Contact Imminent (12 page)

Jani waited for Feyó to continue, but the female remained silent, the back of her hand still pressed against her cheek. “It seems to me,” she said finally, “that the Elyan Haárin have taken to subterfuge with a vengeance. Unfortunately, you're still not clear as to which side you're supposed to hold back information
from
.” She tapped the display with her fingernail until Feyó looked up. “I'm the one who's the focus of untoward interest. You can talk to
me
.”

Feyó nodded, then drew in a deep breath. If she'd been humanish, one could say that she was screwing up her courage. “The one who would challenge me wishes to state her case to you in person, to persuade you to intercede for her with ní Tsecha. She believes that with his support, she will face acceptance.”

“You are the acknowledged dominant of the Elyan enclave.” A twinge of paranoia compelled Jani to check the seal on the combooth door, and make sure no one standing
outside could overhear. “You enjoy the support of the Outer Circle Haárin, and the confidence of humanish as well. Anyone who would challenge you would have a difficult time arguing their case. And if they tried to kidnap me, or harm me in any way, they would lose any chance of gaining Tsecha's support.”

“This one does not understand such. She is arrogant, and believes that she has only to speak to you to convince you of her position.”

“What is her name?” Jani asked. “What is her standing?”

Feyó hesitated. “Her name is Gisa. She is an agronomist, as I am. Her beliefs are most as extreme. She attracts the impatient, those who do not understand how an enclave must function if it is to survive alongside humanish!” Feyó's eyes gleamed with anger. “My security will protect you, ná Kièrshia, of that you have my pledge. Gisa will not find hold of you.”

Jani experienced a a sickeningly familiar turn of stomach.
It's like I never left Chicago.
The same undercurrents. The same power struggles.

She thought of the single bright spot, the only thing that offered her any sort of reprieve. “Among the rumors you've learned to listen to, ná Feyó, have you heard anything concerning another hybrid? A young male, to be precise?”

“No, ná Kièrshia.” Feyó shook her head. “No rumors of young hybrid males.” She looked Jani straight in the eye, her gaze unwavering.

 

Jani reached the gym entrance just as John and Niall emerged, sweaty and silent. John offered a rueful smile. Niall, on the other hand, eyed her with a wariness he normally reserved for strangers.

“Ná Feyó contacted me. She thinks someone may try to kidnap me at Elyas Station.” She tried to maneuver to John's side but found her way blocked by Niall's strategically placed foot.

“Kidnap?” He toweled his face, then stuffed the cloth in his bag. “Why?”

Jani backed off, then wandered a semicircle in the middle of the corridor.
“Kidnap” is so strong a word. Should she have said “accost”? “Delay”?
Besides, all Feyó had to go on was rumor and guesswork, and she didn't possess the experience in handling either to make the most reliable of sources. “It isn't definite. But a rival named Gisa has challenged Feyó for the dominance of the Elyan Haárin. Feyó believes Gisa wishes to convince me of the rightness of her cause. She'll try to talk me into supporting her, and ask me to intercede for her with Tsecha.”

“We'll be disembarking on the human side of the station.” John set his bag down at his feet. He held a towel, too, but instead of wiping his face, he worked it in his hands, first bundling it, then shaking it flat, then bundling it again. “Any Haárin who tried to infiltrate the dock area would stand out.”

“Those docks have enough twists and turns for someone to hide in, assuming they decide to try infiltration rather than assault.” Niall's grim expression lightened as he focused on their new problem. The wolf on the scent. “What did Feyó tell you?”

“Pretty much what I told you. She couldn't provide specifics. All she has is a feeling.”

“A
feeling
?” Niall still held his racket. He tightened his hold on the grip, working the head up and down as though he shook someone's hand. “What's that worth?”

“I don't know.” Lacking a racket or a towel to worry, Jani shoved her hands in her pockets and paced. “All I can say is that I've never seen her this angry.”

The three of them pondered, expending varying levels of nervous energy as they did.

Niall finally ended the silence by flicking his racket in a sharp backhand, then stuffing it in his bag. “I can start with station security. Fort Karistos should be able to spare me
some bodies.” He turned to John. “What about Neoclona, Doctor?”

“Whoever you need.” John started down the corridor toward the comdeck. “We can light a fire under them right now.”

Niall fell in behind, lagging until Jani caught him up. “Did Feyó give you any other information? Anything at all?”

Jani shook her head. “She's promised me her security. If there's anything else to know, they should know it.”

Niall kept his attention fixed on John's back. “This political issue—is this what you didn't want to tell me?” He clenched his hand into a fist and pounded his thigh.
“Damn it, Jani.”

