Law of Survival (22 page)

Within minutes, she had sifted out fourteen names. She whittled it by more than two-thirds after she discarded net
worths below one hundred fifty thousand. No casino manager wanted to gut a new customer on the first go-round, therefore they never approved a credit line greater than ten percent of the customer's net worth. Steve had guessed low—green markers in Felix Majora signified a fifteen thousand Comdollar investment, therefore everyone worth less than one hundred fifty thousand fell by the wayside.

And then there were four…

Four names. Jani discarded that of the woman who choked on a sandwich at her family reunion. She also tossed out the man in his twenties who had decided to raid the Fort Constanza ordnance depot for Dia Felicia fireworks and fried himself on the security fence that ringed the Service base's outer perimeter.

And then there were two…

After a little more thought, she rejected the ninety-four-year-old man who had fallen in his bathroom and struck his head with killing force against the corner of his marble bath. He had been a cornerstone of the Majoran import-export cartel, which made his exclusion difficult. But it was the wrong sort of death. The wrong manner, wrong method.

And then there was one…

Etienne Palia. Killed when the racing-class skimmer he drove veered off Felix Majora's infamous Camino Loco and slammed into a scancrete abutment. Massive systems failure, according to the on-site investigator. A rare occurrence with that particular model skimmer, but not unheard of. Accidents did, after all, happen.

“The article says Palia was a businessman.” No particular business mentioned, not even something vague like import-export.
A businessman.
Well, they all were, weren't they? No one ever admitted to an inquiring reporter, yes, I am a high-level soldier in a brand-new Commonwealth-spanning criminal organization. It was always,
I am a businessman,
said with a cool smile as unblinking eyes gazed directly into the holocam.

“Palia—member of
L'araignée
?” Jani doodled a looping question mark on the top page of the notepad. That's what she kept the writing materials for—any pertinent facts she would store in her head and her head only. She backed out of
the search driver and powered down the workstation. Disengaged the anti-trace jig and tucked it away, along with the pad and stylus. Tossed back the last swallow of tonic, consigned the dispo to the sparky maw of the trashzap, and departed the carrel. Her stomach growled as she hit the walkway. She dug a meal bar out of her bag and consumed it in a few untasted bites.

Massive systems failure.
The right sort of death. An assassination that a professional adept at gadgetry might pull off.

As Jani negotiated the final turn leading to Lucien's hospital room, the sounds of a familiar voice raised in anger reached her. She opened the door slowly, poised to back away and flee around the nearest corner if the occasion demanded. Val Parini didn't often lose his temper. When he did, it paid to be elsewhere.

Unfortunately for Jani, Val also possessed the hearing of a nervous cat—he turned as soon as he heard the door mech.
“Damn it, Jan—you talk to him!”
He stood at the foot of Lucien's bed, recording board in one hand, stylus in the other. The stylus performed double-duty as a weapon—Val used it to stab the air with malice aforethought. “Only a certifiable idiot would sign himself out of here in the condition he's in!”

“I'm fine, really.” Lucien stood bedside, looking as far from fine as Jani had ever seen him. He wore winter base casuals—grey pull-on pants and a loose blue pullover that hung untucked. His faded tan looked sallow, the overhead illumination highlighting the sheen of sweat that coated his forehead. He packed a plastic sack with the few items of clothing that had come through the shooting unscathed—his lid, his tietops, and socks. He moved in slow motion, turning with his whole body to avoid bending or flexing at the waist.

Jani saw him wince as he leaned forward to insert a sock into the bag. “Lucien, I think you should listen to Val.”

“Damned right he should listen to Val. Now get back into bed before you pass out.” Val circled to Lucien's side of the bed and reached for the sack, but Lucien stuck his arm straight out to the side to stop him.

“I've signed myself out. I'm not your problem anymore.” He lowered his arm, then resumed folding his other sock with a slowness that was maddening to watch. “Leave me alone.”

Jani edged closer. “Do your superiors know you've done this?”

Lucien smiled as she approached, but exhaustion damped the usual four-alarm blaze to a dying ember. “It's easier to obtain forgiveness than permission.” He closed the bag, tried to lift it, then gasped and let it drop back to the bed.

“This is
bullshit
!” Val headed for the door, open medcoat flapping. He stopped long enough to make a hurried entry into the board. “I'm countermanding that release right now.” He pointed the stylus at Jani. “Don't you dare take him out of this room. I'm getting John. Maybe he can talk some sense into him.” The stylus swung around toward Lucien. “Then I'm calling your CO.”

Lucien waited for the door to close before speaking. “Jani, please get me out of here.”

