Endgame (7 page)

Damn.
Jani left the refuge of her corner and joined the two elders near the middle of the floor. “The twinned spiral.” She racked her brain. “Blue for water, white for air. The connectedness of life elements, separate yet united, traveling in the same direction until oneness is achieved.” She glanced at Tsecha, who continued to study the floor. At Rauta Shèràa Academy, students could find themselves subjected to testing at any time, and as one of the past masters of that particular art, he would see no reason to interrupt what he saw as valid examination.

Meva nodded. “Shiou oversees this progression, of course, for she is of order.”

“No.” Jani bit back the word
inshah
. Teacher. That title, she reserved for one and one only. “The progression is over-seen by Anèth, the guardian of passage, migration, transition—”

“He is body-son of Caith.”

“No, he—” Jani caught Tsecha's flinch, and knew she'd failed this particular test the instant before Meva bared her teeth and let out a derisive bark of laughter.

“Anèth
is
body-son of Caith, for chaos and transition are
also separate but united. In any transition is the potential for chaotic progression.” Meva stepped out to the whirlpool's center and paced around it. “This is a representation of Anèth's guardianship, for the elements remain united to the end. If such represented his relation with Caith, the whorls would diverge along the way, and form eddies, and curve back on themselves. Such as the representation on the secondary floor of Rauta Shèràa Temple—Tsecha, do you recall such?”

“Yes, ná Meva, I recall it most well.” Tsecha finally turned to look at Jani, his hands clasped behind his back, his gaze fixed at a point over her left shoulder. The formality of the Academy returned. “The colors of divergence are more similar. Darker gold and lighter, in depiction of the relation of body-mother and body-child. The game of pattern stones evolved from this. The changing patterns represent the interruption of the journey as chaos enters, for the pattern change is unexpected, unbidden.” His Vynshàrau Haárin acquired High Vynshàrau inflections as his manner grew more detached. “You should study more, Jani Kilian. You should know this by now.”

Words from the past, driven home with the softest yet most direct of blows. “Yes,
inshah
. I will do so.”
I will add it to my goddamned list.
She stood up straight, left arm crossed over her chest, a student's posture of respect. Tsecha raised his left hand in dismissal, the barest flick of a finger, before falling in behind Meva and following her into the adjoining room.

So much for that.
Jani walked to the door, face aflame.
At least the hybrids are outside.
Otherwise the news of Tsecha's reprimand would have coursed through the enclave by the time she reached the top of the street.

“Ná Meva speaks of you to ní Tsecha.”

Jani stopped and turned back to the worktable, where Dathim smoothed the edge of a tile triangle.

“She does not believe you should act as a propitiator.” The Haárin's attention remained focused on the cutter, his
fingers flicking over the controller. “She does not believe it is that which you are.”

Jani shivered as chill anger drove out the heat of embarrassment.
I never spoke against her to him. I knew he esteemed her, and I kept my mouth shut.
Proof once again that no good deed ever went unpunished. “And what does she think I am?”

Dathim shrugged. “She never says.” He glanced at her through a haze of white powder. “Ní Tsecha defends you.”

Then he stands back and lets Meva test me.
And has the doubt she instilled confirmed. “I have to get back to the Main House.” Jani hurried into the street, where the sun shone and the air tasted of the sea instead of the chalk of tile dust, the gall of softly spoken words.

 

The first dream had been simple enough. Half walking, half sliding down a dune in her drop-dead whites, the most formal of the Service dress uniforms, trying to reach the tents, just visible in the distance. The Laumrau tents.

But she never reached them. The slide down the dune never ended, and the tents never drew closer.

“That one's not bad.” Jani had heard worse. From Niall. From others, over the years. Seen worse, during a time when her unmonitored hybridization warred with her Service augmentation, and old friends and enemies returned from the dead to say hello.

But she had never dreamed of Knevçet Shèràa. Until these last few weeks…

“Stress.” Jani perched on the rock formation just outside the Main House's rear entry. “Fear.” Worry about Thalassa.
And now this.
She tried to work up the nerve to get up, to go inside and meet John's lawyers. What if she hurt John's case? What if she said the wrong thing?

Hello, my name is Jani Kilian, and I have blood on my hands.

Twenty-six Laumrau, taking sacrament in their tents.

