Contact Imminent (24 page)

“Now what?” His breathing came rough and his lips had swelled and reddened—his eyes held triumph and lust and joy and love and just the slightest shadow of fear.

“I don't know. The usual, I suppose.” Jani looked over John's shoulder to Eamon's rumpled couch. “Just not here, please.” She took his hand, held it up to her face, pressed it against her cheek, then kissed it. “I have a room upstairs. I think it's still mine.” She felt fully humanish now, suffused and distracted and aching for release. “It'll be a little hot for you, though.”

John ran a finger along the line of her jaw. “Somehow, I don't think I'll notice.”

Jani picked up her duffel and headed for the door. Her knees had gone to rubber, while her skin had turned into an instrument that sang as the cold air danced over it. The hybrids who stood in the corridors watched her pass but said nothing. She wondered if those who had been humanish noticed the dreamy look she knew must have inhabited her face, saw John walking a discreet distance behind, and added one plus one.

She heard voices behind her and turned. One of the medwhite-clad hybrids had stopped John, asking him a question about some testing protocol. John stared after her as she kept walking. Into the lift, then up to the fourth floor. She strolled along the railing, her eyes on the courtyard, feeling the stares of the hybrids who stood and talked, sat in the adjoining rooms and read.
How can I think about sex at a time like this?
Then she saw John dash out of the basement stairwell and across the courtyard, jacket tails flying, searching for her like the hero in a melodrama.

Then he stilled. Looked up. Saw her, and walked more slowly to the lift. She waited for him in front of the bedroom entry, standing with her back to the door, waiting as he disembarked and headed for her with the determined stride that a long-range shooter couldn't have repelled.

Jani keyed open the door and looked around the bedroom. “Hello?” She walked in, saw the bed still rumpled from her visit a day ago. “All clear.”

John walked in after her, taking in the room, the view. Then he turned to her and froze, fixed by the sight of her. “For months I've been playing the ‘What if?' game. Would it happen? Where? I thought of the Neoclona flat in Chicago, a clear moonlit night overlooking the lake.” He looked around again, then shook his head. “Wrong time of day. Wrong body of water. Wrong…circumstances.”

“When was it ever easy with us?” Jani tossed her duffel aside, wondering at the condition of the devices it contained, then driving the thought from her mind. “You reach a point when you decide to take things as they are.” She laughed, from nerves and fatigue and the call of a love so long denied.

John reached out and pulled her to him. “Are you all right?”

“I will be.” Jani could feel the thin layer of sweat that coated his hands.
Good—that makes two of us
. She kicked off her low boots as John swept off her overrobe and jacket. Her back arched as he pushed down her bandbra and cupped her breasts. Then he picked her up as though she weighed
nothing, carried her to the bed and lay her down, pulled her trousers down and off, then followed with her underwear, his movements as rapid and ragged as his breathing.

“Day's looking better and better.” He pulled off his jacket, then his shirt, revealing wire-frame shoulders and skin like old marble. “At least from where I'm standing.” He undid his trousers and let them fall, then fell to his knees beside the bed and leaned over Jani, planting a few quick kisses on her stomach before coming up for air. “Are you going to say anything?”

Jani reached out and pressed her hand against his chest, fixed as she had been years before by the contrast between their skins. Her brown, now tinged with gold. His too-white, blue veins threading beneath. “I love you.” She laced her hand through his hair and pulled him close, rising half up to meet him, kissing him as he boosted atop the bed. His hands explored everywhere, every place he'd regrown, rebuilt, reassembled. When she tried to move against him, he held her still and toyed with her, until she thought the build of sensation would make her scream. The clumsy probings of a novice had been replaced by the skilled exploration of a master—her world narrowed to the maze of fire he'd traced over her body, the one place where it burned the hottest. “You bad boy.” Her voice emerged drugged. “You've been practicing.”

“I had a lot of room for improvement,” John said as he pressed atop her. Their breaths caught and they lay, still as death, as between them the wall of two decades of loss and hate and inexorable change faded to nothing.

“I love you,” John said as he stirred, and they began to move as one.