Jani hesitated. Then she walked around the bed to his side because she knew he expected her to come close and he'd wonder why if she didn't. “You can't even stand.” As soon as she drew near, he leaned toward her and tried to kiss her, but she ducked him easily and grabbed his arm so she could steer him back to the bed. “And you sure as hell can't do
that,
so lie down.”

“I love it when you order me around.” Lucien slipped his arm around her waist and lay his head on her shoulder. Then he groaned. His weight shifted.

Jani widened her stance for stability and helped him lower onto the bed. She hoisted his legs, then supported his shoulders as he lay back, felt the sweat soak through the thin pullover knit as she held him. His face had paled to chalky ochre. “Asking if it hurts is a dumb question, isn't it?”

Lucien shook his head. “They implanted a pain med diffuser. I just feel pressure. Weight. Like I've got a cannonball lodged against my hip. But I'm so goddamned
weak
!” He gripped her wrist as soon as she let go of him. “I have to get out of here. Shroud does
not
like me.”

Jani tried to ease out of Lucien's grasp, but as soon as she
pulled one wrist away, he grabbed the other. “He won't allow his personal feelings to affect his treatment of you.”

“Oh yeah? Are these the same personal feelings that didn't affect your treatment?” Blood rose in Lucien's cheeks, warming his pallor.

“You're just another patient—I'm the incredible ongoing experiment.” Jani worked her wrist free, but she had to bend close to Lucien in order to do so, which gave him a chance to grab the hem of her jacket. “Damn it—will you knock it off!”

“I've missed you.” Weak as he was, Lucien still pulled with enough force to drag her down beside him on the bed.

“Let me go!” Jani tried to work his fingers loose, but he outmaneuvered her once more by releasing the jacket and capturing both her wrists in a surprisingly strong grip. “I thought you were ready to faint.”

“See? You're here five minutes, and I'm already feeling better.” He slid his hands up her arms until he caught hold just above her elbows. “Take me home with you, and I'll be back to full strength in a week.” He pulled her down to him. Because of the angle, his lips found her throat first, leaving a tracery of fire behind as they moved over the underside of her jaw and her chin, then settled over her mouth.

And then there was one…
Jani tried to pull away, but Lucien's grip tightened. She'd have to wrench free and retreat to the middle of the room to ensure that he couldn't grab anything else, and that would make him wonder why she didn't want him to touch her. Then he'd start asking questions, like why hadn't she tried to visit him sooner, and what had she been doing since the shooting?

He let loose her arms. One hand moved to the back of her neck to guide her closer, while the other slid over the front of her jacket and settled over her breast, massaging it with a light, experienced touch.

Damn it!
Jani's body reacted in fits and starts, warming to Lucien's taste and feel and her own arousal, then chilling as the memories intruded. Of the bottom drawer of a dresser, and fifteen objects nestled in their displays.

And then there was one
…She braced her hands on ei
ther side of Lucien's head and tried to push away. But her hands wouldn't listen to her thinking brain—instead they worked through his hair, then under his head, embracing him, holding him closer—

“My apologies for the interruption.”

Jani broke away from Lucien and twisted around to find John looming in the doorway, his long face a stern blank. Val peered from behind him, eyes widened in a
what the hell do you think you're doing
glare.

“I disagree with your assessment, Val. It appears Mr. Pascal may be fit for release after all.” John closed in on the side of the bed. His eyes, filmed tiger's eye brown to match the day's tan shirt and trousers, never left Lucien's face. “How are you feeling today, Mr. Pascal, aside from the obvious?”

“John.”
Jani worked Lucien's distraction to her advantage, easing off the bed and into the nearby visitor's chair.

“Sorry.” John didn't look apologetic. He didn't look at Jani, either, instead alternating his gaze between Lucien and the recording board that Val had shoved into his hands. “And the impediment to discharge is what?”

“Well, for one thing, the doctors and nurses are all
here,
not on Armour Place.” Val shot Jani another aggravated look. “He suffered renal trauma. He's showing blood in his urine—”

“His hematuria's microscopic. The trauma proved relatively minor—the point of impact was too low to cause much damage.” John glowered toward the bed. “That being said, Mr. Pascal, I really would
not
move around any more than absolutely necessary if I were you.”

Lucien, who at that point had been trying to sit up, sank back against his pillows like a deflating balloon.

John returned to studying the board display. “He is receiving regular standard monitoring. Dressing changes—they're not as necessary as you think, Val. With his augmentation helping to speed things along, his wound has undergone a week's worth of healing in a day. He won't even need a dressing by the day after tomorrow—enough new skin cells will have bonded to the support to make it unnecessary.”

“But John, his peritoneum—”

“The rupture was small—Osgood sealed it completely—”

Jani sat quietly, ignoring Lucien's attempts to catch her eye.
I don't want him in my flat.
But if she came right out and said that, Lucien would know she didn't want him near her, that she suspected him of something.

