Code of Conduct (18 page)

“But diddle an account once, and I'm all his.” Jani repocketed the thin plastic card. “He thinks.” If she put her mind to it, she could divert half of Interior's liquid assets into a float-rebound maze before the Comptroller's office had a chance to reconcile her first transaction. Working with the Haárin had been an education in more ways than one. She wouldn't think of doing it, of course. But it was nice to know she could.

When I'm good, I'm very, very good
. When she was bad, she could make Lucien look like a stiff. Still, the ease with
which she had gotten around Ridgeway nagged her. But then, her idea of what constituted “difficult” differed from most peoples'.

My Academy final exams were oral
. In High Laumrau. Not one idomeni on the examining board, not even Nema, looked her in the face. Instead, they watched her posture, her hands, the way she moved. Listened to her tones, lilts, phrasings.

Pauses after her replies stretched for ten minutes or more, then suddenly questions would pile on questions, with no chance of a request for clarification being honored, or even acknowledged. The exam lasted for nine humanish hours, with Jani knowing every step of the way that only one other being in the room wanted her to succeed. And also knowing for that very reason, he dare not make a move to help her in any way.

I learned as idomeni
. Which had made it damned difficult to slip back into the humanish way of doing things. Back to the world of subtext. Hidden meanings. Things left unsaid, glossed over.
The world between the lines
, Hansen had called it. He'd been able to move between idomeni and humanish without breaking a sweat, but there had been a very good reason for keeping Jani off to one side.
A typical socially backward paper pusher—I gabbled, and I blurted, and I explained too much
. To go from a culture where everything you say is understood instantly to one where you could talk for hours and not say a goddamned thing had rattled her. She had fit with the idomeni so well, she thought.

“Until I proved myself most human.” She sipped her coffee, grown cold in the cup.
Too easy
. The coffee tasted greasy and harsh. Jani flushed it down the sink and set out for the Library.

It proved a happy accident that she ran into Angevin Wyle in the journal reading room. She had been trying to figure out how to contact her without using the Houseline or risking another encounter with Ridgeway.

“Hullo.” Angevin leafed without interest through a documents journal. “What's up?”

“I have some info for you.” Jani beckoned her toward a pair of chairs in an isolated corner of the room. “About those
sailracing lessons we talked about. It'll give you a chance to get out of here for an hour or so.”

“Sailracing? I never—” Angevin lowered herself to the edge of her seat. A flicker of life animated her pinched features. “What's going on?”

“I need you to contact someone outside Interior. You have to do it from a public comport in the city. He'll meet you to arrange the transfer of some things he's obtaining for me.”

“Why don't you use the courier service?”

Because I don't trust the courier service
. Jani debated the best handle by which to grip Angevin for this detail. “The Doc Control administers the courier service, and I don't want Durian to find out I had contact with this guy. He works for Exterior.”

“Durian. Phfft!” Angevin cradled her chin in her hand. “Is this guy good-looking?”

“Oh yes.”

“Even better.” The young woman fluffed her mashed curls. “Any particular place I should contact him from?”

“The only spot I know in the city is the mall with the skating rink.”

Angevin wrinkled her nose. “That tacky place.” She rummaged through her small shoulder bag, liberating a colorstick and a mirror. “I'll call him from the Galleria,” she said as she applied bright copper to her lips with a few deft strokes. “What's his name?”

“Lucien Pascal. He's in Exterior Security.”

“
Lucien
.” Angevin waggled her eyebrows. “Oo la la.”

“Blond. Brown eyes. Your age. As tall as Minister van Reuter. Make sure to mention the sailracing—then he'll know you came from me.” Jani hid a smile behind her hand as Angevin applied the colorstick to her cheeks as well. “I appreciate this.”

“Yeah, well, I need a break. Supper meeting coming up. Then I get to confer with Durian again.” Angevin crossed her eyes. “Speaking of Durian,” she said nonchalantly as she continued to apply her makeup, “what are you getting from this Lucien that might upset him?”

Jani leaned back in her seat. Her battered shoulders
cramped. “Job-related things,” she replied through clenched teeth. “Just stuff.”

