Contact Imminent (3 page)

“Of what? Those lovely bruises?”

“Sometimes you have to give a little to get a lot in return.”

Jani patted a chair cushion into place, then slipped off her coat and sat. The standard issue ergoworks braced her back and legs, but not well enough to ease the growing aches that signaled the need for sleep. “You played him. It's a talent you've worked at for years. You're still in practice, too.” She tried to stifle a yawn and failed. “If we were both dropped in the middle of a strange city, I daresay we'd manage pretty well. But we're both in Chicago, and the natives know our footprints. We need to take care.”

Lucien strolled to the couch and sat. “You're not making much sense, you do realize that?”

“I'm leaving for Elyas the day after tomorrow.”

“I know.”

“I'll be gone awhile.”

“I know that, too.” Lucien lay the T-shirt on the cushion beside him and stroked it like a cat.

Jani followed the smooth flow of his muscles, the play of light across his chest and stomach. An hypnotic sight, marred only by the bruises that had blued and darkened in the time since her arrival.
Mr. Public Affairs plays rough
. She toyed with the idea of tracking down the man and giving
him a little of what he dished out, except…
It's none of my business
. Lucien lived most of his life outside her purview, and he never did anything without a reason. If he felt that what Mr. PA offered was worth the knockabout, the best favor she could do him was to stay out of it.

He does what he feels he has to
. Circumstances had compelled Jani to live the same way once. Maybe it was the memory of that time that touched the anger in her now, a vein of hostility that opened more and more frequently as her hybridization advanced and the idomeni aspects of her personality emerged.

So much rage
. Jani struggled to focus on the present.
What do I have to work with? Look at the situation as it is, not as I think it should be
. “Seeing as you're in Intelligence, how difficult would it be for you to attach yourself to the mine investigation?”

Lucien's hand stilled atop his souvenir shirt. “Officially, my spec is communications. Weapons interface falls roughly under that header, but there are people in Ordnance who know a lot more about the subject than I do, and they're the ones who will be called in to answer questions.”

Jani examined the back of her right hand. She had cut it sometime during her run through the woods—a thin line of dried blood traced along her knuckles. “Unofficially, your spec is killing inconvenient people.” She flexed her fingers, felt the wound sting. “Apply yourself in that direction for a bit.”

Lucien's hand moved to his thigh, the T-shirt forgotten. “You think that mine was put there deliberately?”

“I heard a whole truckload of reasonable explanations during the return ride across the lake. Now I'd like to hear the unreasonable ones.” Jani gazed at the sitting room walls, flat white and as bare as the day they were finished, without even a tacked-up holo to indicate the personality of the man who lived within their bounds. “The Haárin took up residence in the enclave four months ago. At first, things seemed peaceful. The Holland area wasn't populated by humanish,
so no one lost their property. The Haárin had less reason to go into Chicago, so they didn't rattle the natives by turning up in odd places, as they had been wont to do when they lived on the embassy grounds.”

“Dathim used to enjoy doing that.” Lucien grinned. He nursed an infatuation for the Haárin that had led to the development of one of the Commonwealth's stranger friendships.

“Yes, he did. The people who looked up to find two meters worth of long-faced Vynshàrau looming over them didn't find it so enjoyable, however.” Jani smiled anyway. The tales of Dathim's exploits had made for an evening's entertainment on more than one occasion. Then she sobered. “As I said, things seemed peaceful at first. The honeymoon lasted for about three weeks. Then one morning an Haárin security suborn found one of the enclave food repositories broken into and humanish excrement smeared over the bins.”

“I don't need the recent history lesson.” Lucien dragged the T-shirt onto his lap and picked at the hem. “I spend as much time there as you do, if not more. I know all about it.”

“Did you know that whoever got in there destroyed kettles containing experimental media? Thanks to some urging by ná Feyó and the other Elyan Haárin, Tsecha had sanctioned research into synthetic foods. When Shai found out…my old teacher barely managed to talk himself out of a one-way trip on a fast cruiser back to Shèrá.” Jani fought the urge to rest her head on the seatback. If she did that, she'd drift to sleep, Lucien's soft voice serving as lullaby. “Then came that sniper attack. Skimmer sabotage. Add the mine, and we've got people who not only know what they're doing but have access to very nasty things.”

Lucien locked his hands behind his head and sprawled back, a pose that displayed his naked torso to its best advantage. No matter how serious a discussion turned, he never forgot what he considered the essential argument. “Do you think the Service is responsible?”

