Rules of Conflict (28 page)

“
Kensington
records from the
Kensington
.” Sam
grinned at his bad joke. That made one of them. “Rosters. Shipping records.”

“And the death certificates?”

“Four certificates. Ebben, Unser, Fitzhugh, and Caldor.”

“Major General Talitha Ebben. Base commander, Rauta Shèràa Base.”
Kilian grimaced, as though it hurt to say the name. “Colonel Phil Unser was her
exec. Colonel Matilda Fitzhugh ran the Special Services branch, and reported
directly to Ebben.”

“Wasn’t that unusual?”

“No. Spec Service always reports to the base commander.” Kilian
struggled to her feet and walked unsteadily to the beverage dispenser. “When
did those particular documents go missing?” She chose black coffee, and held
the dispo with both hands as she trod back to her chair.

“I don’t—” Sam paused to drink, and wished he could enjoy the tea
without the questions. “I don’t remember.”

“Do you recall the causes of death?”

He shrugged. “There were rumors the Haárin killed them.”

Kilian’s eyes clouded. Cold tea. She looked down at the steaming
dispo, which she still held in both hands. She didn’t seem interested in
drinking the coffee, only in absorbing its heat. “That would mean they died
from stab wounds, since they died during the Night of the Blade.”

Sam nodded. “The Haárin only used swords and knives that night, to
kill the Laum. To cleanse the city.”

Kilian set down the cup then pressed her palms to her cheeks. “You
mentioned a Caldor, too. I don’t remember a Caldor in the command staff.”

“Spacer First Class. Died during the final round of bombing. A
barracks wall collapsed on her.” Kilian’s look grew pained—Sam wondered why.

“I heard Mako mishandled the remains.” She drew her hands away
from her face; their coffee-warmth left redness behind. “He had to answer
questions when he returned to Earth, but those records are sealed.”

Sam shrugged. “So we’ll never know. They all died during panic, so
there was no follow-up investigation. No images of the scenes of death appended
to their certs.”

“No proof,” Kilian said.

“Proof.” Sam drank down the balance of his tea, before it looked
like Kilian’s eyes. “I think of so many deaths. They left behind no images,
either. No proof.” He crumpled the dispo between his hands. “All I have are
flashes of thought, things I know.”

Kilian leaned forward, eyes downcast. She looked like someone
trying to see over the edge of a cliff without drawing too close. “Like what?”

“Like . . . ” Sam ground the crumpled cup against
the tabletop, and blurted out all the things he knew. “Like I never walk on the
beaches here because of the sand. I hate sand. And heat. And hospitals and
doctors and the way Pimentel looks at me when he tells me he wants to cut into
my head for my own good.” He worked his hand back and forth, grinding the cup
into the marble-patterned poly. “There is no good in that, not for me. And he
promises I’ll be fine and he says they’ll take care of me but even though he
speaks I hear the words come from somewhere else and I don’t remember where. I
just know it isn’t here.” He picked up the flattened cup. “And I can’t remember
why I hate any of it. I just know I do.”

Kilian sat back slowly. She looked older now, years of age added in
minutes. “You don’t want the surgery?”

“No. No cutting in my head. I know I’ll die if they cut into my
head.” He reached across the table and touched her hand. Still so cold, as
though no amount of heat could warm her. “And I knew, I
knew
when you
said you believed me that . . . ” He pulled back. “That if
Pimentel tried to force me, you’d stop him.”

Kilian tucked her hands beneath her arms. “How do you know?”

“Because I just know. Like I’ve been telling you.” Sam stood,
picked up his smashed cup, and tossed it in the sink so it could dissolve.
Water-soluble cellulosic. No trashzaps in the SIB archives. Too great a risk of
fire, and fire here would destroy so much. “Do you know what it’s like, to know
something in your bones?”

Kilian hesitated. Her eyes looked strange, glistening, as though
she suffered from fever. “Yes.”

