Contact Imminent (30 page)

They stood in silence for a time, lost in thought and subdued by fatigue. Then one of Eamon's techs entered, her face brightening when she saw Jani. “Ná Kièrshia!” She held up her right hand, exposing the ubiquitous wristband. “Such a great thing, and truly. It is all we speak of—Doctor Eamon grew quite sick of our talk and bade us all leave his laboratory.”

“So Eamon
is
working.” Jani finished her coffee and returned to the brewer for more. “The accident took a great deal of his time, I understand.

“The accident?” The tech shrugged, an exaggerated lift of the shoulders that implied she had just learned the gesture. “All who were hurt have been treated. Basic injuries, and truly. Nothing complex.” She joined Jani by the brewer. “Doctor Eamon blends skin spray. He must balance the proteins properly, and eliminate those that would cause reaction. Otherwise, mess. Vast mess. Skin like ground meat, he says. So he tests and blends, a different spray for each who is injured.”

Jani leaned against the brewer case, enjoying the warmth on her back. “There weren't any hybrids injured tonight,
were there? During the storm clean-up?” She looked to Brondt, who shook his head. “John needs to get his cheek fixed, but he's not—” Her mind blanked, and no brewer on Elyas would have been warm enough to ease her sudden chill.

“Ná Kièrshia?” Brondt took a step toward her. “Are you all right?”

“Where is John?” Jani had already left the alcove by the time the tech made it to the exit and called out the room number.

 

Jani stood before the laboratory door. Hit the entry buzzer. Heard the achingly familiar voice intone, “Come in.”

John sat at a desk, bowed over a notebook entry pad. He looked up when she entered, his face lightening. “Hello.” He smiled. Sometime after his departure from supper, he had found time to shower and change clothes. He wore medwhites now, the same outfit he had lived in during their Rauta Shèràa basement days, the neckline flecked with damp spots courtesy of his dripping hair.

“I never asked you about the message you sent Val.” Jani walked into the room and tried to examine John without seeming to.
Still so pale
. Still a snow wraith, untouched by the sun.
I'm just jumpy
. Letting her nerves get the best of her.
I'm a damned fool
.

“I asked him some business questions, with a few of your carefully worded concerns mixed in. I know it seems like ages, but it was only yesterday. If we're lucky, Val will receive the transmit tomorrow. That's assuming all transfer points are hitting optimally, though, and that's seldom the case.” John held a stylus by the ends, and stared at it as though transfixed. “You'll be gone by then, won't you?”

“Yes.” Jani lowered into a nearby lab chair, taking care to avoid sitting on the dispenser nestled in her pocket. “You didn't seem concerned upstairs.”

“Public air of nonchalance—I've gotten quite good at it over the years.” John looked up. “I had to leave the table. I
knew Niall was going to ask you to return to Chicago, and you were going to agree, and I'm afraid I just didn't want to hear it.”

“I was going to ask you to come along.”

“Eamon needs help here. The realization of what he's done has settled around his shoulders over the past few days—his drinking is getting worse and his mood swings are scaring his patients.” John sat back and started tossing the stylus into the air. “We all need his brain, but he needs to keep his mouth shut and his hands in his pockets for the next few weeks.”

“He's just figured out now what he did?” Jani took a dispo cloth from the bench next to her and started tearing the edge to a fringe. Her mind had turned to a jumble, and she felt the urge to keep her hands busy. “Where the hell has he been?”

“You know us ivory tower types. Heads in the clouds. Refusing to consider the realities of what we do, committed to the art and the art alone.” John stopped tossing the stylus and moved on to doodling invisible patterns on a piece of scrap parchment. “It never really hit me what I had done to you until the day we disembarked at Elyas. I had known on an intellectual level, of course. I know your MedRec by heart. But I didn't feel the change in my bones until I saw you walk down that corridor, wearing one of Tsecha's old overrobes.” His hands stilled. “Your carriage, your…presence, your life, all changed, irrevocably and completely.” He hung his head. “Did you ever hate me?”

