain, only pressure, as through someone had placed a foot on her diaphragm and pressed down. “If you hadn't changed, you wouldn't see them. They'll always be there to remind you of how far you've come.”

Niall stared straight ahead, a still image captured in a moment of tension. Not a twitch, not even the flicker of an eyelid, broke the stasis.

Then, after a few moments, movement, his nostrils narrowing as he snorted. “You really believe that?” He stood,
straightening the line of his tunic with his free hand. “I've heard lines of bull from the psychs before, but I think you just won the prize.” He edged away from her, one slow step after another, toward the charge-station array. “What's your default?”

Jani stood and walked after him, slowing every so often as her heart skipped. “There's a reason why we're friends.”

“You? A remorseless bastard?” Niall glanced back at her, then shook his head. “You were born with the tools. If Ebben and the others had bolted on you, you'd never have—” He stopped in front of the charge-stations, reduced to shadowed shape by the darkness. “You never panicked in your life.”

“How do you know?”

“Because you'd have told me. Sometime, during one of our bull sessions, you'd have dropped a hint.” Niall touched the corner of one of the stations, then pulled back as though it burned. “What do you see, now that you're here? What do you remember?” His voice came soft, but there was an undercurrent. A plea for parity, for a weakness she could share.

Jani sniffed the Rauta Shèràa night air, tinged with dampness and city smells. Not baked. Not light. Not as clean as the desert. “It's like in the dreams. The openings to the Laumrau tents close like a self-sealing envelope, and the flaps make a ripping sound if you yank them apart too quickly. The tent material itself looks flimsy, like rotted silk, but it's stronger than it looks.” She stared down at the 'stick in her hand, dose ring still indicating three-quarters full. Felt a tap on her arm, saw Niall's extended hand, and passed it off with a grateful nod. “When I reached the first tent, I tried shooting through it. But it was coated with barrier—don't ask me why I didn't assume it would be coated with barrier, I just didn't—and the charge dissipated across the surface.” She moved her feet. Knew she stood on cement, yet felt sand instead. Shifting sand. “I panicked then. I knew whoever was inside had heard the shooter. That those in the surrounding tents heard it as well.” Her heart tripped, and she blamed nicotine, the injury.
“I had resigned myself to death when I walked down the dune toward the encampment, but part of me wasn't ready to go. I grabbed the edge of the flap and yanked it back—” She tried to mime the motion until the grip of her incision stopped her. “—heard that ripping sound. A female sat at her altar table. She looked up when she heard me. Set down her fork. And just stared.” Her hand came up, fingers closing around a nonexistent weapon. “She never moved, not even when she saw the shooter.” She turned to Niall to find him watching her wide-eyed, 'stick stalled halfway to his mouth. “I know they heard me. They had to have—”

Niall let his arm drop. “What?”

“It was like fish in a barrel.” Jani felt sweat bead on her temple and brushed it away. “Why didn't one of them try to stop me? There were twenty-six of them and one of me. They must have heard. They must have known what was going on. And rather than commit sacrilege by interrupting their sacrament, they remained in their tents, and let me slaughter them.” She walked to the nearest charge station and leaned against it. “I wonder sometimes whether they wanted to die. Whether the enormity of their sins had borne down upon them, and they decided en masse that death was better than going on as they were.”

“Suicide by homicide?” Niall paced a tight circle. “I think that's a stretch, but I'm human. We've a tradition of fighting to live.” His voice had lightened now that they'd moved on to her nightmare. “I think they froze. They didn't expect a human to come into their camp and attack them, and when they heard it happening, they didn't take it for what it was.” He snorted again. “Death by culture clash. The history pages are filled. I blame the bornsect mind-set. Damned lockstep thinking. If they'd had even one Dathim Naré in that encampment, you'd have been dead before you reached the first tent.” He spun on his heel to face her and shook a finger under her nose. “Don't try to slap a coward label on yourself, Jani Kilian, because I won't let you. If just one of them had woken the hell up and realized what was happening, you
wouldn't be standing here now questioning yourself. The potential for death was there.” He shook his head in disgust. “Fish in a barrel, my ass.”

Jani smiled. “That's our job, I guess. Prop up one another every so often. Shake some sense.”

“You were here for me tonight. I'll be there for you tomorrow.” Niall held his head high as he started again to pace, touching one of the stations each time he passed. Then he stopped and his shoulders sagged. “It won't ever go away?”