Twenty-six faces. Each so different, yet wearing the same
look of surprise when she raised her shooter and fired.

“I did what I had to.” Jani picked up a stone and skipped it across the scrubby ground. “I'd do it again.”

She had just gotten used to the everlasting slide down the dune when, last night, a new dream took its place. She wore desertweights this time. Stood at the opening of the first tent. Tried to rip open the flap, only to find that there wasn't one. Kept trying, and kept trying, grabbing for something that wasn't there—

—until she heard the noise behind her, the hum of a shooter in active mode, and knew if she moved, she would die…

…but that if she stood still, she would die anyway.

“Decisions, decisions.” Jani forced a laugh, then fell silent. Then she eased to her feet, walked to the door, and keyed inside.

Jani heard the raised voices as soon as she entered the courtyard. Two daysuited men stood nose-to-nose in the middle of the largest demiroom, while around them other daysuits watched in grim silence. Meanwhile, another group stood in the foyer, three men and two women with handcarts, their attention fixed as well on the escalating argument.

Then a familiar figure moved from the shadow of a planter and hurried toward her.

“Where the hell have you been?” John's voice shook.

“I was with Tsecha.” Jani looked past John to the arguing men. “What happened?”

“Officials from Justice arrived fifteen minutes ago with a warrant.” John led her back across the courtyard toward the demiroom. “They want everything—records, data. Anything related to research and treatment.”

Jani looked toward the group with the handcarts. The
empty
handcarts. “What have they taken?”

“Nothing. Yet.” John stuck his clenched fist against his thigh with every stride. “If Quino thinks—”

Quino?
As Jani approached, the arguing men fell silent. Then the shorter of the two turned and planted himself in her path.

“Ms. Kilian.” He was a small-boned hawk of a man, attired in darkest blue. “I will have to ask you to—”

Quino.
“We've met.” Jani pressed close, crowding him, forcing him back. “Joaquin Loiaza. You once stood between me and a ComPol arrest warrant. At John's behest, if I recall.”

Loiaza stiffened. “Yes, I do remember.” He recovered smoothly, his smile a cool, social curve of lip. “Such a long time ago—”

“Less than two years, but I can understand why you might prefer to forget it considering you're now playing for the other team.” It was Jani's turn to smile as Loiaza's face darkened. “Explain your presence here.”

Loiaza's eyes widened as he took in the full-bore hybrid turnout—the gold-toned skin, the green-on-green eyes. The top of his head barely reached Jani's shoulder, and like most every other man faced with that height difference, he countered by standing as tall as his spinal column would allow and raising his voice. “We are here by the authority of the Commonwealth—”

“Which means nothing to me.” Jani paused to breathe, then let the words flow. “This is not an Elyan settlement, Mister Loiaza. This is Thalassa, an autonomous enclave. The Commonwealth has no jurisdiction here.” Out of the corner of her eye Jani saw the man with whom Loiaza had argued scrabble in his jacket pocket. He removed a handheld, then turned and started whispering to another man who stood nearby. “As secular suborn to the enclave dominant, ná Gisa Pilon, I am the authority here—”

“Indeed?” Loiaza glanced back at the group behind him, who had broken out the handhelds as well. “I do not recall Thalassa ever having been recognized by the Commonwealth government.”

“His Excellency, Stanislaw Markos, Governor of Elyas, has seen fit to recognize our autonomy by treating the Thalassan boundaries as borders, and in other ways. I will leave it to you to explain to him the irrelevancy of that decision.” Jani detected the flicker in Loiaza's eyes, and knew she'd
scored a hit.
You didn't inform Markos you were coming here, did you? Bad Quino.
Nothing like pissing off your host by invading enclaves and issuing warrants without telling him first. “In any case, there are protocols that should have been followed prior to this…invasion, which were not. For example, we did not receive a formal request from the Commonwealth government to speak with Doctor Shroud concerning their wish to speak with him concerning his Neoclona holdings.”

“Is this the imperial ‘we,' ná Kièrshia? Do you speak for the absent ná Gisa as well, or is the act of obstruction of justice yours alone?” Loiaza's mud-brown eyes had hardened to stone. “No matter. Allow me to formally request now that we be allowed to discuss the matter of divestiture of Neoclona holdings with your suborn—”

“Denied.” Jani glanced at the other lawyers. All handhelds had been set aside—she had their undivided attention now. “The conversations that have already occurred will be considered to have never taken place. Any documents or other materials that were taken will be returned to Doctor Shroud immediately. You will depart Thalassa now and reapply formally for permission to speak with him.”