Jani admired the view, however calculated. “The mines and weapons are manufactured by Family companies. They
fear the Haárin's economic competition just as the Service fears their impact on Commonwealth security. If you assume the Family supplied the means, then the question becomes whether they do the dirty themselves or hire it out. I'd say the field is pretty wide open.”

“Given that, I'm surprised you're still planning on leaving tomorrow.”

Jani shrugged. “I have no choice.” She felt Lucien's stare, knew he expected her to tell him why she had to leave, and knew just as surely that the less she told him, the better.
That won't be difficult—I don't know much
. “Ná Feyó has told Tsecha very little—she doesn't trust the security of the Haárin communications linkages. All he can determine is that she's enmeshed in some sort of power struggle. An Haárin version of a bornsect fallout. He can help her by throwing his support her way—most Haárin still consider him their religious dominant even though he's no longer Chief Propitiator of the ruling bornsect. The ideal solution would be for him to visit the Elyan enclave himself, but he's afraid to leave Earth. He thinks he'll draw unwelcome attention down on Feyó. He also thinks that once he's left Earth, Oligarch Cèel won't allow him to return.”

“So he's sending you as his emissary?” Lucien eyed her skeptically. “I've watched you train in bladework with Dathim. He's told me enough about your religious instruction to know that it will take years to learn all you need to. You've only been at this a few months.”

“I know.” Jani shifted in her seat. She nursed her own bruises thanks to Dathim's enthusiastic teaching. A sword in his hand worked like a metal-plated fist. “But I didn't come into this wholly unprepared, and I've helped the Elyan Haárin before. If Tsecha tells them, through me, to support Feyó, they will.”

“Is she that important?”

“To him, she is.” Jani fielded Lucien's smirk. “It's not just that he esteems her. Feyó's a radical by any measure, and she has a revolutionary's personality. She knows how to
work idomeni and humanish alike. If she loses her position, there's no one of her caliber to replace her. Considering how thoroughly Haárin shipping lines and trade routes have integrated with their Commonwealth counterparts, her ouster could destabilize the entire Outer Circle.”

Lucien lowered his arms and sat up. “If she's so magnetic, why has she lost influence?”

“That's what I have to find out.” Jani once more fought the urge to close her eyes. Like Niall, she knew what she'd see when next she dreamed. Pullman's raw-boned vitality, reduced to pools of blood in the snow. Wode's slow fingerings as he maneuvered the biobot over the mine. “I don't want to leave now, but I don't have a choice. That's why I'm asking you to plug yourself into the mine inquiry.”

Lucien stood, purloined T-shirt in hand. “Someone is going to wonder why I'm interested.” He padded across the carpeted floor and disappeared into the bedroom. “The fact that I'm information-gathering for you isn't going to fly. I'm not supposed to feed classified data to Haárin intermediaries.”

Jani listened for the sound of a dresser drawer opening, then closing, the sign that the T-shirt had joined its brethren in their very private display case. “Could you tell people you're doing a favor for an old Family friend?”

“I'm sure I'll think of something. I always do.” Lucien stepped into the bedroom doorway. “I found a blue-bordered envelope in my paper mail yesterday. It contained a nice, thick sheaf of documents from the Office of Review, all signed off.” He folded his arms and leaned against the jamb. “Effective last month.”

Jani smiled, and meant it. “Congratulations, Captain. I know you were starting to feel anxious.”

“I'm not sure how long I'll stay a captain if I have to keep the home watch. Things have a tendency to spin out of control when you're involved.”

“I won't be here.”

“You'll be here in spirit. That should prove sufficient to
upset the domestic balance of power.” Lucien pretended interest in the condition of his hands. “So, now that's settled, any plans until the sunrise?”

Wariness worked through Jani's growing haze as the many possible replies to Lucien's simple question presented themselves. She'd visited his flat only a handful of times, and had never stayed the night despite his veiled, and not-so-veiled, invitations. As always, she felt that she intruded, that she had entered a place in which she didn't belong, the inner workings of which she didn't want to know. She stood and gathered her coat. “I should go home.”

“I hope I haven't offended your delicate sensibilities.” Lucien's voice sharpened, the soft French Provincial accent faded to nothing. “I have showered. Unfortunately, the bruises won't be healed before you have to leave—”

“Lucien.”
Jani stopped in the middle of the room. The hand that held her coat felt gloved in lead. It hung at her side, leaving the garment to drag on the floor. “The psych job. Save it for someone who buys it.”

“I would have done anything he wanted in order to find out how you were.”