“Yes.” Jani looked away as John's head came up, so that she didn't have to see the pain in his eyes. “I…moved on. You used to remind me of the advantages of the situation on a regular basis—I finally started to realize what they were.”

“But you hated being the only one. I never knew that.”

“I didn't know it either until I saw Torin's image that first time. I've been in a state of befuddlement ever since.”

That brought back the smile. “If this is befuddled, I'd hate to have to deal with you when you're on the ball.” The expression faded. “When do you leave?”

“Tomorrow morning, late. Niall will meet me here.” Jani tore off a corner of the dispo, shredding it to snow that fluttered to the floor at her feet. “Tsecha's troubles were bad enough. Now Lucien. I have to go—I have no choice.”

John nodded. “I know.”

Jani paused in mid-rip. Then she wadded the remains of the dispo and tossed them atop the bench. “You still haven't fixed that gash.” She rose, reaching into her pocket as she approached John's desk. “Hours have passed. You should treat it now.”

John sat back, his gaze locked on her hands. “Don't you think a scar would add a certain piratical aspect to the enterprise?”

Jani stopped in front of him and held out the dispenser of humanish skin spray that she'd taken from a first aid tray. “Here. I brought this for you. Humanish skin repair, ready to go.”

John took the dispenser from her hand, holding it by the ends as he had the stylus, turning it over and over. “I—” He removed the cover, spritzed some of the solution into the air, then capped it. “Jani—”

“John—”

“Don't look at me like that.”

“What the hell do you expect?”

“I—wanted it to be a surprise.” He stared at the dispenser as though he read his fortune in it, tipping it at every angle. “Weeks would pass. Then one day you'd look at me, and you'd know.”

“You decide to turn your life inside out because you watched me walk down a hallway!” Jani wheeled and paced the perimeter of the room. She usually felt better when she moved, but this time it didn't help. Not at all. “You've just begun.” She stopped to swallow, her throat aching. “You can't be that far along yet, no matter how well Eamon's refined the process. Go back.”

John's head came up. “To what?” His voice dropped, like a stone into cold, still water. “To what?” He reached out and
placed a hand atop his notebook. “I'm recording any changes I feel, as they happen. No one has done this yet—imagine. It will prove an invaluable record.” He shifted the notebook back and forth, as though he couldn't find the right position. “I remember what you said, that every day you're as much yourself as you will ever be again. There's another way to look at that, and that is that every day you change a little more. Meanwhile, I stay the same, and watch you move further and further away.” His voice darkened. “You're not the only one who's grown to hate the idea of being alone.” He tilted his head to one side, as though the notebook emitted a sound that only he could hear. “Then there's the fact that I love you—do I need to say that again? I've said it so often, but I never did anything about it.” He finally looked up at her. “Now I have.”

Jani sat transfixed by a gaze that had savored her every expression over the past months, that had just reacquainted itself with her every line and curve.
John…
She felt stricken enough to weep, frightened enough to tremble, even as that bastard part of her that had survived almost two decades of a gutter existence sent up a barely detectable murmur of delight.
Friend…lover…not alone…

Not alone. Ever again.

“Say something.” John forced disinterested lightness into his tone, his usual shield against rejection. “Love you. Bless you. Go away. Go to hell.” He exhaled with a rumble.
“Something.”

Jani sat quietly, listening as a laughing group passed close by the door, their voices coming from nowhere, then fading to nothing. She slid off her chair and walked over to John. He drew up straight as she approached, shifting in his chair so he faced her as she circled around, one hand on the edge of the desk, the other on the edge of his chair, braced for whatever he feared she would tell him.

She took his upturned face in her hands and bent close, taking care to avoid his angry wound, savoring the clean scent of soap and the fine roughness of his skin as she
brushed her lips over his before pressing down and kissing him harder than she ever had.

They broke apart once to breathe, then joined again. John pulled her onto his lap, holding her hacked arm as lightly as spun glass before snaking his arms around her waist and pulling her close.