Jani caught the play of chemical light across his white hair, flashes of silvery gold that for a discordant moment compelled thoughts of Lucien.

Then John called out her name, and she didn't think of Lucien anymore.

Jani sat at the bedroom window, examining her scanpack under a glaring combination of Karistosian sunlight and the more focused beam of one of the floorlamps. “I think you're OK.” She ran a hand over the black poly case, scratched and nicked from years of use. “Didn't mean to shake you up, but I wasn't feeling quite up to speed.” She smiled. “I'm feeling a little tired now, but that's OK, too. Not that you care, I'm sure.”

“Do you always talk to your scanpack?”

Jani turned in her chair to find John standing in the bathroom entry. “Only when I've been really rough on it. I'm not sure it means anything. There was a paper published about the time I graduated the Academy that posited that since scanpacks did contain brain tissue, they could evidence emotion, feel stress, and respond to sensory stimuli.”

John fastened his shirt, frowning every so often and stopping to tug at his cuffs. “Did you believe it?”

“When it's oh-two in the morning and you've got idomeni on one side and Rauta Shèràa Base Command on the other waiting for you to confirm the dating on a handwritten, lubricant-soaked cover page that's all that remains of a fourteen page manifest, you'll believe anything.” Jani's smile
faded as she watched John continue to fuss with his shirt. “What's wrong?”

“I hate putting clothes back on after I've worn them.” He vanished into the bathroom for a moment, then emerged into the bedroom, jacket in hand. “Someone must have a cleaner in this place, but I'm reluctant to go knocking from door to door.”

“I have a spare coverall you can borrow.” Jani followed his every move as he walked, bent, straightened. He moved with weighty fluidity, like a man formed of mercury, and she could have watched him until the sun flamed. “Might be a little short in the arms and legs.”

“I'll manage.” John walked to the table where Jani sat and picked up her shooter. “You had this in your duffel when you were banging it around?”

Jani nodded. “I always disengage the powerpack when I stash it, but still.” She took the weapon from him and held it next to her scanpack. “Everything looks all right. Tried all the scanning equipment—everything checks out. I checked the room in the process—we seem to be insect-free.”

John paused in his examination of her assorted antimonitoring hardware. “Were you concerned?”

“I'm always concerned.” Jani picked up a still-activated monitor and turned it off. “So, no damage to anything but my pride.”

“You've no reason to feel that way.” John laid a hand on her shoulder and squeezed lightly. “You're still adjusting.” He made as if to say more, but stopped, turning abruptly and walking to the bed. “Have you given any thought to coming with me back to Karistos?” he asked after a time.

“I need to stay here.” Jani returned her scanpack to her duffel, followed by various other gadgets, then finally by her shooter. “I need to lobby. Seek out like minds. Rally them 'round the banner. Be political, something I'm not necessarily good at.” She turned off the lamp, pushed her chair away from the table, and stood. “Call me the minority whip.”

“I've wondered once or twice what you'd look like in leather.” John's brow arched, as though he managed to surprise himself. “I haven't made a habit of it.” He sat on the edge of the bed and started pulling on his socks, then stopped. “I realize how important Tsecha is to you. I know that every move we make now, or don't make, will affect humans and idomeni for years to come.” He gave one sock a hard yank. “Pardon my selfishness, but I really don't want to leave now.”

“Pardon my selfishness, but I don't want you to go.” Jani meant to head across the room to the armoire to store her duffel, but she detoured to the bed and sat next to John. “You must be uncomfortable in this heat.”

“The view makes up for it,” he replied, giving her the same bewildered look that he had a hundred times in the Rauta Shèràa clinic basement. Then he reached for her.

Jani felt immersed in a sensual wash of soap scent, freshly shaved skin, and a rustle of expensive cloth.
I don't have time for this
. She felt his weight shift as he eased her back, pressed her lips to the place above the pulse in his throat, then held her breath as she felt him still, then loosen his arms around her.

“I hate rushing.” John sat up, adjusting his clothes along the way. “I feel like a starving man who has to make do with whatever he can grab from someone else's table.” He looked down at her, swallowed hard, then looked away. “Do you think a face-to-face meeting between Feyó and Gisa would do any good?”