“Rough trade for information. You've done it before. You crave the power. The control. You like it. Your. Choice.” Jani fixed on the image of Pullman being lifted from the snow onto the stretcher—the memory touched some deep place within her and released sensations she'd long suppressed, touch and smell and sound. “Well, there were times in my event-filled past when I didn't have a choice. So stop trying to make me feel guilty about all the awful things you've put yourself through on my account, because your primary consideration has always,
always
, been what's best for Lucien Pascal.” Her breathing came labored—the sense of weight had moved up her arm and across her chest.

“Post-augie irritability, compounded by fatigue and the effects of hybridization. Aggravated by all those memories that bubble to the surface because you've lost the will to
keep them locked down where they belong.” Lucien left the doorway and walked to her, shaking his head. “I know the feeling.”

Jani opened her hand and let the coat fall to the floor. “You are a liar.”

“Yes, but I'm
your
liar.” Lucien rested his hand on the open neck of her coverall, then waited to see if she'd pull away. When she didn't, he opened the top fastener, the second, the third, his fingertips brushing her skin with each slow movement. “Your spy. Your whore. Your whatever you happen to need at the time.” He bent close, his lips and tongue tracing swirls of heat along her throat and neck as he slipped the garment from her shoulders. “All I want in return is the chance to make us both feel better for a little while. Is that too much to ask?”

Jani took Lucien's hands in hers and held them away from her body. Caught the chill that flashed in his eyes, the anger at a need denied. Pushed down his hands until they hung at his sides, then freed them. Counted the seconds as they stood, still and barely breathing, separated by a few scraps of cloth and a gulf of understanding wider than any sea.

“My choice.” She leaned forward and kissed him.

“If the mine
was
deliberately planted, how do you think the idomeni will react?” Lucien exited the Boul just as the early morning traffic slowed to the usual crawl. “Relations are tense now, but when haven't they been?” He steered the Service-issue sedan onto the deceptive quiet of the Parkway, a graceful seclusion of town houses and apartment buildings separated by parks and scattered shops and restaurants. “Besides, we lost one of ours in this mess, too. That must count for something.”

“Not really.” Jani took what she could from the beauty of the hour—the streaking of the eastern sky into bands of orange and indigo, the illuminated columns of the Chicago skyline that formed the Parkway's backdrop. “Ever since he became Oligarch, Morden nìRau Cèel's goal has been to turn back humanish-idomeni relations fifty years.”

“Fifty years ago there were no humanish–idomeni relations.” Lucien turned down the first in the succession of tree-lined avenues that led to Jani's house. “Isn't Cèel a little young to be that closed-minded?”

“Age has nothing to do with it. He was just as isolationist twenty years ago at the Rauta Shèràa Academy.” Jani thought back to the Cèel she had watched from afar that lifetime ago,
the green-eyed, slope-shouldered warrior who turned away whenever a humanish crossed his path. “If we find out that the mine was deliberately planted, I predict a proclamation from Cèel that all bornsect and Haárin must forsake the evils of the humanish Commonwealth and return to the godly confines of the Shèrá worldskein. I then predict that a certain percentage of the Haárin will tell him to go to hell. After that, things should get really interesting.” She paused to yawn. She should have taken the opportunity while at Lucien's flat to grab a couple of hours' sleep. Needless to say, she hadn't availed herself of that particular option.

The trees that lined the narrow streets had been strung with colored illumins. Backlit by twinkling leaves, Lucien cocked his head like a young boy considering what he wanted for Christmas. “You're thinking civil war?”

“No, we enter uncharted territory with that one.” Jani sat up straighter as the skimmer rounded onto the street she called home, a cul-de-sac of eight identical three-story houses, each built of tan brick and ringed by metal gates and hybrid greenery. “Civil war is the divinely ordained shedding of bornsect blood that may or may not lead to a regime change. A bornsect offensive against balky Haárin who refuse to toe the line hasn't occurred in recorded idomeni history to my knowledge. Cèel would have to have decided that the Haárin who disobeyed were no longer true Haárin, that proximity to humanish had degraded them to the point that they no longer merited his protection. It would prove an interesting point for the theologians to debate at Temple. I can see arguments for both sides.”

“Can you?” Lucien eyed her doubtfully as he turned up the narrow drive that curved behind her house, then waited for the gate to slide open. “All that religious instruction has sunk in, has it?”

Jani tipped her hand in a back and forth motion that spoke more of the humanish bargaining table than it did any idomeni gesture. “It's just rules. Rules and order. I'm a documents examiner by trade, remember. A paper pusher. That's all we
know, rules.” She glanced at Lucien as he unfastened the top of his shooter holster, his gaze locked on the skimmer's dashboard array. “What's wrong?”