Jani thought of a bright smile and badly filmed eyes, and said nothing.

 

The comdeck get-together lasted well into the ship-afternoon. John bailed first, after tempers flared and it became obvious that there could only be one Chief of Operations and Niall was it. Jani remained behind to act as Haárin translator, but as it turned out, both Feyó's suborns and the Haárin who worked station security all spoke passable English. Not only that, but they seemed to thrive under Niall's blunt direction, which in turn rendered Jani's fears of diplomatic incident moot. When she finally slipped out the door, no one noticed that she left.

She meant to return to her own cabin, but she didn't feel like being alone, and that meant there was only one other place for her to go.
I've done it often enough this trip
. And never stayed longer than a few minutes.
I respect John's privacy, just like he respects mine
. And all in all, they had both done an excellent job of avoiding anything even approaching a delicate situation.

More fool me
. She pushed the thought from her mind as she turned down a short, dead-end corridor, stopped before the lone set of doors, and hit the buzzer.

“Come in,” sounded the so-familiar bass.

Jani hesitated. Even in the middle of a brightly lit hallway, John's voice inspired thoughts of the dark. She wiped her hand along her trouser leg, then touched the doorpad. The panel slid aside—she crossed the threshold and walked down a short entry that opened into the white and yellow sitting room. “Every time I come in here, I think the same thing.” She took in the woodweave chairs and couches, the brightly patterned cushions, and as usual felt as though she'd walked onto the veranda at a sunny resort. “No Neoclona purple? No Persian carpets? No ebony hardwood?”

“Very funny.” John rose from his lounge chair, the latest issue of the Karistos
Partisan
in hand. His hair was still wet from the shower, and he'd changed into a more familiar long-sleeve pullover and trousers in shades of tan. “The colonel still whipsawing my security?” He rolled the newssheet into a tight baton and slapped it against his hand. “I don't know how I managed to stay out of harm's way for the last twenty years without having him around to bark at me.”

“John, it's his job. He's good at it.”

“I've only been shot at
once
that entire time. Guess who I can thank for that?”

Jani held up her hands and backed away. Then she walked to the wall-spanning display case and pretended interest in an aquarium. She heard nothing for a time, then a slow tread of footsteps from behind that set her heart pounding.

John moved in beside her, a relatively safe arm's length away. “Are you frightened?”

Of what?
The unknown danger awaiting at Elyas Station, or the more immediate peril standing beside her now?
Take my pick
. Jani wanted to move closer to John and take his hand in hers. Instead, she leaned close to the aquarium and tapped her finger against the glass. One of the fish, a blue and orange swordfin, floated up toward the sound and shadow, bumping the glass with its nose as it tried to draw near. “According to Feyó, Gisa just wants to talk. It doesn't follow that she'd try to hurt me. She'd squander any chance she had to influence Tsecha.” She raised her finger higher.
The fish followed. “I'm concerned about what this challenge could mean. To the Elyan Haárin. To Outer Circle stability.”

“I'm afraid my concerns are more immediate.” John pulled open one of the case drawers and removed the same S-40 he'd shown her in her Chicago kitchen over a month before. “Do you still have your shooter?”

“Yes. Stowed safely in the bottom of my bag.” Jani reached out and took the weapon from his hand. “You planning a shootout in the middle of the VIP dock area?” She checked the powerpack and was relieved to find it disengaged.
Glad to see Doctor Marya your shooting instructor actually taught you something about shooting
. “Speaking of weapons, how did the match go?” she asked as she handed back the S-40.

John took back the weapon and slipped it back in the drawer. “I played him close the first game. Lost it eight-ten. Then it got ugly. He swept me—four straight.” He tapped his finger against the glass to draw the swordfin's attention, but it ignored him, intent upon Jani. “Whatever happened between you two, he needed to take it out on somebody. Lucky me.”

Jani pressed her face to the glass and looked more deeply into the aquarium. Toward the rear of the tank a miniature shark swam a lazy circuit, occasionally grazing the bottom and kicking up silt. “He knows I'm hiding something from him. He's known since we left Chicago. For now, he thinks I held back information about Feyó, but once he finds out about the suspected hybrid…” She rapped the side of the aquarium with her knuckles, sending fish darting in all directions but for the steadfast swordfin. “John, he's my friend.”

“I know.” John folded his arms and leaned against the case. “You and Niall are halves of the same whole. Moody. Introspective. Hard on others, but even harder on yourselves. A couple of damaged idealists on a never-ending quest to find something to believe in. He thought he found that thing in you. Now you're moving away from him, and he's angry.”
The room was too bright for him. Like a moon or a star, darkness defined John Shroud best.