Jani worked into a sitting position. “They tried that already. The idomeni aren't much for working past disagreements.” The writing implements that she had dug out of various drawers and cupboards beckoned from the desk. “I still need to write that report for transmittal.”

“I have some things to wrap up here.” John stood and slipped on his shoes, then headed for door. “I'll try to talk to Eamon one more time, now that he's had the chance to pon
der his options.” He doubled back around and bent to Jani, kissing her hard. “Keep that in mind.” This time he walked to the door and didn't stop.

Jani stared at the closed door, then turned back to the brightness of the view with a sigh. Sat on the bed for a time, tapping her boot heels together as she tried to rough out an introduction to her report, and drifted instead to thoughts of love and how she had lived without it for so long.

“Ah, well.” She stood up, and carried the sensation of John's embraces with her as she sat at the desk and settled down to work.

 

Jani left her room, waiting until she heard the lock mech slide into place before continuing down the walkway. Cooking aromas rose from the courtyard and enveloped her, grilled meat and myriad spices and herbs—she peered over the railing, to where the hybrids had gathered to eat, then checked her timepiece.

“Mid-afternoon sacrament.” Her stomach grumbled, complaining more loudly the harder she pressed her hand against it to quiet it. She shunned the lift for the stairs and galloped down, inhaling the air in gulps, her mouth watering. “Maybe if they don't let me eat with them, I can strain enough food out of the air.” Like John's coffee, the Thalassan cuisine packed a wallop.

Jani reached the bottom of the stairs to find John hovering near the courtyard entry, pacing the short stretch like a tiger in a cage. “It's the smell.” His nostrils flared. “I'm so hungry I think I could eat the dishes.”

“Eamon said that blue-trimmed dishes hold the mildly spiced foods.” Jani squinted toward the table, then ducked down when a couple of the hybrids looked her way. “They've set a few out. No idea what they are, though.”

“I don't care.” John stilled. “Shall we risk the slings and arrows?” He turned to her and held out his arm.

Jani took it, pulling him close. “All they can do is toss us.”

“If they throw food, we'll grab plates and catch what we can.” John leaned toward her and spoke out of the side of his mouth. “You head for the door—I'll cover you with one of the lamps.” His joking ceased when the hybrids turned toward them as one and watched them enter the courtyard. He sombered and straightened.

“Ná Kièrshia.” Gisa raised a glass in a humanish toast. “We are most honored.” She took a sip of her drink, then gestured to the empty seat of honor beside her. “Please.”

Jani walked around the table to her chair, counting the filled places as she went.
Twenty-five
. Not even a simple majority.

“Looks like most of them work in Karistos during the day.” John held Jani's chair, then took the empty place next to her.

“Yes, Doctor Shroud, this is most the case.” Gisa offered her hostess smile. “Most work in smaller businesses. Some own their own. The government, not so much, nor the Service. Such places demand a loyalty that we reserve for Thalassa.” Her manner was light and practiced, as though all was right between her and Jani, and their argument had never occurred.

Jani scanned the table and caught sight of a familiar face at one end.
Make that two familiar faces
. Torin and Brondt, their chairs angled in such a way that they could see her.

I'm guessing neither you nor Major Hamil can leave the compound, Colonel Brondt
. Jani detected a shifting back and forth of Brondt's water glass that she knew counted as his greeting, a whisper compared to Torin's wave of his fork.
I have no idea what Niall has planned for you
. She accepted one of the paisley tureens from Bon and ladled a fish stew potent enough for the rising steam to burn her eyes.
All I can say is that I doubt you'll like it
.

John dished out sliced kettle meat and gravy from one of the blue safety servers. “So far, so good.”

Jani took a piece of crisp flatbread from a basket. “They
think I've come around to their side.” She snapped the bread in two with a decisive turn of wrist. “Which has its advantages.”

John glanced at her, his eyes widening. “Oh, I know that look.” He seemed about to say more, but before he could, an unfortunately familiar figure took a seat nearby.