Loiaza kicked the last shred of social pretense out the window. “This is ridiculous.” His voice emerged as a hiss. “You and your Thalassans are medical mishaps, Kilian, not a sovereign entity.”

“We're both, actually, which means that Doctor Shroud's skills as a physician as well as his researches are vital to our continued health and well-being. To deny him the right and ability—not to mention the wherewithal—to practice his profession threatens the lives of all members of this enclave. Innocent members. I think the appropriate term for what might follow if you succeed in your efforts to prevent him from continuing his work is ‘humanitarian crisis.'” Jani turned her back on Loiaza and held out her hand to the man with whom he'd argued. “I'm assuming you're one of the good guys? Hello. We haven't met.”

The man took her hand lightly, as though he feared a shock. “Rudo Sikara, Ms. Kili—ná Kièrshia.” His skin was so black it seemed tinged with blue, the reddened whites of his eyes the only outward betrayal of the current stressful interlude. “This is my colleague, James Cossa.” He nodded toward the other man, who was younger, lighter of complexion, and even more battered looking.

Jani hesitated as her backbrain sent out a warning barrage. “Sikara and Cossa. I've heard of you.” Her gut tightened. “John said he'd hired an experienced firm. He didn't mention it was the most famous in the Outer Circle.”

“I am flattered.” Sikara's smile was tight. “I wish we could have met before this. That we could have spoken.” His voice matched his smile. “Do you have
any
justification for the claims of sovereignty you've just made?”

“I believe I do.” Jani lowered her voice as Loiaza and his team strained to overhear. “Last year, the Commonwealth Service ceased efforts to press charges of treason and desertion against two officers because they had begun the process of hybridization. As hybrids, they were no longer considered eligible for the Service. In the end it was decided that they came under the jurisdiction of the Elyan Haárin dominant, ná Feyó Tal, who at the time was considered Thalassa's secular dominant. Since that time, she has ceded the governance of Thalassa to ná Gisa Pilon.”

“That should not necessarily be construed as an acknowledgment of sovereignty,” Loiaza's nasal voice sounded. “A colonial base may find itself in a situation where acquiescing to local practice is preferable to pursuing a course of action that might jeopardize its future dealings with the native population.”

Jani turned on him, once more forcing him to backpedal. “Li Cao would do well to follow the Fort Karistos example.”

“This is not a matter of local interest only,” Loiaza bit out. “The decisions reached here will have far-reaching implications.”

Jani stared at the man until a small vein in his temple
started to throb. “John's your test case. You'll destroy him to keep the rest of the Commonwealth in line. Think you want to hybridize? Remember what we did to the head of Neoclona, and think again.”

“Indeed.” Sikara stepped up beside Jani. He wore the simplest of black suits and a white shirt, accented by a yellow and green striped neckpiece. “Nasty precedent, Counselor.” He arched one graying eyebrow.

Loiaza licked his lips. “Doctor Shroud is a special case.”

“So any decisions reached as a result of this ‘special case' will never be cited as precedent in support of any other action against another hybrid?” Cossa proved the more expressive of the two, from his more fashionable brown suit to his continued gesturing as he spoke. “Pull the other one, Quino—it whistles the Commonwealth anthem!”

Silence settled like a layer of ash. Then Loiaza turned to Sikara. “Since we have been evicted pending clarification of Jani Kilian's status as godhead—” He glared at her. “We will return tomorrow, Counselor.”

“Pending clarification of Thalassa's status, Counselor.” Sikara reactivated his handheld and began jotting. “I, meanwhile, will contact Governor Markos. And ná Feyó Tal as well, whose acquaintance I have enjoyed for several years.”

Loiaza started to speak, then closed his mouth and beckoned to the other lawyers. They followed him from the room single file, like nestlings trailing after a pissed-off mother duck, dragging the other Justice Ministry staffers and their empty handcarts along in their wake.

