Code of Conduct (33 page)

Patterns played, each more rapidly. Songs to her brain. Phantom pains shot through limbs destroyed long ago. Around her, flames flashed. Sounds. Yolan's scream as the wall collapsed. Smells. The nose-searing acridity of hyperacid. The stench of burning flesh.

“Come to the light, Captain,” said the voice from the other side of the flashing red. “Don't fight it, or you'll feel—”

“Sicker. Yes, I know, Doctor.” Jani took a slow step forward. The odor of berries enveloped her, overwhelming her taste and smell, overpowering the stinging smoke. Her vision tunneled, blocking out the flames, the tumble of falling debris.

Only her hearing remained true. The hardiest sense, John had told her. The last sense to die.

See you soon, Captain
, Yolan said.

“Yes, Corporal,” the Captain replied, as the last flicker of red winked out.

Jani opened her eyes. The view was white and brightly lit. The air felt cool and carried the characteristic odor she had long ago dubbed hospital-metallic. She took a deep breath and stretched her arms. Both of them. One was phantom. The real one was encased from wrist to shoulder in a membrane bandage filled with clear allerjel. Jani shook it. The jelly sloshed.

When she tired of that, she sat up, wedged her pillow behind the small of her back for balance, and studied the watercolors hung on the wall opposite her bed. One was a seascape in greys and greens, the other, a gold-and-brown still life. Jani had spent most of the past few days picking out details in the paintings, little nuances she'd missed during previous examinations. If she concentrated hard enough on the exercise, she could almost forget certain things. Why she was in hospital, for example, and what had happened to put her there.

And more immediately, what lay beneath her covers. Or rather, what didn't.

Jani carefully ignored the telltale flatness of her bedspread. As long as she didn't look, she could pretend her left leg was still there. She could feel it, after all, like the missing arm. Funny how its absence bothered her more.
It's the vulnerability
, she thought, in a rare attempt at self-analysis.
You can still run with one arm
.

But run from whom? Calvin Montoya had been her only visitor thus far. He checked in on her five or six times a day,
examining her with sure, gentle hands, a joke or a piece of gossip always at the ready.

The details of what had occurred at Interior Main, however, she'd had to pull from him with pliers.

The doctor and nurse from the Interior infirmary were still alive. Their encounter with Jani and the IV rack had netted them two concussions and one skull fracture. And three-month suspensions without pay for not notifying Montoya immediately of their singular patient.
They were arguing about me and looking things up in textbooks
. Her right film must have broken while she was unconscious; they'd probably seen her eye. One glimpse of that pale green orb would certainly be enough to drive any medico to the reference materials.

Her left calf itched. She tried to ignore it.

I did lots of damage that night
. Evan's knee would never be the same. After suffering torn ligaments and a dislocated kneecap, his evening went rapidly downhill. The Justice Minister himself placed him under arrest. The warrant was served upon Evan in his well-guarded hospital suite, with Cao and Ulanova serving as the Greek chorus. All the major networks had been invited to record the unprecedented event.

Calvin had brought Jani a copy of the local CapNet broadcast. The wafer still lay atop her holoVee console, its seal unbroken.

She stared at the seascape. Contained by a pewter frame as shiny as summer, sunlight played on gentle waves. How often on Shèrá had Evan told her about his sailing adventures on the Earthbound lakes? His expression had always grown melancholy as he spoke; those were the only times she could recall him appearing at all homesick.
Are they letting you have a drink, Ev? Are they letting you have anything else
? Montoya had seemed worried. He had heard rumors of a suicide watch.

Jani twirled a corner of her blanket and switched her attention to the still life. A tasteful piece, nothing exceptional. Something Ulanova would hang in her dining room.

I can imagine the conversations ringing around that table
. The gloating comments, the laughter.
Revenge is a dish best
savored cold, to be served with the appetizers and the iced cocktails
. To those with the stomach for it.

Leaves me out—I don't have the stomach for much, anymore
. Lucien had tried to visit her several times, but she refused to see him and rejected his bouquets of flowers. Ate without appetite when she ate at all. Ignored the holoVee and stacks of magazines and newssheets.

Montoya managed to hide his frustration beneath a cloak of humor and delicate prodding.
He threatened to toss me out into a snowdrift last night
. During this morning's examination, he assured her he'd push the skimchair himself if she'd just agree to a jaunt up and down the hall.