“John.” Eamon placed a half-empty vodka bottle beside his plate. “I'm amazed that you've managed to stay away from your dear, dear offices this long.” He looked from him to Jani, and an instinct honed years before brought a flush of color to his already raddled cheeks. “Oh, Johnny, you let her do it to you again. I remember that sick look on your face, oh how I remember. What was the term I coined? Ah, yes. The overeducated social maladjust wallowing in afterglow.”

John stiffened as the decades-old insult hit home. “You haven't changed since Rauta Shèràa, Eamon. Still confusing coarseness with honesty.”

“A little coarseness would do you a universe of good, old man. A little of the rough to cut through that gauzy filter you've wrapped 'round your memories.”

“Can it, Eamon.”

“Damned fool.”

“I said, can it.”

Eamon fell silent, glaring daggers at Jani between bites of food and gulps of vodka.

Jani took advantage of the silence to monitor Torin and Brondt. They declined to acknowledge her presence further after their first wordless greetings, finishing their meals quickly, then taking their leave a few minutes apart. She noticed others of the group leave abruptly as well—the older female she'd seen with Torin her first day, other solemn faces whose names she had yet to learn.

Jani ate enough to quell the worst of her pangs. Then she reached into the pocket of her coverall and removed the note and message wafer, palming them as she placed her hand on John's thigh. She let them slip onto the seat between his
legs, heard the catch of his breath, the flicker of his eye as he tried to glance at her without seeming to.

“I'm off to take a walk—I haven't even seen the beach yet.” Jani pushed back from the table, muscles twitching as though gearing up for a run. “Glories of the afternoon to one and all.” She stood, acknowledging Gisa's surprised response, the murmurs of the remaining diners, then wandering to the door as though she had nothing but time and a world in which to spend it.

 

Jani walked down the same road she had climbed in a rage earlier that morning, picking up the details now that she missed before. The nameplates on the houses, fashioned from colored tiles. The occasional glimpse of clutter through an open door, which showed that actual beings lived there, who made actual messes and never quite managed to contain them, like beings everywhere.

The glare of the sun off the water could have served as a weapon. By the time she reached the beach, she wished she'd had the sense to pack sunshades. “The Chicago sun never bothers me.” She picked her way through the rocks that poked up through the sand like the shattered teeth of some ancient beast. “But the Elyan sun is brighter, and we're nearer the equator here.” She rolled up the sleeves of her coverall to above her elbows, then undid the neck as she felt the sweat bead. Walked past the rocks to where the sand lay wet and smooth, and listened to the slow crash of the waves and the distant screech of seabirds.

“Have you noticed the water?”

Jani turned to find Brondt standing behind her amid the rocks, Torin at his side gripping his ever-present handheld. “I haven't had time.”

“Then you should find the time.” He walked out to join her. He wore a long-sleeve shirt despite the heat, along with trousers and boots shiny with waterproofing. “If you really look at it, you'll see a purplish tint. Sometimes if there's
enough cloud cover and the wind has been blowing in from the islands for a few days, the water looks like molten amethyst, if there is such a thing. Amazing to see. It's an algae, of course. Toxic to humanish—if it touches your skin, you might develop a nasty rash.”

Jani took a step back just as the lick of a wave broke over the sand. She'd only brought the one pair of boots, which weren't as well-protected as Brondt's. The last thing she needed was a bout of contact dermatitis. “What about the sea life?”

“The usual fishlike things, some small and brilliantly colored, some dull silver and big as skimmers.” Brondt eased into the role of native guide, clasping his hands behind him and rocking back and forth. “A few types are edible, if you sauce them up, but many of us have shown varying degrees of sensitivity. The native life here is just different enough to bother both idomeni and humanish.”

“What about—” Jani gasped and slapped at her hand as a pain like an acid spatter stung the skin on the back.

“And then there are the flies. Different from the burrowers I told you about when we first arrived. These just sting like needles pricking.” Brondt
tsked
, then fell silent for a time. “You saw ná Feyó.” He toed the sand, prodding a shell from its mooring.