On the other hand
…keeping Lucien in plain sight had its advantages.
Think of this professionally, not personally.
As the object of both Angevin's admiration and Steve's animosity, he would be carefully watched. In hospital, or as an outpatient at Sheridan, he could get up to anything. In her flat, his activities would be limited.

What did I tell Derringer…keep your friends close and your enemies closer.
It only remained to be determined on which side of the line Lucien belonged.

“John, he's not one hundred percent ours to discharge.” Val had wandered to the opposite side of the room and hoisted himself atop the lowboy dresser. “Service Medical has a say in when he leaves and where he spends his post-discharge recovery.”

“So cart him out to Sheridan and get their buy-in. He can't be approved for active duty yet—he may as well stay in the city for a few days.” Before Val could argue out from under, John pulled a stylus from his medcoat pocket and impressed his scrawl onto the board input. “Have Liu arrange an ambulance to Sheridan. While they've got him, Croydon and the set-up team can install all the necessary equipment at Armour Place. He can be settled in a couple of hours.”

Val dismounted the dresser. “I don't think it's a good idea. I—” He glanced at Lucien, whose look at him had grown more focused, and fell silent.

“It's done. In the works.” John walked to the door, handing off the recording board to Val on the way. “You wanted him so badly, you've got him. He's all yours.”

It took Jani a few seconds to realize that John had directed the comment at her.

 

“This is the most ridiculous bloody thing I ever heard.” Steve had fully recovered from his nicstick mishap and had been making up for lost talk time ever since Jani had returned to her flat to break the news. “He belongs at Sheridan—let them haul his freight till he's cleared fer active.”

Jani peeked around the open doorway into the newly furnished spare bedroom, where “Croydon, Outpatient Services” and her team outfitted the French Quarter-style bed with detachable rails and a mattress that folded up like a chair or flattened at the touch of a pad. Rails had also been added to various points in the adjoining bath, attached with specialty bondings that would dissolve when exposed to ultra-high frequency vibration, leaving the walls “as clean as you please, ma'am.” They had also installed a comport that patched through directly to Neoclona by touch or voice, and a small cooler stocked with nutritionals.

“It's possible that once Service Medical gets their hands on him, they won't let him leave.” Jani stepped to one side as Croydon and crew bustled out of the bedroom, skimdolly of tools and equipment in tow. “I doubt he's been debriefed yet, and I'm sure Service Investigational has initiated their own inquiry into the shooting.”

“Live in hope.” Steve shoved an unactivated 'stick in his mouth and fell in behind the installers.

Die in despair.
Jamira Shah Kilian used to pluck that saying out of the air at the damnedest times. Her daughter Jani hadn't liked it any better back then than she did now.

She entered the main room to find Angevin standing by the desk, holding a recording board.

“More calls. First, Colonel Derringer.”

Jani stopped in the middle of the floor and covered her face with her hands.
You sent the skimmer for me this morning, and I wasn't here. Now you're going to get me.
“Shit.”

“That's what I thought. What a creep. He said sorry that he missed your appointment this morning, but all hell had broken loose at Diplo because of the shooting. He wants to meet tomorrow. He said the idomeni embassy's locked Tsecha down, again because of the shooting. Says you and he need to ‘rethink,' whatever that means.”

The relief of reprieve evaporated. “They've pulled Nema out of the public eye?” Jani walked to her desk and sat heavily. “Did Derringer say for how long?”

“He didn't say much of anything. He said he'd prefer not to deal with
staff
. I almost told him what he could do with
his
staff,
and his gold eagle, but I didn't want to get you into trouble.”

Oh, you couldn't make matters any worse, trust me.
Jani wondered if Derringer had heard any interesting news about The Nema Letter, or whether she'd have to prompt him herself to rescan it.
Oh look! The pattern's changed. It's not an idomeni document—it's just deteriorating.
She would have given a great deal to receive a call like that. A great deal.

“Jani?”

“Hmm?”

“Devinham said thanks for the report but that it wasn't what he wanted and he won't pay the delivery half of his bill.” Angevin looked up from her board and crossed her eyes.

“It's exactly what he asked for and I have the comport recordings to prove it.” Jani ran a hand over the curiously uncluttered surface of her desk, the result of Angevin's organizing. “But I knew he'd be trouble. That's why I charged him double my usual rate and made him pay half upfront.”

“So you aren't going to file a complaint against him with Registry?”

“No. I'll just spread his name around. Within a month, not even the deregistered dexxies will take his business.”

“Good.” Angevin nodded agreement as she continued down her list. “Niall Pierce called to say he would have been by today, but he couldn't get away from Sheridan. He said you'd understand.”