Law of Survival (31 page)

“I didn't know that you felt at all.” Jani sought the refuge of her closet, riffling through the hangers for her favorite Service surplus gear. She chose a muddy blue mechanic's
coverall she'd swiped from a recycle bin, and added a black pullover to wear underneath in deference to the cold.

“Who are you meeting? John? McGaw? Going to go pound the last fastener in Derringer's career coffin?”

Jani turned to find Lucien standing in the closet entry. Even though he gripped the sides of the doorway, blocking her in, she didn't feel threatened. He wasn't yet back to full strength. If he did get out of hand, she'd just punch him in his burn. “Who said I'm meeting anybody?”

“Come on—I heard those messages!” Lucien's hair caught the light as it did in her nightmare. His show of anger weakened him—the way he sagged against the doorway implied that he needed the support. “You're going out there alone, with no idea who's waiting for you, unarmed, with no back-up. Is that what you call taking care of what means most to you?”

“Do you know something I don't?” Jani bundled her clothes in front of her bare chest and turned to Lucien. “That's nothing new, is it?” After a few seconds of warring stares he stepped aside with a huff and she retreated to the sanctuary of the bathroom.

When Jani emerged from the bathroom, she found Lucien standing in front of the dresser, studying the painting of the lovers' triangle.

“This is about the shooting, isn't it? You think I set you up.” His voice held the matter-of-fact tone he always used when discussing matters of life and death. “That's why you've shut me out. You don't trust me.”

Jani tossed her clothes and towels in the cleaner. “I never trusted you.”

“You did for some things. For things that mattered to both of us.” He had managed something akin to a sad expression, which meant he felt as upset about someone else's feelings as he ever could. “I'll bet that's why you let me stay here. You wanted to keep an eye on me.”

Jani turned her back on him and activated the cleaner. When the goal was to keep the lies to a minimum, you learned fast which things just weren't worth lying about.

“Do you think I'd have missed?” The injury in Lucien's voice had been replaced by chill pride. “If I had tried to kill you or had set you up to be killed, do you think I'd have failed?”

Jani walked to the dresser, working her fingers through her damp hair. “There's a first time for everything.” She stepped around Lucien to collect her comb, and stopped in mid-grab when she saw the two halves of the casino marker lying atop the mirrored tray.

“Angevin tried to wake you to undress, but you'd turned to dead weight by that time. She didn't want to touch you—
you strike out in your sleep, it seems. So she asked me to help.” Lucien leaned close, until he spoke directly in Jani's ear. “Did you go in through the front of the dresser, or the back?”

“The back.” Jani looked at him. His eyes had gone brown stone, which meant that whatever anger he felt hadn't claimed him completely. What she needed to watch for was the truly dead light, when he looked at her the way he did at everyone else. That would signal the true point of no return, the end of the arm's length discussions and tense treaties. That would mean only one of them would emerge alive. “Drawers are too difficult to break into quickly. The back is always faster.”

Lucien nodded. Knowing him, he'd filed the knowledge away for future reference, if he didn't know it already. “Did you leave a mess?”

“The rear panel is a little bent. Somebody with a protein scanner would know I was in the room, but they'd have expected that since you keyed your door to me.” Jani picked up one of the marker halves. “You killed him. Etienne Palia.”

“As if you didn't know.” Lucien shrugged. He tried to insert his hands in his pockets, but the pull of the cloth over his wound made him wince, forcing him to settle for a one-handed lean against the dresser. “You were living in Majora at the time—I considered tracking you down.”

“Don't change the subject!” Jani struggled to keep her voice level. “Who ordered Palia's death? I realize that neither the Service nor the government are above arranging the occasional convenient demise, but was Palia powerful enough to merit their attention? Or did you hire yourself out to
L'araignée
, help them rid themselves of an officer who had gotten out of line? Or was it a more private killing? An angry husband? A gambling debt?”

“You would have hated him if you'd met him.” Lucien smiled with a distinct lack of humor. “His behavior definitely ran counter to your personal code of ethics.”

“Which ethics are those, the ones you helped research for my white paper?” Jani watched Lucien's face, alert for any flicker or shadow, any sign that she'd struck what passed for his nerve. “You were the busy boy, weren't you? Between contract killings for whoever paid your freight and digging
the dirt on me, it's a wonder you had time to file your official Intelligence Updates.”