Angevin dabbed at the corners of her mouth. “Things. Just stuff. For the sake of my Registry standing, I don't want to know the details, do I?” She studied Jani over the top of her mirror. “Durian doesn't like you. He thinks you're trouble. He told me, and I quote, ‘His Excellency has taken in a stray who will turn on him,' unquote. Durian tends to be melodramatic, but he didn't get where he is by being wrong a lot.” She tossed the mirror and colorstick back in her bag. “Does this involve Lyssa van Reuter's death?”

“I thought that had been ruled an accident,” Jani said.

“Oh, we're going to be that way, are we? Maybe I should beg off and let you arrange your own damned transfer.”

Please don't
. If Angevin didn't agree to help, Jani knew she'd have a difficult time finding another runner. Steve and Betha certainly wouldn't oblige, which meant she'd have to pick a suitable stranger and bribe him or her with nontraceable cash chits. And you could not get a dummy chit from a Cabinet House bank booth, no matter how many
a
's you had on your expense voucher.

Assuming Lucien comes through with something worth paying for
. Assuming he had anything to come through with. Courts of Inquiry weren't exactly known as fountains of useful information. Anything good had a tendency to be kept in the Family. “Why do people wonder about Lyssa's death?”

Angevin wandered to the window behind Jani's seat and stared into the winter darkness beyond the glass. “There were rumors.”

“That her death wasn't an accident?”

Angevin nodded. “That it was murder. The big one for about a month was that His Excellency finally got so fed up with her that he arranged a mishap. When that led nowhere, everyone whispered about how much Anais Ulanova and Lyssa's mother hated one another over the mess with Lyssa's father, and that Anais waited until he died to murder Lyssa in revenge.”

“That hypothesis sounds bizarre enough to be popular,” Jani said with a dry laugh. “Doesn't jibe with the fact Lyssa worked for Auntie, though.”

“How about the rumor Lyssa was really Anais's daughter by Scriabin.” Angevin's lip curled. “Durian laughed till he cried when that one started circulating.”

“Sounds like one he'd start himself.”

“Doesn't it, though?” The young woman's tense face relaxed in a grin. “Nice to know we have the same opinion of my boss.”

“So why work for him?”

Angevin shrugged. “Means to an end. Building the old Cabinet pedigree.” She grew serious. “Last thing my dad would have done, according to all who knew him. When that's the case, sign me up.”

Oh Hansen—maybe she doesn't mean it
. Jani looked up at Angevin's somber face. Oops. Maybe she did, at that.

“What type of man,” Angevin continued, “would leave his wife and child behind in order to school in a place that didn't want him and meddle in things that didn't concern him? That's my mom's slightly biased viewpoint.”

“What's yours?”

“Every time someone who knew him sees me, they tell me how much I look like him. Then they stand back with this shit-eating grin on their face and wait for me to do my Hansen Wyle imitation.” Angevin tugged at a flattened curl. “I don't know what they want me to say. I don't know what they want me to do. I never knew him. I don't remember him. To me, he's a few holos and a name in the first page of the Registry.” She looked down at Jani. “You're about the age he'd be now. You've lived out for years. Did you ever meet him?”

Jani swallowed hard. “No.”

“I wonder if he'd have ever met anyone in secret to arrange an iffy transfer?” Angevin shouldered her bag and moved away from the window. “I have to go to my office and get my coat. Then I'll be off.”

Jani made an effort to elevate her dampened mood. “If I see Steve,” she said, “do you want me to mention you're going off to see another man?”

“Steve can go to hell and take Betha Concannon with him,” Angevin replied flatly as she strode out of the reading room.

Is that a
yes
or a
no? Jani lacked recent experience in the
Rules of War as they applied to battling lovers.
Maybe I'd better mind my own business
. She wandered around the reading room, paged through several journals, and arranged to have copies of technical updates sent to her suite workstation.