Jani looked up into tired eyes, filmed a pale amber that reminded her of Tsecha's. “You've been thinking about this a lot.”

“Val does most of that sort of thinking. I listen and take notes.” John smiled, then walked over to a free-standing terrarium and smoothed a hand over a broad green leaf. “I confirmed for the umpteenth time that Eamon DeVries has had no more than a paper relationship with Neoclona-Karistos for the past six months of the Common calendar. His labs are closed. His office is dark.”

“Do you believe them?”

“Eamon was never the type to command loyalty. I see no reason for senior staff to lie on his behalf, especially if they know that any illegal action on his part could lead to criminal charges against them all.” John walked back to the aquarium and grinned at the swordfin. “Looks like you made a friend.”

Jani gave the glass a final tap, sending the fish wriggling in a series of tight circles. “I didn't do anything special. I just tapped the glass and it followed.”

“I know how it feels.” John sniffed, then turned quickly away. “It was a pleasant trip, overall, considering.” He looked back at Jani, his expression expectant but guarded, withholding his reaction until he could gauge her response, then temper his accordingly.

“Too bad it couldn't have been under different circumstances.” Jani turned away from him just as he moved toward her. “I wish you'd have given a thought to yourself, though. You're a powerful man, and if you throw that power behind me, my enemies will become yours, and potent enemies they are. You're not untouchable.”

“I started you down this path. I swore a long time ago that I'd see you through to the end.”

“I don't know where the end is.”

John stuffed his hands in his pockets and scuffed his shoe
against the carpet. “Probably a good idea to have some company along the way, then, isn't it?”

“Probably.” Jani headed for the door before John could answer. The hallway was colder, darker. She kidded herself that she knew where she was going and why.

“Fort Karistos has sent up a welcoming party to meet us at the dock. There's a major named Hamil, with whom I've dealt in the past, and a colonel named Brondt, whom Hamil says is sound.” Niall set down his coffee cup. “After we disembark, we'll take a scoot ride over to the shuttle slips in the next concourse. We'll be watched all along the way—the usual precautions. Hour or so later, we'll be on the ground at the fort.” He took a long pull on his nicstick. “We've cut Feyó and crew out of the picture completely,” he continued through a stream of smoke. “And with them, the mysterious Gisa.”

Jani tore flakes of crust from a roll, then dropped them onto her plate. “Feyó must have been upset when you told her I wouldn't ride down to Karistos with her.”

“She must understand that she left you no choice.” John hefted a carafe and refilled Jani's coffee cup, followed by his own and finally, grudgingly, Niall's. “She told you that you were at risk, but couldn't define what that risk was. You had to deal with the information as you saw fit.”

The three of them sat in the passenger dining room, the remains of their final
Denali
lunch spread about them. Jani took in the stark blondwood tables and slat chairs, the ceil
ing coated to display blue sky complete with scudding clouds, the panel walls that exhibited a continuously shifting array of terrestrial nature scenes.
Picnic's over
. She sensed Niall's sidelong examination, John's more direct scrutiny. “I need to pull my gear together.” She stood, waving both men back in their seats as they made to rise with her. “Meet you at the ramp after the docking klaxon sounds the all-clear.” She sensed their surprise at her leave-taking, and hurried out the door before one of them could ask her why the rush.

“Plague of conscience.” Jani wove down the narrow, bright corridors for the next-to-last time, marking the turns and exits, the alarms and dead ends as she had for every ship she'd ever traveled on. “Nerves.” Fear at what might await at the dock despite Niall's efforts at incident aversion, and what she knew awaited her on the Elyan surface.

She passed one of the crew members, nodded a greeting, fielded the polite, professional response.
John's people, and he's trained them well
. Not once during the voyage had she noted even the slightest glimmer of reaction to her green-on-green eyes, her dietary requirements, her extended forays in the gym or the library as she worked with the practice swords or hunted for some obscure tract on bornsect history. “I wonder if John ordered them to baby me, or if they made that decision on their own?” She turned down the short corridor that led to her cabin, keyed her way in, and passed through the green and copper sitting room into the bedroom.

She got down on her knees and reached beneath the bed, dragged her duffel into the light, and pulled out underwear and socks. Tossed everything atop a chair and boosted to her feet, savoring as she often did the smooth workings of her changed body. “No more aches. No more pains. Only rebel Haárin who want to kidnap me. Lord Ganesh giveth, and Lord Ganesh taketh away. Remove this obstacle from my path, oh Lord, I pray.” She opened her closet and removed the sole item hanging within, a cream white wrapshirt and trousers she bought during their layover at Padishah, simple and flowing enough to pass even Vynshàrau muster. She
tossed it atop the bed. Then she undressed and adjourned to the bathroom to shower.