Sam bent close. “Well, that is how I know I can trust you.” He
stood back, and pointed to the wall clock. “Five minutes to fifteen up. You’d
better go.”

Kilian followed him down the hall, into the stairwell, up the
stairs, not drawing even with him until they had crossed the lobby. “You can
trust me this time. I won’t let you down.” She left without smiling, or
nodding, or offering him her hand to shake.

Sam stepped up to the lobby window. He watched Kilian leave the
building, set her garrison cap on her head, and walk out into the brutal sun,
and wondered why she said, “this time.” He watched her cross the lawn to a
stone bench set beneath a stand of oaks, and wondered why she took the time to
stop and sit if she needed to make her fifteen up meeting. He watched her set
her bag on the ground, then lean forward and cover her face with her hands. He
thought back to her tired eyes and drawn face, and wondered if she suffered a
headache and whether he should run out to her and offer her some painkiller.

Then he watched her shoulders shake, and wondered why she wept.

“Sir!”

Evan cringed as Halvor’s voice cut through the humid afternoon
air. His hand jerked. The motion activated the trimmer he held; the edge
brushed across a branch of the rose he’d been pruning. He swore as a fist-sized
Crème Caramel lolled on the end of its damaged stem like a broken-necked doll’s
head. Reactivating the trimmer, he made one more slash and put the fragrant
bloom out of his misery.

“Sir!”

“
What is it!
” Evan wheeled to face his bleating aide.

Halvor stopped short. He looked from Evan’s face to the flower in
his hands. “S-sorry, sir, but Mr. Loiaza’s here.”

Evan entered the sitting room to find Joaquin sitting on
the sofa leafing through the contents of his documents case.

“Sorry for the surprise visit, Evan.” He removed a recording board
and several folders, placed them at his side, then dropped the case to the
floor. “I received some rather alarming news this morning, however, that
necessitates a reevaluation of our strategy.”

“Let me guess.” Evan lowered into a lounge chair opposite the
sofa. It wasn’t until he tried to grip the armrests that he realized he still
held the trimmer and the rose. He tossed them one after the other atop a
chairside table as though he had meant to carry them inside, as though this
unexpected visit from his attorney hadn’t rattled him in the least. “Something
to do with Jani.”

Joaquin nodded. “I received a call from your dusky Colonel Veda
this morning. She informed me that the SIB can find no evidence linking Jani
Kilian to the mutinous murder of Rikart Neumann.”

Evan picked up the slaughtered rose and examined it. The petals
looked edible—warm butterscotch tipped with peach, like blush on smooth skin.
He gripped one velvet edge and yanked. “Did she tell you what they
did
plan to do with her?”

“You aren’t going to like it.”

Evan laid the petal on his knee, then tugged at another. “I don’t
like it already.” He’d expected news like this since his visit to Neoclona, but
he’d hoped he was wrong. He should have known better. Politics, not to mention
life, had taught him that what you dreaded most usually came to pass.

Joaquin tapped the writing plane of his recording board with his stylus.
“She’s to be tried by an adjudicating committee. All indications at this time
point to a medical discharge.”

“Prison time, at least?”

“No.”

“You’re kidding!”

“Her health, by all accounts, is not good. Add that to the lack of
evidence against her.”

Evan tore the petal he held in half. “Oh for chrissake, everyone
at the Consulate knew how much she hated Neumann!”

Joaquin smiled grimly. “A funny thing happens to people after they
swear an oath. Suddenly, their words become gold and they become misers.”

“I’m a free-spender. Why doesn’t Veda ask me?”

“Again, it’s a question of corroboration.” Joaquin unclasped the
fasteners of his jacket and sat back more easily. “Everyone knows what you have
to say. But without anyone to back up your story, and without the paper to back
them up, it’s your word against Jani’s, and, like it or not, she does have her
sympathizers. Some of them are very vocal, and one in particular is riveting.”

Evan added the bisected petal to the row forming on his knee.
“Nema?”