“Well, that used up a half hour.” She debated conducting a search through Interior stacks, but doubted she'd uncover anything worthwhile in any legally accessible areas. She needed to get her hands on locked-down paper, documents that had been removed from public access. She didn't dare try that without Lucien's jig. If she tried and failed to bull into a controlled Cabinet system, the alarm would be raised. And if Ulanova discovered the burrowing attempt originated from Interior…

“We'll wait for Angevin.” Jani limped along the convolve of short halls and aisles leading from the reading room to the main body of the Library. The technical dissertation section always proved the least visited area of every bibliodrome she'd ever visited; Interior proved no exception. She wandered down aisle after aisle of leather-bound dexxie theses, encountering no one, checking the quality of the couches and chairs along the way. “Do what you can when you can,” she said with a yawn as she stretched out in a particularly comfortable lounge chair, “including nothing.” She worked her duffel beneath her head to serve as a pillow and closed her eyes.

It seemed only seconds had passed when Jani felt a sharp poke in her rib cage. Her hand shot out and closed around a wrist—a startled yelp filled her ears. She opened her eyes to find a gape-mouthed Angevin standing over her.

“Sorry,” Jani said as she released her. “You surprised me.” She sat up slowly. Her stiff back complained anyway. “How did you find me?”

“I work here, remember?” Angevin eyed Jani warily. “You want to ditch a meeting, you hide in the dissertation section.” She massaged her wrist. “Damn it, that hurt!”

“I said I was sorry.” Jani felt her cheeks burn.
You're in civilization now, remember? No one's going to arrest you in your sleep
. That was Evan's promise, anyway. “Want some friendly advice?”

“What?”

“Don't surprise people who do sneaky work in the Commonwealth's name. We tend to overreact.”

“Now you tell me.” Angevin dragged over a chair and sat down. She had already draped her coat over a nearby planter and set an assortment of bags on the floor near Jani's lounge. “Oh well, I'm sorry I sneaked up on you,” she said hurriedly. “Never happen again, that's for sure.” She remained quiet for a time, her hands folded in her lap. “I've brought that
stuff
from Lucien,” she finally said.

“He had it ready!” Jani struggled to her feet, trying to decide which sack to root through first. “He gave you all these?” she asked as she reached for the nearest bag.

“No! That's mine.” Angevin slid to the floor and wrested the bag from Jani's grasp. “These are mine, too,” she added, indicating the others. Then she removed a battered yellow sack from the hidden depths of the melange and handed it to Jani. “This one is yours.”

Jani stared from her single parcel to the impressive array spread out before her. “You went shopping?”

“Well, after I called Lucien I had to wait for him, didn't I? Then when he showed up, he said there was something he needed to buy, too. We worked fast.” Angevin held up a pullover and eyed it skeptically. “I thought you said he was good-looking.”

“You don't think so?”

“No. Good-looking for men equals average. Lucien is not average. Lucien is gorgeous.” Angevin tugged at her rumpled shirt. “You could have warned me—I'd have changed. Not that it would have mattered. All he did was ask about you.”

“Really?” Jani peeked into her bag and opened the plastic pouch containing the jig. The device's beige case shone back. “What did he want to know?”

“The usual. ‘What's Risa doing tonight? How's she feeling? What did she tell you about me?'” Angevin had draped the pullover across her chair, and was now examining the seams on a pair of trousers. “I thought I was in prep school again. Introduction to the Lovelorn.”

“Sorry.” Jani stuck her finger in a shallow depression in the jig's side. It squealed in response, and she shut the bag hastily. “I thought it would be fun for you.”

“Oh, he hit on me. Asked me out to dinner. But I could tell his heart wasn't in it.” Angevin cast dubious glances at the bag in Jani's lap as she continued to fuss over her purchases. “All your
stuff
in good shape? Nothing missing?”

“Everything's fine,” Jani said as she gathered her duffel and bag and rose to her feet. “Where are the workstation carrels?”

“I'll show you.” Angevin assembled her booty. “Follow me,” she said as she jostled down the aisle.

“You can tell me the way—I'll find them.”

“I don't mind.” Angevin led the way through the Library,
fielding greetings from other patrons and offering comments on the state of her day.

Jani, for her part, avoided making eye contact with anyone. A disturbingly large number of people seemed interested in the reason for her presence in the Library. One young man, thwarted in his attempts to engage her in conversation, cursed her under his breath, calling her van Reuter's hatchet.

“You've become the topic of the day,” Angevin said. “Some folks think you've been brought in to do the final post-troubles cleanup.”