“Readings from the backyard. One skimmer. Two men. One of them is armed.” Lucien tapped codes into touchpads—multiple views of the house and yard formed on a small display. “You have company.” He relaxed, but only a little. “Your doctors make house calls, I see.” He drifted up the drive and around the house, coming to a stop a few meters behind a silver sportster. Safety lighting activated, illuminating the yard and the two men who emerged from the sleek vehicle.

“So much for a little time to ourselves,” Lucien muttered.

Jani alit from the skimmer just as John Shroud and Val Parini drew near. Val led the way, his stride clipped and his head high.

“Not that we were worried, mind.” He circled around to Jani, high-boned face aging from boyish to middle-aged as he drew closer and the details came into focus. “How are you?” His examination took on a professional sharpness as he looked her up and down. “What happened?” A light brown forelock fell over his eyes, and he pushed it back with a curse.

Jani looked Val over as well. A blue pullover and dark green trousers peeked out beneath his brown coat. Mismatched clothes thrown on in haste. Not his habit at all. “What did you hear?”

“That's my one and only girl—never give an answer when another question will do.” Val took a step closer. The safety lighting struck him full in the face, illuminating hazel eyes gone dull and bloodshot from lack of sleep. “Service Medical called our shop. They needed to borrow one of our DeVries shunts. Neuro demanded to know why, and managed to pull a story out with pliers. Blown mine at the enclave. Thirty or so people hurt. People and idomeni, I should say.”

“The shunt isn't for Lieutenant Pullman, is it?” John asked as he slipped in behind Val. Unlike his business part
ner's, his clothing matched—a pearl grey daysuit topped by a coat of the same color. “I understand he was one of the injured.” He stopped near the front end of the Service skimmer, not too close yet not too far away, his monkish face a studied blank. Taller and rangier than Val, with the dour countenance of a period painting, he looked imposing even in the harsh lighting.

Snow wraith
, Jani thought as she took in his white cap of hair and parchment-pale skin, his eyes filmed the same silvery grey as his garments.
Albino
, her less romantic side reminded her.
The sun is rising, and daylight isn't his time
. “It wasn't for Pull, no. He suffered abdominal injuries, not brain damage. He'll be fine, though.”

John nodded. Paused. “Niall's all right?”

Despite the tension in the air, Jani hid a smile.
I know that one was a struggle, so we'll give you full points for effort
. John and Niall did
not
like one another. Niall felt that John had forced Jani's hybridization upon her, which was true, and John felt guilty enough over the situation that the criticism stung.
But he knows Niall and I are friends, so he tries
. It had been a difficult thing to witness as of late, John Shroud's laboring to be flexible. Like watching an oak trying to bend as a willow, with all the creaking and straining the image implied. “Yes, Niall's all right.” She walked around Val to John's side. “You wouldn't happen to be carrying a shooter by any chance?”

The quick change in subject caught John by surprise. He blinked. Then the look in his eyes sharpened and the color rose in his cheeks. “We couldn't find out whether you'd been hurt or not, and we didn't know what we'd find here.”

“John thought we might arrive to find ministry security stripping the place.” Val sauntered past, his hands in his pockets. “He's been taking lessons.” He freed one hand and raised it, forefinger extended, miming a weapon.

“And they'd have dropped him before he had a chance to sight down.” Lucien paused to refasten his holster. “Speaking as ex–Ministry security, that's what I'd have done.”

“And on that note.” Jani herded the men toward the house, avoiding John's glower and Lucien's jaundiced glare.

 

The house was pleasant enough, three floors of white walls, trayed ceilings, and skylights, with enough old wood to imply an age it didn't possess. Niall had chosen it for the location, the stone in a ring of older Family dwellings, set in the geographic middle of the Parkway neighborhoods. He reasoned that with human-idomeni tensions increasing as they were, the security forces of the other houses would guard Jani as well as their own charges, if only to prevent any unpleasantness that might find her from slopping over into their jurisdictions.

Jani keyed her visitors through the rear entry and waited as they doffed their coats. Her own, she kept on. The number of humanish visitors she entertained prevented her from adjusting the temperature of the house to the higher setting her hybrid internal thermostat demanded, and she had resigned herself to feeling chilled until summer.

“You look beat.” Val wandered over to her, his trousers and pullover now truly revealed for the mismatched muddle that they were. “I hope you managed to catch some sleep, at least.”

“No, I didn't.” Jani avoided Lucien's pointed look. She pressed a hand to her stomach, and felt as well as heard the grumble. “Some food would be good.”

“I'll take care of it.” Lucien strode down the hall toward the kitchen, neat in winterweights, his orange captain's bars bright against the dark grey shirt.

“I'll make coffee,” John grumbled as he took off after him.