“He does cut an intimidating figure when he isn’t invading
playgrounds and wowing them at Chicago Combined.” Joaquin frowned in
disapproval—in his dignified universe, responsible diplomats did
not
engage in invasions and wowings. “And as much as Cèel despises him, he’ll
support him when it comes to harassing us.”

“Imposing trade sanctions.” Another petal. “Looking the other way
when colonial smugglers take refuge in their ports.”

“Exactly.”

As Evan annihilated his flower, Markhart entered bearing a tray.
She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye—whatever she saw made her
quicken her pace. She set the tray down on a side table and, since Joaquin
preferred to be waited on, did the honors as server. She poured his tea and
Evan’s bourbon in efficient silence.

“She’s a prize, Evan,” Joaquin said after she had departed,
sipping his tea appreciatively as he paged through a file. “Now, where were
we?”

“Discussing our contingency plan.” Evan swept up the petals and
tossed them, along with the rose remains, back on the table. Then he dug into
his trouser pocket and removed the recording-board wafer that contained his
work-up of Niall Pierce. He carried it on his person as a precaution. He hadn’t
wanted to risk Halvor or Markhart accidentally erasing it or throwing it away.
Or reading it. “Here. Have a look at this.”

Joaquin accepted the wafer hesitantly. “What is it?”

“You said we should use more of my Rauta Shèràa experience. Now’s
our opportunity.”

Joaquin pursed his lips. Aggravated turtle. Then he slipped the
wafer into his board’s reader slot, sat back with cup in hand, and did as Evan
asked.

His brow furrowed every so often. He laughed once. That angered
Evan, since he hadn’t written anything funny.

When he finished, he set the board beside him on the sofa and
contemplated his tea.

Evan ignored his bourbon, picking up the mangled rose instead.
“Well?” He stripped another petal.

Joaquin didn’t look at him. “Have you ever considered writing
thrillers?”

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean that this tale of yours is the most convoluted,
seat-of-the-pants thing I’ve read since Vladislav’s
The Hijack of the Sainte
Marie
.”

Evan sent rose parts scattering as he bounded to his feet. “Oh
come on, Quino!” He paced the room. “Name the Family that doesn’t have
something like that in their history!”

“Evan, there’s a difference between the information bandied at
parties and that used to defend oneself in court. What you have here”—Joaquin
pointed to his recording board—“is speculation, and defamatory speculation at
that.”

Evan parked himself in the window seat behind Joaquin. “I thought
if you wrote it down, it’s libel.”

“It needs to be published in a public venue to qualify as libel,
and no one will publish this if I have to smash the wafer to bits myself.”
Joaquin twisted around so he could look him in the face. “You honestly believe
it?”

“Yes.”

“That Niall Pierce was involved in felonious activities at Rauta
Shèràa Base and that Roshi Mako has squelched the Kilian investigation to
prevent those goings-on from being discovered?”

“
Goings-on?
Christ, Quino, you make it sound so polite.”
Evan swung the rose by the stem, whacking the remains of the bloom against his
thigh like a riding crop. “
Yes
.”

“You give me nothing to work with. You say ships from the Fourth
Expeditionary often docked at the Rauta Shèràa transfer point, but you offer no
proof that Pierce crewed on any of them. You don’t even give me the names of
the ships so I can check.”

“He must have been on one of them. It’s the right time frame.”
Evan pointed the vanquished rose at Joaquin. “All you have to do is get hold of
the Fourth Expeditionary vessel records and comb the docking data and the crew
lists.”

“Track every move made by a half dozen GateWay-class vessels over
a period of at least three years. Is that all?” Joaquin pinched the bridge of
his nose. “And if we found Pierce had indeed visited Rauta Shèràa, even that he
had visited the city multiple times, what good would that do? The same people
who can’t remember Jani Kilian’s actions aren’t going to recall the occasional
pass-throughs of a non-resident enlisted man.”