Matriarch (31 page)

He had to be a bit drunk to call her that. “Okay, then, learn from my mistakes.”

“I have real trouble working out whether the wess'har are
wrong or we are. Ethically, I mean. Sometimes they make so much sense, and then I see them roll in like the Mongol hordes and I just don't know what's right and wrong any longer.”

“You can't mix the two philosophies,” said Shan. “It's like trying to work in Imperial and metric. You can do one or the other and it's fine, but try mixing them and everything goes wrong. Take guilt and responsibility. The wess'har logic on who's guilty makes perfect sense to me when I'm in it. Then I step into the human moral framework and that makes sense too. But I can't mix the two. It doesn't work.”

Eddie sipped. “Like the way they fight.”

“What, that they just decide what they're going to do without any sense of maneuvering the other side into conceding?”

“Yeah.”

“Culturally psychopathic in human terms.”

“But ordered and predictable in their own.”

“Human psychopaths make perfect sense until they mix with the majority of humans who work on escalating threat warnings and consider other people's reactions.” A pool of yellow light spilled onto the terrace: someone had opened the rear door. “God knows I met enough of them as a copper.”

“Is that why you're so good with aliens? That you're used to dealing with nutters?”

“No, it's because I'm as fucking mad as they are.” She sipped the bathtub eau de vie; no, she couldn't even guess what it was made from. She concentrated on the placebo effect.
Change the subject.
“It was nice of you to fetch the booze, Eddie. Thanks.”

“See? Scientists do come in handy sometimes. If only for making moonshine.”

“Yeah. Just don't tell me what they made it from. I've seen the recycling facilities, remember.”

Eddie didn't seem soothed. In fact, he seemed more agitated. They'd lived in one another's pockets for two years, and he was nowhere near as good at poker as he thought—not in
front of a seasoned police officer who also had a wess'har olfactory advantage, anyway. He was working up to something bigger.

“I need to ask you a
really
hard question now,” he said.

“Harder than asking me if you should drop another bombshell on the people of Earth? Jesus, Eddie…”

“What happened to Lin? I suppose I should ask about Rayat, too, but the twat deserved what he got.”

Oh, shit.
Why was he back on that? She hoped he'd forgotten, or at least moved on. It was a naïve hope. Like her, Eddie needed to close his cases. “Like Lin didn't?”

“She was a stupid cow, I know that. Tactical nukes are fine but cobalt is a no-no. Yeah, that sort of puts her in the twat league too.”

“Are you asking how she died again? Come on—”

“Yes, and I'm asking
if
she died.”

Shit.
That was straight out of the blue. “And why do you think she didn't?”

“Did Ade back out of handing her over?”

“Still not with you.”
Oh yes, I am.

“He overreacted when I mentioned her. I just can't see him handing her over. Aras, maybe.”

Shan hoped her face was blank. “Leave it, Eddie. Don't start.”

“Don't piss me about, Shan.
Is she dead?
”

Shan didn't have the guilt now about lying to him. But she wasn't sure if he really did know the answer, and then if she lied she'd lose all credibility. She'd never lied to him before; she'd ducked the question as only a copper could, but an outright lie…no, she hadn't. As Aras had told her in the early days, before they really knew one another, she wasn't cut out for lies.

“Ask yourself this,” Shan said carefully. “If you find out, will you want to deal with the answer?”

“She's alive, isn't she? They didn't do it, did they?”

Shan simply stared back at him. She could do that; she was even better than him at the silent routine, waiting to see who would blink first. She'd stared down a lot of suspects
during interrogations. Some got so mad about it that they took a swing at her, which was always a mistake that she dealt with robustly.

“This is where it gets awkward,” said Eddie.

Oh God, Eddie, just keep drinking and shut up, will you.
“You tell me.”

“She's not in F'nar. Or Mar'an'cas. I'm pretty sure I'd hear about it if she was.”

“This isn't
Twenty Questions.
”

“So where is she?”

“What did I say, Eddie?”

His face went oddly blank for a second, and she knew that look: it was sudden revelation, like he'd put a few pieces of the puzzle together with a satisfying snap. “She's on Bezer'ej isn't she? And if she's not dead, and there's the pathogen, then—oh, that's what Hayin meant, isn't it?”

She put down her glass on the balustrade and stood square on to Eddie, a little too close for his comfort.

And she was a couple of inches taller. That always had a salutary effect on men. She was back to being Superintendent Frankland for a moment, and never far from that persona at the best of times.

“Eddie, you stop right
now.
Okay?” She kept her voice low. “You're my friend, and I'll never forget what you did for Aras when I wasn't around, but if you go down this path then I'll have to stop you. And I stop people hard.”

Eddie didn't flinch but she saw his pupils dilate and he smelled scared. She didn't think he was afraid of her. He was afraid of what he now knew.

“Oh shit,” he said. “Oh shit, it's true, isn't it? Her
and
Rayat?”

“Are we clear on this, Eddie? No speculation, no stories, nothing. We've just had a chat about consequences, haven't we? I don't have to draw you a picture, not after last time.”

“Hey, I know what I did. I regret even asking questions. If I hadn't talked to Kris Hugel, the rumor about you would never have developed the way it did. And the bezeri would
still be here, and
Actaeon.
That's a lot of deaths for me to live with. So I'm not going to file any more
c'naatat
stories.”

“But you can't
un
know things. They eat away at you. Better not to know in the first place.”

“Well, right now, I
don't
know anything.”

“That's a good place to be. Stay there.”

“Just answer this, if I—”

“No.” Shan kept her voice hushed. “No. Okay?”

Eddie never gave up. She admired that more than he'd ever know. “If I did anything irresponsible, you'd do a lot more than smash my cam, wouldn't you?”

“I'd do what I had to.”

“You'd put a round through me.”