“That's ridiculous,” Jani muttered. The workstation carrels, she was relieved to see, were located in a quiet area of the Library. She followed Angevin into one of the small rooms and immediately closed the door.

“Sorry about the gauntlet,” Angevin said. “Like I told you, the place has become a rumor mill.”

Jani sat down in front of the workstation display. “I just didn't think I'd be caught in the grinders.” She set her bags on the desk, then looked over at Angevin. “Thanks for your help,” she said. “I don't want to keep you from your meeting.”

Angevin made no move to leave. She set her parcels on the floor, then massaged her palms where the handles had bitten. “Can I ask you a question?” She waited for Jani's nod. “You carry a 'pack.”

“Yes.”

“You're in Registry. I looked you up this afternoon.”

Good job, Evan
. “Your point?”

“You don't act like a documents examiner. You keep popping up all over the complex. Asking questions. You act like a verifier. You worry people.”

“I don't mean to,” Jani said. “Look, I'm working under His Excellency's mandate. Anything I ask someone to do is completely legal. You have nothing to be concerned about.”

“I'm sorry, but friends of mine who swallowed that line before found themselves suspended. Or deregistered. Or worse.” Angevin folded her arms and ground her heels into the thick carpet. “What are you doing here?”

“You took part in the documents transfer on the
Arapaho
, Angevin. I think you have a pretty good idea.”

“You're supposed to be looking into Lyssa van Reuter's death,” Angevin said. “Outside eyes, according to Durian, on the lookout for things that could hurt His Excellency. Is that really the whole story?”

“Like you said, Durian didn't get where he is by making mistakes.”

“You know, I helped you. The least you could do is level with me.”

“What makes you think I'm not?”

Angevin gathered her bags, her cheeks flaming. “Next time you need
stuff
picked up, you can get it yourself,” she said as she hustled out of the carrel.

Jani sat still for a time, staring at nothing.
What the hell is going on here
? She should have been able to disappear within the hugeness of Interior, but the people she encountered were stretched tight emotionally, sensitive to every intrusion.
And the only buffer I have is Evan
. Evan, who didn't communicate with his staff. Evan the drunkard. Evan the target. Evan, who people thought capable of murdering his wife.

But that's a discounted rumor
.

Why had it been a rumor at all?

Jani pulled the yellow bag into her lap. First, she removed the jig, then a thick documents pouch adorned with the crimson Exterior seal. The seal had been tampered with—the color had blotched and the Ministry emboss had puckered.

Lucien must have worked in a hurry
. Jani cracked the ruined seal and removed the weighty sheaf of Cabinet parchment.
TOP SECRET
had been stamped in the margin of the first page.
COURT OF INQUIRY
adorned each header. The word
draft
was nowhere to be seen.

Lucien had stolen Ulanova's copy of the Court's final report.

“You don't mess about, do you, Lieutenant?” It crossed Jani's mind the sort of distraction Lucien must be providing to keep Anais Ulanova from discovering his crime; stomach churning, she hurriedly activated her scanpack and began a confirmation check of the report. Knowing the lieutenant, she realized that he relished the danger he'd put himself in. But the line between worthwhile risk and recklessness was hair-thin. If she had to walk the report through the snow herself,
she'd make sure Lucien had it back in his hands in the morning. Even if he distracted Anais to the point of mutual exhaustion, the minister would have to look for the document eventually.

“All green,” she breathed as she scanned the final page. Not a dummy report assembled to throw off an office mole, but the real thing. She quickly leafed through to the appendix and studied the ID strings of the evidence used in the compilation.
SRS-1
jumped out at her again and again. Service papers, issued by First D-Doc, Rauta Shèràa Base.

“I probably imprimateured some of those.” Jani removed the jig from its bag, then gave it a once-over with her debugging stylus.
It's not that I don't trust you, Lucien—I just have a healthy respect for your sense of whimsy
. She stared at the doughnut-sized device's featureless case, trying to figure out how to attach it to the workstation. Finally, she touched it to the rear of the display, staring in wonder as it remained in place. After a few seconds, it emitted a barely audible squeak. Then a soft green light glimmered from its depths.