The first warning klaxon had sounded by the time she emerged, giving notice that Elyas Station had confirmed the
Denali
's ID and docking privileges and that approach could commence. She dressed with more than usual care, making sure that she tied the wrapshirt sash neatly and gave her brown boots a brisk wipedown.

“Where's Lucien when I need him?” she muttered as she retied the sash. He'd performed cabin steward duties for her during her first trip to Earth, and embedded a sense of doubt concerning her clothes sense that had stayed with her ever since. “No makeup,” she added as she dug once more through her duffel. The Haárin didn't paint their faces, and the gold undertones in her brown skin tended to overwhelm any other color she added.

She pulled a small net bag from a side pocket and removed the single object it contained. “Time to show you to company,” she said as she held the ring up to the light. The gold band glittered, the clear red stone darkened to burgundy by the chemical illumination. “My ring of office.” A long-ago gift from Tsecha that she had only been able to wear in the last year, fashioned as it was not for the human she had been, but for the hybrid she'd become. She slipped it on the third finger of her right hand, then reached back in the bag for her outfit's finishing touch.

“You are going to piss off some folk, I think,” she said as she shook out the off-white overrobe. One of Tsecha's long-discarded robes of office, its rough cloth pulled as she drew it on, bunching the sleeves of her wrapshirt and dragging across her shoulders.

It was most as difficult to wear, nìa, and truly. When Sànalàn helped me don it, she was forced to yank it as though she dressed a squirming youngish
.

“That's because you are a squirming youngish, inshah,” Jani said with a smile. She shot the red-slashed cuffs, then
regarded herself in the full-length mirror set into the opposite wall.

She didn't recognize herself at first. The pale color of the clothing threw her black hair and dark skin into sharp relief, making her face and hands seem like holes in the air.

Then, slowly, she slipped into focus, this half-woman she had become, clothed in the vestments of an alien religion she had yet to claim as her own. Her jaw and chin, too long for humanish, too narrow and rounded for an adult Vynshàrau. Taller than most humanish females, yet shorter than most Vynshàrau by half a head or more. In-between neck. In-between eyes. Not quite idomeni, yet no longer human enough.

You believe in order, nìa. Therefore you are of Shiou whether you honor her or not
. One of Tsecha's lessons wended through her head.
You are my toxin, my Kièrshia, bringer of pain and change. Therefore you are also of Caith, whether you honor her or not as well. When you act for me, you are of me, as much as though I myself attended.

Jani studied herself for a moment, then turned back to the chair and hefted her duffel. Looked around the bedroom for the last time, a delicate place in bronze and shades of blue that despite its richness still felt as transitory as every billet she'd ever traded her documents services or language skills for. In the background, the final docking klaxons sounded, first softly, then louder and more strident as the
Denali
drew into its slip and ended its five and a half week journey with a single, barely detectable shudder.

She set the duffel back on the bed, dug into the scanproof pocket, and removed her shooter. She held it up to the light as she had her ring, and examined the casing. Scuffed blue, the metal nicked and gouged. “And now I am of Jani Kilian as well.” She drove the powerpack into the grip with the heel of her hand, felt the weapon purr to life. “This I know, and truly.” She slipped the shooter into her trouser pocket, shouldered her duffel, and left.

John and Niall waited for her in the ramp enclosure. They had returned to their usual formality, John in a daysuit of light blue, Niall in dress blue-greys. They both started when they saw her walk toward them, their gazes riveted as though they'd never seen her before. John smiled eventually. Niall didn't.

Jani rounded her shoulders as she drew near, and slipped into a croaky, crabbed mutter. “When shall we three meet again, in thunder, lightning, or in rain?”

John's eyes widened. Then he threw back his head, his dark laugh filling the enclosed space.

Niall's reaction proved more subdued, the corner of his mouth turning up slightly as he cleared his throat. “When the hurly-burly's done, when the battle's lost and won.” He finally grinned, then shook his head. “Figures you'd read that one.”

“The Scottish play—yes, I liked it.” Jani slipped in between the two men. “Dathim read it, too. But then, he's drawn to anything with knives in it.” She heard a thump from the other side of the door as the first set of seals opened, and her breath caught.

John squared his shoulders. “I buy the first round after we touch down at Fort Karistos.”

Niall faced the door and nodded once. “You're on.”

 

Elyas Station's singular decor had been counted among the legends of spaceport architecture from the day rumors of the plans first reached beyond the Outer Circle. The designer, for reasons no one ever fathomed, had ignored the eastern Mediterranean culture that flavored the Elyan colony, instead choosing to indulge her personal fascination with things Gothic, as in stained glass, stone vaults, and the odd gargoyle or two.