“For Chrissakes, Eddie…”

“Shit, what else could I expect from someone who spaced themselves to stop Rayat getting the bloody thing?”

“Look, let's forget we had this conversation.” Shan picked up her glass again and reached for the bottle to top up his. “You know you need to.”

“Jesus, you must be really pissed off about it after what you went through. How the hell did it happen?”

Don't remind me. Don't rub it in.
“How
what
happened?” She knew how to say
what
in a way that shut people up. She didn't blink. “See, Eddie, if I told you anything then I'd have to
trust
you. And I recall asking you to trust
me
and walk away from a story about two years ago on Bezer'ej. When you thought I was a mule for a biotech company. Remember? When you put two and two together and came up with six?”

“And don't you think I regret it?” Eddie had a heart and a conscience, and it was now pretty easy to get a clear shot at both. “How do you think I felt when you
killed
yourself? After all I'd said?”

“I don't want your guilt. I just want you to understand what happens when someone tells you that it's better not to know and it's actually
true.
”

“See,” he said. “You edit
all
the time.”

Too right.
If she told him, she'd have to watch him for the rest of his life, and even then she'd worry that he'd passed on the information. Neither of them said it, but they both knew the unsaid subject was
c'naatat.

Eddie didn't look so hard-arsed now. Tired and drawn, he seemed to have aged more than a few years; high gravity, limited food and—there was no other way to put it—stress that few humans had ever experienced had all taken their toll.

“Oh, balls to it,” he sighed, and tipped the eau de vie down his throat in one gulp, screwing his eyes shut for a second or two. “I just want to know she's okay.”

“Truth is, Eddie, I
don't
know. I really don't. Now let's change the subject.”

Ade's personal radar never failed. He strode out the open door with a tray of lumps on skewers—
evem,
probably—and laid them on the barbecue, at once both friendly and making it clear that he was interrupting. He was a natural sergeant. He
sorted
things. He looked after her. Except for Aras, nobody else had ever been that protective towards her, and she
liked
it even if she didn't need it.

“Party pooper,” said Ade. “Come on, mate, stop talking shop. Make yourself useful and get everyone a beer.”

Eddie just looked at him, and Ade stared back. Shan prepared to step in: but Eddie's question—and he definitely had one—dried on his lips. “Okay, Ade,” he said, voice artificially calm. She could hear the effort.

“Mart wants to play charades when everyone's tanked up,” said Ade. “It's always funnier when you're pissed.”

Eddie either took the hint or he really did want to forget what he thought he knew. Shan watched him disappear into the house.

“Thanks.” She gave Ade a quick kiss on the cheek. “Very diplomatic.”

“What's his problem? You looked bloody furious with him.”

“He's worked out that Lin and Rayat aren't dead, and he's not stupid. Process of elimination and a bit of journo maths, as he calls it, and bang—he's reached the right conclusion.”

“Shit. Is he going to keep his mouth shut? Maybe I need to relieve him of his cam because if he's had a bit too much of the old firewater, and he decides to file…”

“Ade, I've picturized him. He knows what'll happen if he lets that slip out on air.”

“I'll educate him if you like.”

“No, leave it. But maybe I
ought
to crimp his ITX link.”
For how long? You can't erase his brain. You're going to have to trust him. Shit, shit, shit.
“Anyway, it's my problem and I'll deal with it.”

Ade looked as if he was going to say something. He didn't. But Shan heard it anyway; he thought it was all his fault.

It was. But she was looking for reasons not to feel betrayed by him, because she loved him and he was a good, decent man. She'd never allowed herself to look beyond the crime to the criminal before. She was very conscious of how unwess'har that feeling was, and this bore no resemblance to the ferocious sense of self-sufficient completeness she'd felt after surviving raw, cold space for so long.

I don't need any bastard. Not Ade, not Aras, nobody.

But it was a better life with people you loved than without them. If that was weakness, she'd have to accept it.

Eddie reappeared with a tray of beer, flanked by the marines and Aras, who was carrying a large
efte
fiber drum. Shan met Eddie's eyes, unblinking, and the silent warning was heeded.

“You really did put some time into this, Ade,” said Eddie. “Nice job, mate. Thanks.” He recovered his glass and checked its absence of contents. “Cheers. Merry Christmas.”

Aras shook the drum and it rattled invitingly. “A slow process, but this is sweet potato sliced and roasted to a crisp as you suggested.”

The marines turned to the box of crisps with military focus. You could never overestimate the morale-boosting power of familiar food—or its close approximation—a long way from home. It even distracted Shan for a moment, but
the moment didn't last. She thought of Lindsay and Rayat again and what Eddie might let slip.

“Bloody brilliant,” said Becken. He dug into the crisps. “I'm so impressed that I'll do the dishes.”

Eddie didn't raise the subject of Lindsay again that evening. Shan concentrated on behaving as if she was having a good time, which she wasn't, because she didn't know how to. But it mattered to Ade that she looked as if she was, because he needed a normal family Christmas for the first time in his life and she was determined to give it to him.

Normal.

It wasn't the planet or the alien neighbors or even
c'naatat
now that were abnormal. It was being an
isan,
a matriarch, and having to find a new reason for being.

What if I'm hanging on to the policing role here and worrying about Lin and Rayat because I don't know how to do anything else? Am I creating crises to keep myself busy?

They drank the beer and ate far too much. Ade was right: Barencoin was very funny with a few drinks inside him and the charades degenerated into the kind of vulgar mime session that felt just like being back at the police social club, all raucous laughter and barracking. Shan wondered how the marines coped with celibacy, or if she'd missed something and there were relationships within the detachment. She'd never seen the slightest sign of that. They couldn't still be taking suppressants. Perhaps they might have been better off back at Umeh Station after all; they might have had a better social life.