“Well,” he said, his voice muffled, “if you're not going to speak, I suppose this is an acceptable substitute.” He positioned her so he could rest his head upon her shoulder.

“So?” Jani stopped to clear her throat. “That first time I walked in on you and Eamon—”

“I had already proposed the deal. If he hybridized me, I would let him keep his stake in Neoclona.” John's face hardened. “Someone like Niall would have appreciated watching him battle through that decision, I think. Very operatic. Greed versus whatever sense of kinship he still felt for me.” He looked away, jaw muscles tensed. “Greed won, of course. As if there was ever any doubt.”

“I wondered why his disgust with me had moved to a higher level.” Jani put her arm around his shoulder. “Does Val know?”

John shook his head eventually. “Not yet. I tried to drop some hints in my message. About how much I enjoyed it here. The fact that you and I were…together again.” He grinned halfheartedly. “I'll think of something. Val is my best friend. But some things are harder to explain than others.”

Jani ruffled John's hair—the air in the office was cool but very dry, and the white strands had already dried. “How do you feel now?”

John shrugged. “Not much different. Yet. Eamon's data show that it takes a few weeks before the mutated enzymes really kick in and the diet needs adjusting.” His eyes clouded. “I would have liked one last late supper at Gaetan's. In the rear garden, under the spring stars. Ah, well.” He glanced shyly at Jani. “There are stars here, too.” He pulled back from her with a sigh. “I need to get dosed.” He laced one hand with hers. “Come with me?”

Jani stood and followed him out of the room. “Is it true that doctors make the worst patients?”

“Oh yes—we're big babies. Eamon tells me that I complain about the treatments more than anybody here and nothing's even happened yet.” John examined the pale whiteness of the back of his hand. “Not that I can tell, anyway.”

They entered one of the busier hallways, then passed through a double-wide panel into a gleaming laboratory. Cushioned scanchairs lined one wall, each one backed by a thin-branched metal tree suitable for hanging drip bags and other insertion devices.

Eamon stood in front of a lab bench, next to the chair farthest from the door. He'd already set out a pair of small metal canisters that contained the gene broth, and now occupied himself with calibrating the injector. When he heard sounds behind him, he turned. His heavy face softened with something like pity when he looked at John, then hardened when he shifted to Jani. “And she shall sow chaos wherever she goes.”

“Belt it, Eamon.” John took the injector from him, then picked up the cartridges and shoved them into the slotted housing. “So.” He held the device out to Jani. “Care to do the honors?”

Jani held her breath as John placed the injector in her hands, then sat in the nearest chair. Avoided his eye as she bent over him and slid the device along his lower arm until it nestled in the crook. The injector was shaped like a scanpack with a curved notch on the end, and had much the same control layout—she intuited the switches for the grips that clasped John's arm just above the elbow, as well as the preinjector that numbed the skin.

“Well well.” John examined her handiwork, then lay back his head. “We'll make a medico of you yet.”

Jani ran a hand along the injector casing, which grew warm to the touch as the device heated the broth to body temperature. “How long does it take?”

“Ten minutes. Fifteen, if I develop irritation at the site and
the thing needs to pump out anti-inflammatory.” He watched her as though she undressed, breath quickening, eyes locked on her every move. “Chance to get a little of your own back, isn't it?”

Jani pulled back from the control pad. “Revenge has nothing to do with this.”

“Not even a little?” John looked quickly away, his face reddening. “Poetic justice, then. Patient, heal thy physician.” He turned back to her. “Whenever you're ready.”

Jani placed her hand atop the injector. Behind her, she could hear Eamon curse and stalk off to the other side of the lab. She gazed into John's dark-filmed eyes and tried to imagine what color they'd turn as he hybridized. What shade his hair would darken to. His skin. Whether his voice would alter, and how.

Then she moved her thumb over the injector switch and pressed it.

Jani opened her eyes. She could sense morning through the coated window wall, even though the glass shone dull and the bedroom itself was as dark as a cave.
Niall will be here soon
. She worked out from beneath the covers, moving carefully to avoid waking John.

