Rules of Conflict (33 page)

“I didn’t know I had a credit rating.” Jani erased that message
and went on to the next one.

“Hello, Captain!” Sam Duong appeared much happier than he had
earlier, which probably meant his supervisor was somewhere else. “Can we meet
tomorrow? I have news that may interest you.” He fiddled with an object below
display level. “I have entered the time into my handheld. I hope twelve up is
fine. We can meet in front of the SIB. Please reply if not possible; otherwise,
I will assume you will be there.”

“Damn.” Jani held her finger on the response pad, and debated
sacrificing Lucien’s soccer game. She would have liked to barge in on Duong and
see what he information he had. And to see how he was doing. Whether he enjoyed
his shrimp tea. If he remembered anything now, rather than just knew.

“Lucien would kill me.” He had, after all, sacrificed his
relationship with Sports and Activities in order to bring her Niall Pierce.
Pierce, who kept turning up. Who followed her. Who stared into his beer like a
man with a rip in his soul. Yes, she needed to meet Pierce.

She hit the pad for the last message.

“Hello, Jani.” Pimentel glowered at her. “You missed your
appointment today—”

Damn again.

“—so I’ve rescheduled you for tomorrow at sixteen up. Please be
sure to stop by, or else I will track you down using every tool at my
disposal.” The display blanked, leaving Jani to stare at the slow fade to standby
blue until a glance at her clock told her she needed to get moving.

She showered, then donned her base casuals for the first time. The
trainers were dull white, with removable sock liners. The T-shirt fitted more
snugly than she’d have liked, and the shorts, while attractive and comfortable,
were above all,
short
. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d shown her
legs in public. Baggy clothing and no makeup had been her uniform of the day
for almost two decades. Unattached women attracted unwanted attention in the
places in which she’d been forced to earn her keep. She’d learned to avoid
trouble.

But that isn’t an issue anymore.
That sort of trouble had
become something to welcome, to embrace with open arms.
Somebody nice and
safe, I think, like a test pilot.
Much more dependable than any I-Com
lieutenant of her acquaintance.

Just before she left, she buzzed the Misty Center and asked if any
messages had arrived for her. It was ridiculous to expect a reply so soon. If
nothing else, the laws of physics dictated against it. But it didn’t hurt to
make sure she had given them the right code. Just as it didn’t hurt to turn her
comport on its base so that she could see whether the message light blinked as
soon as she opened the door.

Jani found a seat on the end of the half-filled bank of
bleachers, away from the bulk of the crowd. Both teams still warmed up. She
could see Lucien’s towhead flash in the sun as he trotted downfield and lifted
a soft pass to one of his teammates. He spotted her as soon as he turned
upfield, and froze just long enough to catch a return off the side of his head.
Amid rude laughter, he ran to the sideline.

“Where were you?” His face was flushed, his blue-and-gold striped
jersey already sweat-soaked. “I waited by the field house for over an hour.”

“I had things to do.”

“Like what?” Before she could answer, he jerked his head toward
the opposite sideline. “He’s over there.”

Jani looked across the field. Pierce stood near the cooler bank.
He wore base casuals—his arms and legs were as tanned and hardened as his face.
Sunshades shielded his eyes—Jani couldn’t tell whether he watched them or not.

Lucien glared at her. “He was standing there when I arrived. He
took off his shades to watch me stretch. He hasn’t budged. I don’t know whether
to water him or ask him out.”

Jani wrinkled her nose. “He’s not your type.”

“Ha-ha. Laugh, I thought I’d die.” He wiped his face with the hem
of his jersey, flashing an attractive expanse of flat, tanned stomach in the
process. “I should have fitted you with audio pickup. He’s the wound-up type
that blurts incriminating details, I know it.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“You will?
Good
. I’ll tell Nema you said that. Maybe it’ll
buy me a ten-minute head start.”

Jani watched Lucien fidget with his sleeves. It would have been a
stretch to call him jumpy. Concerned, more like. Definitely concerned. “What
are you so worried about?”

Lucien bent close to her ear. “Because before I thought he was
just a hard-ass, but now I know he’s strange, and you can’t predict what
strange will do.” One of his teammates called to him. “Don’t let your guard
down.” He loped back to the middle of the field to join the referee and the
Specials’ captain.

The Specials, clad in plain green, won the token flip and elected
to receive. Both teams huddled, broke, then spread out in formation. The
starting whistle blew. The crowd whooped as the ball sailed.

Jani followed the arc of the ball’s flight. As she did, she caught
a flicker of motion out of the corner of her eye.

“Excuse me.” Pierce brushed by her, stepping over her bench seat
to the one behind. His voice fit him—rough, middle-pitch, nasal. Victorian
accent. He wasn’t much taller than she was. Solid muscle, though—the bench
creaked when he sat.

Jani waited.

“He’s not your type.”

Jani turned and looked up at him. Against the ruddy, worn skin of
his face, his scar glinted like something polished and new. “Are you talking to
me?”

“Pretty boy.” Pierce’s sunshades obscured his eyes—even up close,
Jani couldn’t tell whether he looked at the field or at her. “He knows it,
too.”

“So do you, apparently.”

“What makes you say that, Jani?”

“He told me you’ve been watching him.”

“Bugs him, does it?” Pierce grinned. Nobody would ever call him
pretty. “Good to know.”

“You did it on purpose?”

“Pretty Boy’s been asking questions about me. I traced back his
comport calls.”