“Damned place always reminded me of my worst hangover.” Niall led Jani and John into the arched and transepted Service concourse, the clash of voices and background mu
sic battering them like artillery. “If I'd been the Elyans, I'd have blown the damned thing to bits before it opened.”

“Well, they always did have an odd sense of humor, as I recall.” John turned to Jani. “I was last here five years ago, when we opened the Karistos facility. They had dubbed this place ‘Our Lady of the White Elephant.' I've forgotten the Elyan Greek translation.”

“Should've been ‘Our Lady of the Hangover,'” Niall grumbled as he eyed the gargoyle that glared down from atop a nearby shop awning.

“Colonel Pierce, sir. A pleasure to see you again.” A mainline major in summerweights broke away from the edge of the concourse bustle and started toward them, followed by a sideline colonel in similar kit. “Major Hamil, Diplomatic Annex.” He smiled at Jani, then stepped back to allow the colonel to come to the fore. “This is Colonel Brondt, Office of the Station Liaison.”

Niall nodded to Hamil and shook hands with Brondt. “I thought you'd have met us right at the gate, Colonel, considering the gravity of the situation.”

“You haven't been out of sight since you disembarked, Colonel.” Brondt had the relaxed air of a man who handled at least one major crisis per station-week. He was the same height as Niall, with the stocky build and broad-boned face that betrayed the Hortensian German origins his schooled accent managed to hide, and an indoor pallor that spoke to a career spent in stations like this. “Your shuttle is a five-minute walk down the first starboard transept.” He shook John's hand, then turned to Jani. “Ná Kièrshia.
A tún a vrest dinau
.” He tilted his head to the left and brought up his curved left hand, palm up, in a single easy motion, a sound gesture of respect.

“A glorious afternoon to you as well, Colonel.” Jani's gesture mirrored his, even though she stuck to English. “My compliments on your Sìah Haárin.”

“You learn fast on this job, ná Kièrshia, or you don't have
it for long.” Brondt stood back and gestured for them all to walk ahead of him. “Now, let's get you out of here.”

Niall and John walked ahead, followed by Hamil, who seemed adept at stepping aside and staying out of the way. Jani fell in behind, soaking in the Station ambience for the first time in years.
Ah, the insanity
. She passed a carving of a long-unseated Prime Minister done up with the doun face and robes of a medieval saint, and put her hand over her mouth to hide her smile. No telling the political leanings of her Service hosts, and she didn't want to risk ticking off the very folks charged with seeing her safely out of the station.

“How was your trip?”

Jani glanced to the side to find Brondt walking beside her. “Not bad. Pretty uneventful, really. I worked. Studied. Caught up on my sleep. The usual long-haul pastimes.”

“So you're ready to just dive in here and get to the matter at hand?” Brondt's face brightened, the emotion casting an unnatural sheen over his skin. “Whatever that happens to be,” he added, the flush rising. “None of my business, of course.”

You're absolutely right about that, Colonel
. Jani quickened her step as the distance between her and John and Niall grew. “Yes. The matter at hand.” Either several troop transports had disgorged at once or all the shops held sales at the same time—Spacers clogged the concourse, veering in front of them, cutting around them, their shouts and laughter bouncing off the hard, nonabsorbing station surfaces.

Jani pressed her hands to her temples to ease the throbbing in her head.

“You could have brought us in to a less busy area of the station, Colonel!” Niall shouted over his shoulder.

“I'm a great believer in hiding in plain sight, Colonel.” Brondt smiled at Jani, his manner as unperturbed as if the concourse had been deserted. “Alone's not the same as hidden.” He quickened his step so he walked slightly ahead of Jani, bumping her shoulder just as she was about to pass a pair of giggling SFCs and veering her off course.

“Colonel, I was trying to—” Jani turned to Brondt as they
passed beneath a round of stained glass—the gold and pink lighting shone on his face, coloring his skin and defining his features. His forehead, so broad and high. His jaw, a shade too full and long for his round face. His eyes, a brown so dark as to be black. Flat. Dead. As blank as those of the young male in the image. As empty as her own eyes had been when she used to film them, when their green-on-green had become so dark that only the most opaque covering would do. When their hybrid nature—

Hybrid—

Hybrid—

Brondt met her gaze, and she knew. He sensed her surmise—his expression brightened for the barest instant, making him look quite young.

Then Jani heard sounds of argument, and looked ahead to find Niall barking at Hamil and pointing at her, John craning to sight her in the crowd. Felt a hand on her arm, and looked down to find Brondt's fingers closed around her wrist.