She showered, dressed in her remaining coverall, then tossed her scanpack, overrobe, and other odds and ends into her duffel and pronounced herself packed. Slung the bag over her shoulder and tiptoed out of the room into the day-bright walkway. There, she paused, leaning against the wall and inhaling the flower odors from the gardens below. Orange smells. Red smells. Purple. Yellow. White. She breathed them all in, and filed them away for future reference.
Tomorrow morning at this time I'll be heading out toward Amsun GateWay
. Bound in a diplomatic marriage of convenience to a man she had once called a friend, who was now merely someone she knew well enough to fear more completely than anyone she knew. “Damn.” She pushed away from the wall and headed for the lift down to the courtyard.

Early morning sacrament seemed to have caught the Thalassans by surprise—some set out food, plates, and cutlery,
while others assembled the table and laid out the linens. They turned as one toward her when she entered the courtyard. Most smiled, waved, or held their wristbands in the air. A few, Jani noted, merely eyed her steadily, as though she were a stranger.
Well well—looks like not everyone buys into my brilliance
. She found that reassuring, in an odd way. After the rough and tumble of life in Chicago, complete and total acceptance would have felt too bizarre for words.

“Glories of this morning to you, ná Kièrshia.” Gisa stood near her usual spot at the low head of the table, waiting for her place to be set. She had dressed in uncharacteristically jarring pink and yellow, and had twisted her hair into a loose topknot from which stray strands escaped. “Such a time we have had here.”

“Glories of the morning to you, as well, ná Gisa.” Jani felt herself slipping into the professional politeness she had employed for her dealings with Cabinet Row. “Everyone seems a little flustered.”

“We all stayed awake too long. Hybrid and Haárin who had not spoken since the beginnings of this place spoke together once more. It was a great thing, and truly.” Gisa took her seat as the young hybrid who set her place moved on, then motioned for Jani to sit next to her. “And now you must leave. Such sadness.”

You are desolation itself, Gisa
. Jani concentrated on serving herself, and decided to keep her mouth shut and not explore the idomeni grasp of sarcasm before coffee.

“While you are not here, I will petition Feyó to allow a Thalassan representative to the Trade Board,” Gisa continued. “We do not own transports or shuttles.” An unspoken
yet
hung in the air. “But many here own businesses or practice skilled trades. They merit one who speaks for them just as do those who own the ships that convey their products.”

“That would be a change in Board membership philosophy—they haven't considered that aspect before.” Jani glanced up and saw John looking down at her from the walkway. “If this proposal comes from you alone, Feyó may
block it. If you go to the other enclaves and find members who wish the same as you, you would stand a better chance of gaining Feyó's approval.”

“Such takes time, ná Kièrshia.”

“That which is worthwhile often does.”

“The Thalassans merit such representation now.”

“Do the Thalassans know this?” Jani backtracked as Gisa's puzzled look slowly sharpened. “Which trades are practiced here?” She found herself eating as she always did when she was forced to mix business with mealtime—small bites chewed quickly and swallowed, their taste barely detected.

Gisa thought for a moment, then shook her head. “Too many to name.”

“Well, name them as best you are able, then find their counterparts in the other enclaves.” Jani felt a hand on her shoulder, and turned in time to catch a wink and a roll of the eyes from John as he sat down beside her. “Feyó will have a more difficult time rejecting a request from multiple enclaves, especially if the larger ones such as Amsun are represented. In addition, it would give you the opportunity to build a reputation as a consensus builder.”
Which would be a nice change of pace
.