“I don't think so.”

“Ah, well.” Niall took a step closer. The light from a safety illumin fell across his face, revealing the greyness, the sheen of sweat. “Maybe it's worth it, if only to watch you try to smoke.” He smiled. Walked to one of the charge-stations and leaned against it. “So what's next for the team? Release the old bird's soul at Temple? Allow him his rest?”

“In a few days.” Jani leaned against another of the stations, savored the machine warmth. “Meva and I are planning something.”

“Why does that phrase strike fear in my heart?” Niall looked around for a moment, then gestured to her. “Come on, gel. I'll walk you back. Some of us need our sleep.”

“They've been ferrying idomeni out there since the ceremony was announced early yesterday. Last estimates were upward of two million. Could be two and a half to three by the time we get out there. The logistics are staggering.” Niall took a swallow of coffee, then smacked his lips. “You've been taking lessons from Shroud. This stuff really could wake the dead.”

“Flattery will get you a refill.” Val topped off Niall's mug, then hovered over Jani, carafe at the ready. “What's wrong with it?”

Jani set down her still full cup. Breakfast in the kitchen of Val's guesthouse had commenced a few minutes before, after hurried awakenings and conferencing with ministers and admirals general and quick showers. “Stomach's a little knotty.” She jerked her chin at Niall. “He's trying to scare me.”

“Don't get me hopes up, gel. It'll go to me head and there'll be no dealing with me.” Niall moved from caffeine to sugar and carbohydrates, spreading a slice of toast with marmalade, then folding it over and dunking it in his coffee. “They've also set up displays in Temple and major squares. Other cities. Worldskeinwide transmission. We won't even talk about the Commonwealth networks.”

“Good.
Don't
.” Jani took a lemon wedge from a plate of garnishes and bit into it.

Val stifled a yawn, then sat next to Jani and eyed her with professional calculation gone a bit bleary around the edges. “You know how John and I feel about this?”

“I know.” Jani took up her fork and picked over her food, forcing down some fried meat, some scrambled eggs. Protein seemed the best bet, given what her day held in store. “But Meva and I talked about it. Then she discussed it with some of the propitiators she knew at Temple, and they concluded that while there's no real precedent, it's theologically sound.” She smashed an overcrisp rasher of bacon into bits, then set down her fork. “He and I talked about it once, for some reason I can't remember. If I ever went back, what could I do in order to…restore balance?” She held out her right hand and studied her redstone ring. The one Tsecha had given her when she graduated the Academy. The one that hadn't fit until she'd begun to hybridize and her fingers thinned.

“We could've delayed this, you know.” Niall's verve ebbed, replaced by his more usual coiled spring wariness. “I could've taken you out there beforehand, let you see the place. Get a sense of it.”

“It wouldn't have helped.” Jani pushed away from the table and stood, her propitiator's robe falling around her knees, the red-slashed sleeves settling past her wrists. “I could visit it beforehand a hundred times, and it wouldn't help.” She sniffed, smelled clear air and heat instead of coffee and toast, then looked down at Niall to find him studying her, eyes a little too shiny for comfort.

“We'd better—” He looked away, cleared his throat. “We've got a long ride ahead of us. We'd better leave.” He picked up his brimmed lid from its resting place on the spare chair and put it on, squaring the angle as always by running his thumbs and forefingers along the edge of the brim. “I'll wait by the skimmer.” He strode out the kitchen door without a backward glance, a rough-edged vision in tan and white.

“He does get emotional, our Niall. Especially where you're concerned.” Val took a last swallow of coffee, then pushed back his chair and rose with obvious reluctance.
“I visited Knevçet Shèràa once. You were still in induced coma, and John and I weren't sure—” He inhaled shakily. “I wanted to see the place for myself. I'd heard rumors enough, and I wanted to see.” As though in deference to the upcoming ceremony, he had donned a daysuit in dark cream, the jacket's lapels a fair match for an overrobe's shawl collar. “I couldn't get within ten kilometers of the place. The Vynshà had taken over that area, and they'd installed perimeter patrols. A gate with armed sentries.”

“Tsecha wasn't sure when they razed the hospital. He didn't think it happened until after he'd been put under house arrest, but no one would tell him anything and he could never find the records of the destruction.” Jani saw Tsecha in her mind's eye, overrobe billowing as he paced around her and ranted over Temple perfidy. “He always felt that they should have kept it open, as a reminder.” She heard his voice in her head, the sibilant rise and fall, only to have it silenced when Val touched her arm.