“You have a search lock on your name?” One that could override any
protections Lucien with all his I-Com knowledge had most assuredly put in
place. “Isn’t that excessive?”

“I have a right to know if people are talking about me.”

“Sounds like you’re concerned with what they’re saying.” Jani
searched Pierce’s face for a twitch of muscle, any movement that would betray
fear or nerves. “Now why would that be?”

Pierce hesitated. “Because they’d miss the point.” His grating
voice dropped to a whisper. “They wouldn’t understand.” He removed his shields
to rub his eyes, then quickly shoved them back on. “Take your Service record,”
he said, speaking normally. “Anyone reading it would assume you to be a willful,
arrogant, insubordinate screwup. Would they be right?”

Jani glanced toward the field in time to see Lucien look in her
direction. He almost missed a pass in the process—one of his teammates yelled
at him to wake up. “To an extent.” She tried to think of something to say that
would drag the conversation back on course without spooking Pierce. “Sounds
like you’ve been asking questions, too.”

Pierce crawled down from his seat to the open space next to her.
“Actually, I have a few that only you can answer.” His voice turned lighter,
sharper. “You’ve been in and out of the PT ward as much as I have lately.” His
bare knee brushed hers as he leaned toward her, the reddish hair glinting like
finest wire. “What’s the verdict?”

Jani edged down the board away from him, rubbing the place where
their skin had touched. “You read my ServRec. You tell me.”

“Well, there are your physical difficulties, caused by your
hybridization. The rumored bioemotional problems—same cause.” Pierce’s
Victorian twang had softened. Now he sounded thoughtful. Scholarly. “Do you
remember the transport explosion?”

“According to my ServRec, I wasn’t on the transport.”

“I’ve heard that rumor—I don’t believe it. I don’t think Shroud
could have gotten his hands on you any other way.” Pierce tilted his head. Jani
still couldn’t tell what he looked at. “‘Hurled headlong flaming from th’
ethereal sky, with hideous ruin and combustion.’”

What?
Jani felt a gnaw of curiosity. Coupled with her
wariness, it made for an interesting combination, like admiring the snake while
waiting for it to strike. “I don’t think you got
that
from my ServRec.”

Pierce cracked a smile. His scar contorted his curved upper lip,
exposing the jagged point of his eyetooth. “Milton.
Paradise Lost.
Book
One—the expulsion of Lucifer from Heaven.” One shoulder jerked. “I wasn’t
drawing any comparison. The imagery just seemed particularly apt.” His head
dropped. No problem determining where he looked now. “Your arms and legs don’t
look different. They’re the same color. Same shape.”

I should have worn the damned pants.
And a long-sleeved
shirt. “The leg had to be switched out earlier this year,” Jani snapped as she
crossed her arms in front of her chest. “The arm’s new, too.”

Pierce detected her annoyance, and pulled away from her. “I didn’t
mean to be forward. Just making an observation.” He nodded toward the field
just as the crowd noise ramped. “Pretty Boy just made goal.”

Jani watched Lucien run across the field, arm pumping. She took
her cue from his display—times like this didn’t call for subtlety. “You’re
framing an innocent man for documents theft. Why?”

Pierce drew close again. “If you ever got to know me, you’d see we
have a lot in common.” He held one hand in front of him. “‘Full of doubt I
stand, whether I should repent me now of sin by me done and occasioned, or
rejoice much more that much more good thereof will spring.’” The open hand
closed to a fist and lowered to his knee. “Book Twelve. The archangel Michael
shows Adam the future of the human race just before he’s cast out of the
Garden, the eventual triumph of good over evil. Adam is comforted. He realizes
his suffering has a purpose.” His voice grew harsher, scolding. “You should
read more, Kilian. It soothes the soul.”

He just admitted he set up Sam Duong.
It wasn’t the sort of
admission that was worth a damn legally—for one thing, she didn’t think Pierce
was emotionally stable enough to testify. But it was enough for her. “Do you
really believe that it’s worth destroying a man’s reputation to save yours and
Mako’s?”

“What’s one man’s reputation? We have a way of life to protect.”

“You broke the law at J-Loop RC when you forced out the Family
hacks. Fine—nothing wrong with that. But now you’re attacking an innocent. You
call that honorable?”

“For the good that thereof will spring.” Pierce thumped his fist
against his knee. “Yes, I do.” He flinched, muttered a curse, and reached into
the pocket of his shorts, pulling out a handcom. “I have to go.” He muttered a
few words into the device, then stuffed it back in his pocket. “I can send you
a reading list, if you’d like. To your office or your TOQ suite, whichever you
prefer.” He stood and nodded to her. “Let me know.” He looked as though he
practiced for the parade ground as he strode away, back straight and arms
swinging, around the end zone and down the steep incline that sloped from the
Yards toward the base proper.

The game continued past sunset, the usual combination of
blown calls, sloppy play, and outright confusion. The Wonderboys,
unfortunately, weren’t. Final score: five to four in favor of the Specials.

Jani joined the crowd of players and spectators that milled around
the coolers. She found Lucien standing by the ice dispenser, scooping melt out
of the drain with a dispo and pouring it over his head. “You had a good game.
Scored twice.”

“Three times. Glad to see you paid attention.” He slipped into
soft-spoken French. “I saw him take off. What happened?”

“Nothing. He got a call.”

“Did he say anything interesting?”