Gisa poked at her food with her fork, then let the utensil fall with a clatter. “Ná Kièr—”

“Thalassa is an official enclave now, Gisa, and you are an acknowledged dominant. What this means is that you now fall under the rules—you know that as well as I. You cannot act as you will and push these rules aside, and then expect to be treated according to your standing. The conservatives will not stand for it, and at present they are the majority.” Jani speared slices of kettle ham onto a slice of soft flatbread. “Unless you want ná Wola poking her finger in your face at every turn, you have to think beyond the boundaries of Thalassa to how you fit into the whole, for this place is too small to act on its own.” She stood, makeshift sandwich in hand, and felt a tug on the knee of her pants leg. John, of
fering encouragement. Or prompting her to quiet down. “In deference to ní Tsecha, the Elyan Haárin gave this place enclave status,” she continued, letting the tug go unheeded. “Ponder that. Would any humanish colony have allowed us to declare our sovereignty? Would they even have considered such? What about the worldskein—what part do you imagine Cèel would have allowed us in that?”

Gisa sat still, her head down, shoulders bowed in the ageold posture.
“Gratitude.”
She twisted her neck to look up at Jani, her eyes metal. “One tires of gratitude.”

“But one must provide it when it is due, or one is as the greedy youngish who knows only to take. Such is not what we want to be.” Jani reached behind with her free hand and tugged at John's shirt, then let go. “Now, I am going to take one last walk on this beach. We will have plenty of time in the future, ná Gisa, to argue of gratitude. For today, I think, let us concentrate on deactivating the tripbeam arrays you have set on the Thalassa road.” She shouldered her duffel, then circled around the end of the table, making the demirooms in a few easy strides, and was out the door before anyone had the chance to say a word.

 

“I don't think you can eat this.” Jani stood at the water's edge, a fingernail-sized bit of ham in hand. “Wrong proteins—you'll get sick.”

The crab-thing she addressed responded by waving its pincers at the toe of her boot. It may or may not have been the same one Torin had chased about the beach the previous day. It seemed more ornery than that one had; on the other hand, there didn't seem to be any others around.

“You probably chased them away.” She tossed the fleck of meat onto the sand and watched the crab-thing scuttle over to it and scoop it up, then hop to the solitude of a nearby pile of rocks. “I think I'll name you Gisa.” She tossed another bit of ham into the water, followed by the last morsel of bread.

“I've never seen you flee before.”

Jani turned to find John standing on the dry region of the
beach on the far side of the rocks. “I didn't flee. I just…” She bent low to pick up a rock, then flung it into the water. “Gisa wants to build a nation in a day. She won't listen to anyone who tells her that's not how it works.” Another bend, another rock, another toss. “We just got over one crisis, and having her push now for a seat on the Trade Board just might precipitate another one.”

“You told her what to do.” John joined her at the water's edge. He wore light grey trousers and short-sleeve shirt—the sun turned the hair on his arms to silver wire. “She'll gripe, but she'll do it. For one thing, you've already shown her that you're capable of handling whatever ná Wola dishes out. For another, you're the star—she's the understudy. That may grate her, but too damned bad. I didn't see anyone here wearing her blood as a talisman.”

“Expert in the ways of the stage, are we?”

“I've known a few actresses. Does that count?” John drew closer and slipped his arm around her. “I'm not used to hearing you argue for the long view. You've mellowed.”

“I've seen too much waste. Dealt with too many whose only thought was what they could take.” Jani looked to the opposite side of the bay and saw the bright domes of Karistos flicker in the sun like pinpoint gems. “I'm not going to let that happen here.”

“Beware the wanderer who decides to stay.” John looked out over the water as well, but Jani couldn't tell from his expression how he felt. “What was it about this place that touched you?” He sounded genuinely puzzled.

Jani gave a half shrug. “I don't know. Sometimes, you walk about a place, and everywhere you look says ‘home.' This is the first time since my youth that I've felt this way, and I'm not going to let anyone screw that up for me—how's that for mellowing?” She felt a frisson of panic. “You do like it here, don't you?”

“You're here.” John smiled, then paused to tug at his shirtfront. “It's a little too hot for me at the moment.” He pon
dered the view for a time. “It reminds me of the Greek islands. That's a bit of a turnabout for a rain-forest boy like me.” He toed an arc in the sand. “I may miss the nightlife more than anything, although Karistos does have an opera company. Two symphony orchestras—wait—make that one symphony orchestra and one chamber music consort. And there's a theater company—”

“When did you find this out?”