Lucien slowly raised his hand. “I'd like to bring up two points, if I could?” He extended his thumb. “One—you're not dead. I'm fifteen for fifteen, and you're not dead.”

Jani shook her head. “First time for—”

“Two.”
Lucien extended his index finger, then pointed the mock weapon at her. “After you read that white paper, and I assume you did or Niall isn't half the ferret I think he is, did you stop to ponder the two interesting items that seemed to have been left out? The copying of the deed. The murder of that Family agent.” He cocked his thumb back and forth, as though he activated a charge-through. “Of course, you had your reasons at the time. But they're the sorts of reasons that make sense to someone like me or Niall, not to people like Steve, or Angevin, or your good friends at Registry.”

Jani felt her anger freeze into something more controllable, less human. “Are you threatening me?”

“No, I'd never threaten you. I know you too well.” Lucien sighed. “A lot better, apparently, than you know me. I covered for you. I kept the really damning crap from getting into that white paper. No matter how much you try to deny it, you need me. I have always done you more good than harm. In every way.” He took a step toward her, but stopped when she backed away. “You're unarmed. You're stupid to go out there.”

“What good would you be? The ComPol turned your shooter over to your CO.”

“You think that's the only one I've got! After all this, you think that's the only—” Lucien laughed, harder than Jani had ever seen him. He walked to the wall so he could brace against it as his shoulders shook, clasping his arms across his stomach and groaning as his wound complained. The pain calmed him—he wiped a hand over his face and looked at her, the animal ache dulling his eyes. “Do you really think that's the only one I've got?”

“No.” Jani turned back to the mirror and focused on the periphery of her face. The part of her that she couldn't control worried after Lucien's pain and tried to think of a way to
salve it, wondered why the implanted analgesic pump didn't do a better job. Yet again, she damned her weakness. “I don't need your help. Go to sleep. Go away. Go to hell.” She pushed the comb through her hair and fought to keep from looking at herself too closely. So intent was she on avoiding her own gaze that she didn't sense Lucien's approach until she saw him in the mirror behind her.

He reached around her and picked up the two halves of the marker, one in each hand. “See these?” He held up one half to within a handspan of her nose. “This is you.” Then he held up the other. “And this is me.” He pressed the two halves together, broken edge to broken edge, until the plastic round looked whole again. “And this is us. Or it could be, only
you
won't admit it.”

Jani bumped his stomach with the point of her elbow. The marker halves flew apart as he gasped and backpedaled; she barely kept from cringing, knowing his surprise and his pain. “Take that thing and get out.”

“Why?”
Lucien straightened slowly, his breathing irregular, the sweat beading on his forehead. “What are you afraid of? Is it that you need me? Or is it that you love me?”

“Don't flatter yourself.” Jani resumed raking the comb through her hair. “I know what love is—you could never make that cut.”

“Oh, I forgot. You love John.” Lucien closed in again, this time grabbing her wrists so she couldn't elbow him. “Your creator.” He wrapped his arms around her and rubbed his chin against the side of her neck. “Or maybe fellow freak is a better term these days.”

Jani grew still. No, it was more than that. It was as though her blood ceased flowing and her heart stopped, as though her very cells suspended their function. She watched Lucien in the mirror as he nuzzled her neck, a neck that had lengthened over the past months.
My mother called me mutant…

“I mean, compared to you, even
he
looks normal.” Lucien rested his chin atop Jani's achy shoulder and regarded their reflection. “At least that's what I overheard at Neoclona. They talk about you constantly—you're their favorite pastime. It's the eyes that clinch it, according to the general opinion. Not that I have any basis for comparison. You've
tied yourself in knots hiding them from me.” He pressed close to her ear. “Here, kitty, kitty, kitty.” He laughed as she struggled to break his grip. “Boy, they must be some sight. Creature from the GateWay. It Came from the Lost Colony. What did your parents say when they first saw you? 'Who are you and what did you do to our daughter?' Or did they just scream and run like hell?”

Jani stilled again, and watched Lucien's eyes in the mirror. His human eyes, which some would call beautiful, that obscured a hollow of a heart and a dried husk of a soul.
We are two halves of the same whole, aren't we? Both monsters, only you hide it so well.
She shook his hands from her wrists. Still captured by his arms, she turned to look him in the face. His smile brightened as their eyes met, like a bully who knew he'd hit his target.