“Well,” Sikara said as the door closed. “That took a turn I did not expect.” He sat on the U-shaped sofa that dominated the space and regarded Jani with tired eyes. “As I said, it would have been nice if we could have spoken prior to this. You compelled us to reveal aspects of our defense that I wanted to keep close to the vest until we had all the facts.”

Jani glanced at John, who perched on the edge of an end table, arms folded, staring at the floor. “What difference does it make whether they know this or not? They did what they
did—they can't cover it up. They invaded a sovereign state, and they didn't inform Markos before they tramped through his flower bed to do it. They're in trouble.”

“Only if Governor Markos's decision concerning Thalassa's status stands up to challenge.” Cossa picked up a long-forgotten glass of iced tea, which dripped condensation on his trousers as he drank. “He serves at Li Cao's pleasure. She can pressure him to change his mind.”

“And Feyó can pressure him not to.” Jani massaged the base of her neck and felt the knot. “We're a long way from Chicago. The clout flows in both directions out here.”

“Li Cao will fight—she has too much to lose.” Cossa paused to take a napkin that Sikara thrust at him, and wrapped it around the glass. “If she can destroy John, other humans will be dissuaded from hybridizing by the threat of loss of profession and property.” His eyes lit. “I foresee a battle the first time a Family member decides to seek treatment.”

“Unfortunately, none of them have yet taken the plunge.” Sikara gazed over at John. “That we know of.”

“I shouldn't have to remind you, of all people, of the concept of confidentiality.” John spoke without raising his head. “It's their secret to keep until they start to show.” He worked his fingers as he spoke, like a musician warming up. Then he stilled and fell silent.

When it became obvious that his client had no more to say, Sikara stood. “I have known Quino for years. The best way to handle him is to let him think he's winning from the start. He grows smug, and with that smugness comes complacency. And with that complacency comes the tendency to make mistakes.” His expression grew wistful. “Ah well. Still a great deal of room for arrogance.” He glanced at Jani. “A great deal.” He hefted the briefbag that had rested on the floor at his feet. “In any event, this will be a precedent-setting case.”

“To the office!” Cossa slung his briefbag over his shoulder and clapped his hands. “Let's go put on the mud clothes.”

“My colleague has such a colorful way of expressing himself.” Sikara shook his head with mock gravitas. “John,
we will be speaking later.” He bowed to Jani. “Ná Kièrshia. We should talk soon.” The light in his eye sharpened for an instant, as though
soon
meant
before you speak to anyone else about anything at all
. Then he was gone, and his partner after him.

Jani waited until the men left, until the door closed and the silence settled once more. “I'm sorry I was late.” She untied the jacket from around her waist, then walked to the sofa and sat. “I was held up at the meeting house and—”

“Do you know what you're doing?” John's voice emerged like a shudder, cold and deep in the bone. “When you open your mouth, do you have any idea what will fall out? Or are you just making it up as you go?”

Jani stilled.
Is this more of what Val warned me about?
She glanced around the demirooms, the courtyard, on the lookout for a familiar head ducking behind shrubbery.
No wonder he made himself scarce.
“I got them out of here, didn't I? It gave you some room to maneuver.” She spread the jacket across her legs and stroked it like a pet. “I believe there's enough precedent to support the concept of our sovereignty—”

“Which reinforces the idea that I'm no longer human enough to run my own goddamned company.” John stood, slowly, as though movement pained him. “There's a reason why men like Sikara and Cossa are paid a great deal of money to dig poor bastards like me out of holes. It's because they know what to say and when to say it. They don't just blurt. They don't give the game away.”

Jani's hands stalled in mid-stroke. “I'm sorry I upset Mr. Sikara. I will apologize the next time I see—”

“You humiliated Joaquin Loiaza. Do you think he's just going to sit back and take it?”
John looked toward the courtyard, where a couple of Thalassans fussed over a flowering shrub and pretended not to be eavesdropping. “We were prepared to give up some things,” he continued with lowered voice. “We were prepared to let them think they'd won this round. It made me sick to do it, but I had no choice.” He started to pace. “It's a dance. I've led all my life, and now I
have to follow, because the steps are everything and if I put a foot wrong, I lose everything.”

Jani looked toward the courtyard, where more Thalassans had gathered. Yes, some carried trays of condiments and others table linens, but set-up for late afternoon sacrament usually didn't begin for another half-hour.
But today, there's a floor show
. “Why didn't you just tell me—”