“I do talk to people when I'm treating them, you know. The symphony's second violin is a hybrid.”

Patron of the arts—yes, I think John may have found a hobby
. And the artists of Karistos, a financial wellspring they never dared hope for. Jani nodded, biting the inside of her cheek to avoid smiling. “Not to change the subject,” she said, changing the subject, “but should you be exposing your skin like that?”

John held out his free arm in front of him. “I want to see how much I can tolerate. Monitoring the process, remember?” He tilted his arm this way and that, as though he examined a cut of meat at the end of a fork. “A couple more minutes, then I'll have to go in.” He let his arm fall. “We're doing a first-rate job of avoiding the issue, aren't we?”

Jani felt his grip around her waist tighten. “I wish I didn't have to go.” She put her arm around him and hugged back even harder.

“And I wish I didn't have to stay. Slaves to duty, aren't we?” John seemed to be avoiding her eye now, staring down at the sand while maintaining his hold on her. “I'll have plenty of work to do, at any rate. And if there are any less than attractive aspects to this change, you won't have to see them.”

“I don't care about that.”

“I do. Some things are better learned about in MedRecs.”

They lapsed into silence. John pulled Jani closer, until she had no choice but to turn to face him. He had filmed his eyes pale blue, mismatching his clothes for the first time she
could recall, and she wondered whether he guessed what his hybrid eye color might be, and if he did this as some sort of preparation for the future.

Then he bent down and pressed his lips to hers, and she stopped wondering about much of anything.

“Ná Kièrshia!”

Jani pulled back, and felt as well as heard John's muttered
“Damn.”
She looked around him toward the cliffside road that led up to the houses, and saw Brondt standing near the bottom, Torin at his side.

“Colonel Pierce is here. So soon.” Brondt avoided looking at John as he shrugged.

“Tell him I'm on my way.” Jani took one last look at the bay before starting her trudge toward the road.

“I tried to avoid him, but he saw me. I don't believe I am his favorite person at the moment.” Brondt stood in place, one hand in his pocket, his demeanor singularly stiff for one usually so unruffled. “I want to—” He stopped, then took a deep breath. “You said that your parents would take something of Acadia with them when they left, then restore it when they returned.” He pulled his hand from his pocket and held it out to her. “Take this with you to remember us by. When you return, you may put it back, and make this place whole once more.”

Jani held out her hand, and felt the sudden weight as Brondt dropped the stone onto her palm. It was one of the countless water-smoothed shapes she had seen gathered in long sweeps along the shore, a round-edged triangle in banded brown and black.

“Thank you.” She coughed to clear her tightening throat, but before she could say more, Brondt turned his back and started up the road, which saved them both. She followed, John at her side, and mounted the incline as hybrids gathered at the top and waited. Then she was among them, and they closed in around her and walked with her to the main house.

Niall stood in the skimmer circle beside a vehicle pool
sedan. He had switched out his desertweights for civvies, tan trousers and a white shirt that reflected the sun like a shield, battering the eye like the bright center of a flame. “I know I'm early, but if we make Elyas Station by local noon, we can head out right away.” He eyed John, then the rest of her escort, and his demeanor grew formal. “This way, please.” He popped the passenger-side gullwing, stood by solemnly as she got in, then slammed the door closed and circled to his side.

Jani lowered her window and held out her hand to John, who stepped forward to take it as he knelt beside the vehicle. “Keep an eye on things.”

“Of course.”

“Take…care of yourself.” Jani placed her hand over his, and wondered at the contrast in their skins, as always.
How much darker will he be when I return
? How much closer would they have become?

“I look on it as a great adventure.” John exhaled shakily. Then he leaned through the window and kissed her until Niall's not so subtle throat-clearing signaled that it was time to go. He broke away eventually, then glared in Niall's direction. “Pierce.”