Jani's refusal had plunged him into watchful silence. His examination took a good deal longer than usual. He withheld his usual inquiries, but he also drew more blood and took more swab samples. The only time he spoke was when he announced what he was going to do, inviting her questions. Her response that he should just take it all and get it over with jolted him. As he left, Jani had heard the doorbolt slide into place.

So she'd slept for a few hours, studied the ceiling, slept some more, studied her paintings.

The door eased open, and a cautious Montoya poked his head into the room. “Ah, Jani. You're awake.” He entered, pulling a wheeled trolley. A large black plastic bag rested on the trolley's top shelf. “If this doesn't get you out of that bed, I'm going to fill your membrane bandage with detonator gel and whack it with a hammer.” He patted the plastic bag like a proud father. “Your new limbs are here.”

Jani sat up straighter. “Already?”

“At Neoclona, we aim to please,” Montoya said breezily, emboldened by her interest. “Get ready, milady,” he said as he opened the door of an inset wall cabinet. “I intend to have you walking within the hour.”

Jani kept her attention focused on the plastic bag. “I've only been here four days.”

“Yes?”

“A standard arm takes a week to assemble. A leg takes at least two.”

“Under normal conditions, that's certainly true.” Montoya
approached her bedside carrying a small metal tray on which instruments rattled. “But in your case, some preparations had already been made.”

“How?” Jani swallowed as the doctor placed the tray on her end table. Several long, pointed probes glistened in the light. “Why?”

Montoya activated one of the probes, pulled down the left shoulder of Jani's medgown, and began prodding the smooth, shooter-burned membrane that served as the interface between her animandroid arm and the rest of her. “Once one reaches a certain level in Neoclona, your file becomes required reading.” He worked around the outer rim of the junction, searching for dead spots. “The wise facility chief knows to be prepared.”

Jani tried in vain to keep from flinching as needling tingles radiated throughout the hypersensitive junction. “What are you telling me?” she asked through gritted teeth. “That every Neo shop in the Commonwealth has a set of left-siders with my name on it sitting in a cold drawer?”

Montoya adjusted the shoulder of her gown and pulled up a corner of the hem. “I'm going to check the thigh junction now.”

“You didn't answer my question.” Jani grabbed a fistful of sheet and found a riveting light fixture on the wall opposite to focus on.

“The answer should be obvious, Jani,” Montoya said as he probed, “to you more than anyone.” After eliciting a couple of bearable twinges, he pronounced both junctions functional. Jani rearranged her gown as best she could while maintaining her shaky balance. Meanwhile, Montoya opened another of the room's recessed cabinets and rolled out a tall, silver monolith.

Jani watched him activate touchpads and enter codes. The limb sealer came to life with a characteristic hum. “Why replacements? Why not just fix the old ones?”

“Coming back to ourselves, are we?” The physician smiled absently, his attention focused on the instrument. “So many questions.”

“And so few answers.” Jani's stomach hadn't ached at all
up to that point. She only noticed it in contrast. Now, it hurt like hell. “Why replace what you can fix?”

As Montoya pushed the limb sealer over to the bed, two disc covers on the instrument face slid open, revealing twin depressions. The upper one was small and green, the lower one large and dark blue. They looked like a pair of misshapen eyes.

“The reason for the new arm should be obvious. As for the leg—” Montoya hesitated. “I believe you'll find your back problems will be a distant memory once it's attached.” He bumped the sealer up against the bed. The frame resonated in time to the sealer's vibration. Jani could feel the humming buzz in her teeth. “We'll do the arm first, I think. Then you'll have more leverage when we do the leg. Push your junction against the green.”

Jani lowered the shoulder of her gown and pressed her stump into the shallow saucer. Tingling pressure radiated across her upper back as the disc membrane closed around the junction.

“You're implying the leg wasn't balanced. I had no problem with it for over seventeen years. My back just started acting up in the last six months.”

Montoya disappeared behind the sealer. Jani heard his footsteps, followed by the whine of a zipper, a
pop
, and a rush of air as he removed the arm from its vacuum casing. “We change as we get older, Jani. Our bone density, muscle mass. Your animandroid limbs were older models in the first place—they stood no chance of keeping up the pace. In a more conventional environment, you'd have had them changed out three or four times by now.” The sealer vibration ramped. “Press against the saucer,” he said, peeking around the unit at Jani. “Hold your breath on three. Ready? One. Two. Three.”