“Let's go.” He linked his arm with hers and walked with her into the morning.

 

“They'll kill you if you go out there, Captain. You know they will.”

“They're at sacrament, Borgie. They don't even have any guards posted.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Just go back inside. Wait until I return. Then we'll go from there.”

 

“No need for you to get out.” Niall steered the skimmer into the embassy drive. “We just need to join up with the ministerial cavalcade so that we all leave at the same time.” He tapped the dashboard input, then studied the display. “Then it's on to the enclave—Feyó's skimmer is waiting just inside the gate. It will pull in behind and follow us to the destination, of course.
Protocol
.” He drawled the word as though it were a particularly foul descriptor.

“Knevçet Shèràa.” Jani caught his gaze in the rearview. “You can say it, Niall. It's all right.”

“I know that.” Niall reddened, as he did whenever he was caught being delicate. He then disembarked to talk to Ulanova's driver, which left the vehicle unguarded.

Jani turned to Val. “Do you think—” She was interrupted by a rap on the window, and lowered it.

“Hello.” Lucien looked in, stepping back a little as soon as he spotted Val.

Jani ignored Val's mutter. “You driving, as well?”

“Mako and Burkett. The cabin barrier will go up as soon as we set out, and I'll be left with my own thoughts for company.” Lucien looked back toward the Service triple-length, near which the two men and various aides had already gathered. “I better go.” He reached in and took hold of Jani's hand. “
Bonne chance.”
He brought it to his lips and kissed it hard, then trotted back to his post.

“Some of us have all the luck.” Val sniffed. “I don't hold grudges. Please don't give it a second thought.”

Jani surveyed the yard and spotted Scriabin standing by his own triple-length, talking to an aide. “I have some unfinished business to attend to.” She felt Val's hand close over her own, a not so subtle attempt at restraint. “I'll just be a minute.” She shook off his hold, pushing up the gullwing and exiting the skimmer.

Scriabin actually brightened when he saw Jani approach. “Good morning! I hope that you're—”

“A word, please.” Jani ignored his proffered hand, saw the light in his eyes flicker.

“Zhenya?”

Jani and Scriabin both turned just as Anais Ulanova emerged from the passenger cabin of Scriabin's skimmer.

“We'll be leaving in a few minutes.” She glared at Jani, but this time her hatred was tempered by uncertainty. Fear. A hint of panic. “There is something I wish to discuss with you on the way to the ceremony.” She focused on her nephew, her voice ripe with conciliatory lilt. “It may take some time.”

Scriabin studied his aunt for a few moments, then shook his head. “Oh, Ani.” He pressed a hand to his forehead, then wiped it down his face. “What have you done now?” He looked past her to the center of the drive, and swore.

Jani followed Scriabin's glower. To her complete lack of surprise, she saw Lucien standing beside Mako's skimmer, watching them. Once again, hours of discussion whittled down to words left unspoken, to scant expressions. To Lucien's bland disregard as he met Ulanova's pleading eye, and the warm smile when he looked at Jani. To the way Ulanova's face paled as the realization hit home that her lover had betrayed her.

“I'll be a few minutes.” Scriabin shot his cuffs. “I need to speak with ná Kièrshia now.” No “Tyotya.” No patient smile of Familial duty. Only the dead voice and cold eye of a man who had reached his limit.

Ulanova held out a hand to him. “Zhenya, I—”

“Get in the skimmer.”

Ulanova flinched. Then she lowered her hand and, with a last sullen scowl at Jani, did as she was told.

Scriabin waited until an aide slammed the skimmer door closed. “I don't want to hear what you have to tell me, do I?” Weariness had replaced anger now, his normally powerful voice emerging weak. Defeated.

“I'll be brief.” Jani led him to the small side yard, where the small fountain burbled just loudly enough. “The time wasn't right before to discuss this. It isn't any better now, but the way things are going, there may not be a good time for months.” She picked up a handful of gravel from a hammered bowl and started flicking the stones one at a time into the water. “Anais sent Lucien to Elyas to kill me.” She surprised herself with her casual tone.
Nothing to see here—move along. Happens every day.
“She convinced Mako that he and I were still close, that he'd make a useful…maybe ‘spy' is too harsh a word. Maybe ‘pair of eyes' will suffice.” She flicked stones into the water with the beat of her words.
Plink—plink—plink—
“But the fact was, she felt Feyó more amenable and preferred the idea of having her in charge of
Thalassa. My dominance would garner her nothing. She knew I didn't trust her. Knew that if I had anything to say, she'd wind up on the sidelines.”