Jani raised her hands to her eyes, slipped her thumbnails beneath the edges of the films, flicked out and down. The hydropolymer membranes came away with audible
pops
—they hung intact from her fingers, the green irises glittering, the white sclera milky and human and clean. She flipped them atop the dresser to desiccate.

Lucien's eyes widened. His smile faded. His mouth opened, but the words wouldn't emerge, even though his jaw worked, even though he tried to speak. His arms fell away. He stepped back, mouth agape.

“What's the matter, bully boy? Cat got your tongue?” Jani laughed in spite of her shame. Lucien stunned speechless was a sight to behold. An event to treasure, no matter the circumstances.
No matter
…If she told herself that long enough, maybe she'd believe it.

Then Lucien reached out. A tentative move, as though he feared rebuff. He brushed his fingers down her cheek, along the curve of her jaw. Then he gripped her by the shoulders and spun her so that she faced the mirror.
“Look.”
When Jani tried to twist away, he flung one arm around her shoulders to hold her fast, then seized her jaw so she couldn't move her head. “I said
look,
damn it!”

Jani tried to look at the ceiling, the wall, the carved wood frame of the mirror. But Lucien held her so firmly that all she could move were her eyes—her head ached from the strain
of trying not to look straight ahead. She surrendered, finally, and did as he demanded, bracing herself for his sly insults as she stared into the overlarge irises, the glass-green sclera.

“See.” Lucien relaxed his grip on her jaw, until it became a caress. “They're beautiful. Like veined jade.” He released her jaw and ran his hand over her breasts, down her stomach. “Gorgeous.” He gripped her hip and pulled her closer, pressing himself against her.

Jani felt her nerves flare and her stomach tighten as Lucien's erection ground against her. She looked again at his reflection, and saw the same parted lips and focused dreaminess that he had displayed during Dathim Naré's visit. “Now who's the freak?” She heard the deepening catch in her voice, and hated herself just a little more.

“You're what we're all going to be someday, according to Nema. I'm just getting a head start.” Lucien gripped her waist and turned her slowly, pressing against her as he did so their bodies never broke contact. It seemed to take forever. A single second. By the time she faced him, Jani's breathing had gone as raspy as his.

“This is ridiculous.” She tried to squirm away, but her legs wouldn't listen. “You're in no condition.”

“Never felt better.” Lucien smiled lazily and reached for the top fastener of Jani's coverall.

“No!”
She thrust her arms up and out, breaking his hold and driving him back. “You want to fuck the bizarre so damned bad, go cruise South Wabash and leave me the hell alone!”

Lucien blinked in unfocused confusion before shaking his head. “You're not bizarre. You're a beautiful woman.”

“Damn you for a liar!” Jani's voice caught again.
Anormal…mutant.
Her throat ached and her warped eyes stung and passion had nothing whatsoever to do with it. “I'm not—a
woman
anymore.”

Lucien hesitated. “I know.” He held out his hand. “Please?” When she didn't answer, he stepped closer and reached once more for the neck of her coverall. He opened one fastener, the next, slid the coverall off her shoulders, then knelt in front of her.

Jani leaned against the dresser and closed her eyes.

“No!” Lucien grabbed the front of her pullover and yanked, forcing her to look down. “Watch every move I make.” He undid the rest of the fasteners, then pulled the coverall down. Off one leg, then the other. Tossed it aside. “Look at me.” He peeled Jani's pullover over her head and flung it atop the coverall. Then he slid her bandbra and underwear down her body, leaving a line of kisses in their wake.

Jani braced her hands on the edge of the dresser as her knees sagged and her body ached and warmed. A human ache. Blessedly human warmth.

“The idomeni don't get as wrapped up in this as we do, do they?” Lucien's eyes shone.

“No.” Jani reached down and pushed her hand through his hair. “They think we overcomplicate it.”

“I guess they don't know everything.” Lucien massaged her inner thighs, then looked up to make sure she still watched. “It's like gold. Warm gold.” He kissed the softest, warmest place, then stood up and undressed. He pulled his shirt over his head, pausing when he saw Jani stare at his burn. “It doesn't hurt as long as I'm careful.”

“It looks like hell.” She stepped close and placed both her hands over the shiny pink expanse of flesh, then ran a finger over the whispery-thin grid lines of the grafting support. “And I know it hurts—you wince every time you move too fast. You can't—”

“Yes, I can.” He pushed down his trousers, kicked off his trainers and socks and stood before her, naked and beautiful, but changed. Uncertain, faltering, as if he expected her to turn him down, even now.