Jani pushed, inhaled. She felt a burning as the junction sintered, then split down the middle, exposing her shoulder joint. She felt as well as heard the soft click as new bone met old. Then came warmth as synthon lubricant flowed through the junction and into the joint, followed by the suction smack as tissue met bioadhesive.

“Looks good. Pull out, please.”

Jani eased her new arm through the newly opened gap in the saucer. She rolled her shoulder, bent her elbow, counted off on her fingers to check—“
Hey
!”

Montoya poked his head around the sealer, which he appeared to be using as a shield. “Is something wrong?”

Jani winced as she pressed fingernails into fingertips. “I can feel with these.”

“Of course.”

“I couldn't before.”

“An adjustment long overdue, don't you think?” The dark head again disappeared. “I'm going to call in someone to help with the leg.” He left the room, returning soon with a burly nurse in tow.

This bout with the sealer proved clumsier, not to mention more painful. Tears blurred Jani's vision as she made a circuit of the room under Montoya's watchful eye. She muttered a prayer of thanks to whoever had had the presence of mind to slip a pair of underpants beneath the gaping medgown. “You're right, Doctor. My back does feel better.” She hopped up and down a few times. “I didn't realize people could change so much at the ripe old age of forty-two.”

The nurse glanced sidelong at Montoya, then excused himself with a curt nod. Once they were alone, Montoya pulled out a lazor and cut away the allerjel packing from Jani's right arm. As she washed away the gooey remains of the soothing jelly, he scrounged a set of medwhites and a pair of lab shoes.

“Hungry, Jani? Allow me to buy you a very late lunch.” He handed her the clothes. “I'm getting you out of this damned room if it's the last thing I do.” His dark eyes danced. “As reward, I'll tell you the exciting tale of how you got here in the first place.”

 

“We escaped Interior Main a heartbeat ahead of Ulanova's people.” Montoya forked through a tomato-sauced omelet, with occasional stabs at a green salad. “Your blond friend, that lieutenant, knew whom to look out for, which areas to avoid. He and the young red-haired man—”

Jani choked on her soup. “Steve! I told him to stay in Private.”

“Well, he obviously didn't listen. He and Pascal bundled
you onto a skimdolly he had purloined from the loading dock. Much bickering went on during this time. I gather Pascal found Steve wandering the Main halls in a furtive manner and set upon him. Steve had a black eye—”

“Why the hell did Lucien hit him!”

“—which went nicely with Pascal's air of ‘last one standing.' They declared a truce when they realized your welfare was at stake, but it was shaky at best.” Montoya dabbed a few beads of sweat from his brow. “I discovered during that time I wasn't cut out for excitement.”

“I couldn't have been too exciting,” Jani said. “All an augie does after a take-down is sleep and toss around a lot.”

Montoya grimaced. “Your augment was the only thing keeping you alive. After I took you down, you began to slip into anaphylactic shock. Your blood pressure went into the basement—” He stabbed his fork at her like a fencing foil. “Those two morons knew that goddamn sedative patch was contraindicated in your case, and they used it anyway! Three-month suspensions—if they think it ends there, they're in for a grim surprise. Even
with
your augment, you could have died in that infirmary. The fact that you went on to do what you did…” He faltered and took it out on his salad, stabbing the vegetables into mashed submission.

Jani studied the view over Montoya's shoulder. The small dining hall was empty except for the two of them. Purple in all its shades dominated the color scheme, from tinged white walls to lilac grey floor and nearly black furniture. The funereal surroundings turned the mind to things best forgotten. “I killed Durian Ridgeway,” she said quietly.

“Did you?” Montoya's chewing slowed. He set down his fork and pushed aside his half-eaten meal. “Pascal's skimmer was parked outside the docks. It was too small for the four of us. The situation became even more interesting when a hyperactive bundle of winter clothing bounded out to us yelling, ‘Steve, Steve,' in a singularly feminine tone. Pascal pulled out his shooter, which caused Steve to spring for his throat like a cat. At that point, your blood pressure took another dive and the bundle started screaming that Exterior Security was hot on her trail.” Montoya exhaled with a shudder. “Amazing how we suddenly all managed to fit into Pascal's
vehicle. He took us as far as the boundary between Exterior and the Shèrá Embassy. I'm still trying to assimilate what happened next.
Tsecha
was waiting for us outside an Exterior guardpost. The idomeni ambassador.”