Jani watched the two men disappear through the kitchen doorway, then turned to Val, who eyed her in tired amusement.

“Lucky you. It's been a long time since I had two men fighting over me.” He grabbed her sleeve and pulled her after him, stopping along the way to straighten a holo of a city
scene that hung crooked on the wall. “I was afraid something like this might happen if we showed up unannounced. But after we got that first call from Service Medical, John spent hours twisting arms for word about you. No one he called knew anything, which did wonders for his mood. Lucien can say what he likes, but if I had the choice between battling a ministry security team or my business partner, I think I'd take my chances with the nominal professionals.”

Jani leaned against Val and lowered her head to his shoulder. “I should have called him, I suppose.”

“Yes, you should've.” Val slipped an arm around her waist and steered her toward the kitchen. “That was the least you could have done.”

“Thank you.”

“You're welcome.”

By the time they entered the kitchen, the aroma of brewing coffee had already staked its claim to most of the room. The scent of frying onions, however, had taken hold of the area near the stove and seemed destined to beat back any and all comers with the aid of a few more ingredients.

“Omelets, I think.” Lucien removed eggs, cheese, and other items from the cooler and set to work mixing and chopping, revealing not only an enviable ease around the kitchen but also the fact that he'd visited Jani often enough to know his way around hers. This in turn wasn't lost on John, who shot Lucien looks of increasing sharpness as he scrabbled through drawers and cupboards in the hunt for coffee accessories.

“If anyone has any particular dislikes,” Lucien said, “tell me now because I'm throwing in everything I can find.”

“Hold the green pepper, if there's any green pepper to hold.” Val held a chair for Jani as she sat at the square, four-person table, then took the seat next to hers. “Can't abide the stuff.”

Lucien turned. Val never spoke to him if he could avoid it, and his surprise at the man's response informed his face with
a teenage lightness. “No green pepper, it is.” He held Val's gaze just a beat too long, then returned to his cooking.

“Christ.” Val's face reddened, his voice dropping to a rough whisper. “Doesn't he even bother to hide it when you're around?”

Jani shrugged. “His is a continuing quest to make me jealous—it irks him that I never rise to the bait. Besides, he's going to be on his own for the next few months. He needs to lay groundwork for future conquests.”

“I am not interested.” Val watched Lucien chop and stir for a time, then shook his head and looked away. “I told you before that avoiding stuff like him has become a second vocation of mine. You sure as hell don't need his brand of trouble, either.”

“And John, of course, is no trouble whatsoever.”

“So sometimes he sticks his nose in where it doesn't belong.”

“Try meddling and controlling.”

“He's trying to learn to back off—give him a break. At least I don't see him getting you killed anytime soon. Or trying to hurt you so that he can relish some sense of power.” Val paused to reload, but before he could continue his defense, the object of his labors joined them, a tray of cups in hand.

“I hear whispering.” John had removed his suit jacket in the interim, revealing the white, band-collared shirt he wore beneath. “What are you two plotting now?”

“The usual mayhem.” Jani accepted the steaming mug he handed her. “I should have let you know I was all right. I'm sorry.”

“Not a problem.” John sat down across from her, concentrating on his coffee as though avoiding her eye. “I daresay you were otherwise occupied.”

Jani heard Val mutter “John” under his breath, thought of a score of cutting rejoinders, and voted down them all. Instead, she sipped her coffee, and as usual found it as rich, complex, and overbearing as the man who'd made it.

“Breakfast is served.” Lucien carried a plate in each hand and two more nestled in the crooks of his arms, setting them out with the skill of a waiter from Gaetan's before returning to the counter for toast and other side dishes. “You're almost out of these,” he said as he set a small tablet dispenser beside Jani's plate.

Jani shook out two of the brown digestive enzyme tablets and tossed them in her mouth, washing them down with coffee. “Should I just give Xenodietetics a call?” she asked, directing her question to Val.

“I'll take care of it.” John shoved a forkful of omelet in his mouth, chewing with the stolid determination of a man duty-bound to find something to complain about. He couldn't, though. Cooking was part of Lucien's toolkit, and like everything else in the set, the skill was flawlessly executed. For several minutes the sounds of cutlery clatter were the only ones to be heard.

Jani dredged a last corner of toast through a smear of cheese. “Loathe as I am to eat and run, I need to find out what's going on.” She popped the morsel into her mouth, savoring the flavors as well as the final moments of relative peace in what promised to be a whirlwind of a day. “The
Trib-Times
morning edition is out by now, and the news services have had all night to patch together something lucid.” She pushed back from the table and stilled, her hands braced on the edge, trying to work up the nerve to stand up and walk to her office.