Jani took a deep breath and activated the workstation.

“Passwords, Lucien,” she said as she worked her way from Interior House systems into general access Exterior. “I need passwords.” She scrabbled once more through the bag, but found it contained only a small box wrapped in silver paper.

“Damn it!” One of Angevin's purchases, no doubt, accidentally dumped in the wrong sack. Jani was ready to stuff it back in the bag when she stopped and took a better look.

This is posh Galleria gift wrapping, huh
? Wrinkled paper. Crooked seams. Curled corners where the sealant had been sloppily applied.

Jani ran a thumbnail beneath the paper seaming, unwrapped the box, and smoothed the gift wrap. Scrawled passwords filled the white underside of the paper. Random strings of letters and numbers. Proper names. Places. The occasional foul word.

“You don't believe in keeping it simple either, do you?” She set the sheet of passwords beside the display. Then, with some trepidation, she opened the box.

…
he said there was something he needed to buy, too
.

The toy soldier was small, six or seven centimeters tall. Exquisitely crafted. Every button had been brushed with silver, each microscopic medal glazed with colored enamels. He wore modern dress blue-greys: steel blue crossover tunic and grey knife-creased trousers cut along the sides with the requisite mainline red stripe. The hair visible beneath his brimmed lid glimmered pale blond; his right arm was bent in a permanent salute.

“Are you trying to tell me something?” Jani examined the figure for any sign Lucien had inserted something untoward in the tiny body. She scrabbled again for her sensor and scanned the figure as she had the jig.

“Disease-free,” she said, placing her new mascot beside the touchboard. Then she flexed her fingers like a musician warming up, keyed in the first of the purloined passwords, and began mining history. As she cut through the protective barriers of bomb shelters and mazes, she could almost imagine herself in the small office in the hospital, digging through the patient records Neumann hadn't managed to hide. For an instant, the burnt-leather tang of shooter gloves stung her nose. She sensed Borgie standing behind her, reading the screens over her shoulder as he had then. She twisted around in her seat, heart pounding, but of course no one was there.

Of course
. Jani checked the carrel door to make sure Angevin had closed it. Only then did she return to work.

 

If the curious had found Jani unresponsive before her disappearance into the workstation carrel, they found her damned near aphasic when she emerged, an hour and a half later.

I'm sorry. Very sorry
. She offered silent apology to the librarian she brushed past, the young man who smiled and offered, “Hello.” Yes, they had their own reasons for wanting to talk to her, but she had the experience to work around their concern. She could have calmed their groundless fears with a few well-considered words, convinced them it was safe to let her fade into the background where she belonged. The problem was that she didn't trust herself to speak. No telling what she'd say. That always happened when she was very, very angry.

You're a lying bastard, Evan van Reuter. You don't give a damn how Lyssa died—you dragged me here to help save your father's reputation
.

She rode the lift down to the third floor, keyed through the triple sets of doors, then let her nose guide her to the scanpack parts bins. The residents of the floor had no doubt grown used to the characteristic odor of spent nutrient broth, but the undercurrent of rotted fish managed to have its nasty way with Jani's temper-churned gut. She leaned against the doorway leading to the bins, one hand over her mouth, as nauseated as any first-year intern. It would only get worse once she went inside; she knew from experience the only odor-killing ionizers on the floor would be positioned at the exit. A dexxie was allowed to clean up for the civilians, but when in the land of your ancestors, you sucked it in and proved yourself worthy.

Cursing softly, Jani pushed through the door. The idomeni, with their food issues and general delicacy, handled it so much more intelligently. Ionizers everywhere—the air in the Academy parts bins had smelled boiled.

Place looked better, too
. The term
bin
proved an apt description for this area, which resembled an overfilled tool kit. No windows. Low ceilings. Narrow aisles lined with open work shelving. Repair carrels ran along one side of the enormous room; on the other side, the check-in desk and order-entry booths competed for space.

Jani tried to duck into one of the booths. She accidentally caught the eye of one of the clerks, however, and soon found herself the focus of several pairs of helping hands. Good news traveled fast.

“Are you sure this is the part you want, ma'am?” one of the clerks asked as he read her scribbled order.