Scriabin stood rigid, and stared at the stone wall in front of him. “If you heard this from Pascal—”

“He has this habit of telling me the truth.” Jani tossed another pebble.
Plink.
“A choice between believing him or your
tyotya
is no choice at all.” She recalled Mako's words.
You reach a certain level…you assume that some might prefer if you did not exist.

“I don't—” Scriabin pulled a handkerchief from inside his sleeve and wiped his forehead. “I will do a little digging on my own, if you don't mind. Some things one must confirm for oneself, however much one trusts the messenger.” He shook out the embroidered cloth, then folded it into a neat square. “I may…talk to Pascal, just to gather a few details.” He glanced at Jani sidelong, his discomfort coating him like his sweat. “In any event, she won't…she won't bother you again.”

“No. She won't.” Jani tossed the last few pebbles into the water. “I should mention that Thalassa plans to nationalize John's share of Neoclona. It'll settle the question of ownership once and for all, and the income should help finance our expansion.”

“I daresay.” Scriabin paused to lick his lips. “I expect you would like assurance of my and Minister Ulanova's support for this, election win or not.” He sighed heavily. He knew blackmail when he heard it, and who to thank for the privilege.

“I want the takeover to happen, and Chicago to stay out of the way.” Jani brushed off her hands. “Financial support would be appreciated as well, as a show of good faith.”
Because there's a GateWay to be considered, and millions of new colonists, and the security of one-quarter of your remaining Commonwealth.
A new Oligarch, eager to mend fences with disenfranchised Haárin. She didn't say any of that aloud, of course, because she knew she didn't have to. Scriabin was an old hand—he could do the math in his head.

“We should get going.” Jani left him by the water and returned to her skimmer, where she found Niall waiting.

He pulled open her door. Offered her his hand for support. “Took a little break to stretch our legs and read someone the Riot Act, did we?”

“However did you guess?” Jani brushed off Val's questioning stare. “Let's go.”

 

Her blood flowed down her arm, as warm as the wind, and she sopped it with strips of shop cloth that she'd worked into a braid. Then she tied the braid to a stake and drove the stake into the ground. According to an ancient Vynshà ritual, she had just taken her soul from her body and pinned it in place. Preserved it from whatever desperate act her now godless body intended to perform.

 

“I've never seen the streets this empty.” Val stared out his window, shook his head. “Not even during the last bombing forays.” He glanced at Jani. “I won't ask if you're nervous.”

“It's not like I'm giving a speech.” She tried to smile, but the effort made her face ache. “I'm numb.” Her heart thudded as the entry to the Haárin enclave came into view and Feyó's skimmer appeared at the gate.

“What does he think of all this?” Val glanced toward the sky. “Wherever he is, in whatever form. What might he be thinking?”

“That it all ended up pretty much like he predicted it would.” Jani watched one of Meva's suborns close the doors to a skimvan, and knew it contained the reliquary. “That he won.”

Val lay his head back and stared through the curved window at the cloudless sky. “You could be right.”

Jani turned to track the van as they passed it, as it floated out onto the road and slowly accelerated after them, like a shark chasing down its prey.

You won,
inshah. She imagined a loud laugh, a loose-limbed walk and shining auric eyes.

 

Rauta Shèràa diminished as cities always did, from center to various sections and quarters to the outskirts, until it receded, shortened, faded into the horizon behind them. Thirty minutes passed, and the land rolled and roughened, stone in white and brown and coral pink dotted with grey-green scrub. An hour passed, and even that fell away, until all that remained were the outcroppings and the dunes and the high blue milky sky.

So where are the crowds?
Jani was about to rib Niall that his sources had miscalculated by a factor of ten or more when they passed over a rocky ridge and into the shallow bowl that held the sands of light's weeping. She saw them then, seemingly as numerous as grains of sand, held back from the center of the bowl by low barriers and patrols of mixed humanish and idomeni security. A sea of faces—the true meaning of that hackneyed phrase was driven home with a hammer as in every direction she looked idomeni filled her view.