Rules of Conflict (53 page)

Jani looked from one scan to the other, her heart tripping, her
hands damp. “Yes, but scans can change. The Laum may have conducted unrecorded
experiments with tissue hybridization for all I know. I mean, look at me. My
current scan doesn’t match my Service scan.” She kept reading. Line after line
of comparator code. All different.

All different.

“Service ID scans are trace scans, Jani. Suitable for quick and
dirty ID, in most instances. However, your ServRec also contained a full
genomic scan, which was used to confirm your ID on Felix when the trace IDs
didn’t match up.” Pimentel’s voice remained low and steady. Calm. “The Bandans
are similarly thorough. The scans they sent are full genomics. No chance of
error or mix-up. No chance of confusion.”

Hugh left his window seat. “Through a skillful melding of
coincidence and storytelling, Sam Duong built himself a past to replace the one
he’d forgotten.” He rounded the front of Pimentel’s desk and sat on the edge,
close to Jani.

Pimentel picked up the story line. “He worked at the university at
the same time Simyam Baru did. He may have even met him, but he can’t remember
and we’ll probably never know.” He cleared his throat. “Nothing would give me
greater pleasure than to tell you, yes, it’s possible someone else survived
Knevçet Shèràa. But I will not lie to you. As a physician, I cannot, and as a
friend, I will not.” He reached across the desk and touched her hand. “I’m
sorry.”

Jani put a hand to her throat. The ache in her chest made it hard
to breathe. “There’s no chance?”

“Simyam Baru and Sam Duong are two separate people, Jani. No,
there’s no chance whatsoever.” Pimentel paused. “Sam wanted me to tell you he’s
sorry. He said the thought of being the only one left with those memories
terrified him into seeking help. He didn’t want to be alone.” He forced a
smile. “He called you his ‘Dark Ice Captain.’ He said you were stronger than he
was, and that he hoped you’d understand.”

Hugh moved in behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “I
wish the answer could be different. I wish something could be returned to you,
for all you’ve lost.” His touch melted the tightness. Jani leaned forward and
rested her head on the desk; Hugh didn’t let her go until she stopped crying.

Pimentel walked her back to her room. He sat in the
visitor’s chair instead of on his usual perch at her footboard, as if he thought
she might not want him too close.

“Jani.” He eyed her uncomfortably. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah.” Jani circled to the far side of her room, and leaned
against the window.

“You’re sure?”

“I’d bet my license.”

Jani traced a finger over the glass in the same place Neumann had
sketched tic-tac-toe with his blood. “Did he tell you anything about that
night? I don’t remember what happened from the time I arrived at the A-G’s
party.”

Pimentel shook his head. “He knew you hallucinated. He hinted you
spoke with Neumann, but when pressed, he became highly agitated.” He smoothed a
hand over the freshly made bed. “At that point, it was enough for me that he
didn’t want to be Simyam Baru anymore. That he realized there was a Sam Duong
out there that he needed to recover. Rebuild.” He thumped the bedspread, which
was so tightly tucked it
whumped
like a trampoline. “Speaking of
rebuilding . . .”

“Are you going to say something about the SIB?”

“No.” He chuckled. “I wondered if you were up to . . .
taking a call?”

Jani saw the controlled eagerness in his face, and felt her heart
skip. “From whom?”

“Someone real, who’s been worried sick about you for the past five
weeks.” He hesitated. “And, I’m guessing, for a hell of a lot longer than
that.”

“You’ll be all right by yourself?” Pimentel pushed Jani’s
chair close to the display. “After what you just went through—”

“I’m fine.” She pushed the chair back to a more comfortable
viewing distance.

“I’ll be down the hall.” He glanced back at her over his shoulder.
“If you need anything.”

“Thank you, Roger.” Jani fingered the Misty replay activator pad,
and hoped he couldn’t see how her hand shook. “I mean that.”

“Sure.” Pimentel eyed her somberly, then slipped out.

She tapped the activator once. Twice. Third time proved the charm.
The display blued. Lightened. The face formed.

“Janila?” Her mother squinted, as though she could just see Jani
at the other end of a very long tunnel. At the age of sixty-seven common,
Jamira Shah Kilian looked so much as she had nineteen years ago, it took Jani’s
breath away. Only the faintest wisps of grey lightened her black hair, gathered
in a knot at the nape of her neck. Her brow and cheekbones were broad, her nose
an arched curve almost Family in its sharpness. Her skin, a shade darker than
Jani’s, bore a few fine lines at the corners of her brown eyes, which still
shone large and bright. As always, she wore a brightly colored short-sleeved
tee—Jani knew her loose, belted trousers would contain a multitude of colors to
complement the current turquoise hue. She had drawn two horizontal downcurves
of henna in the middle of her forehead, which meant she had visited the Brh
shrine that day. She kept a smaller shrine at home, and only visited the
neighborhood sanctum when she wished to pray for something special.

Jani looked away from the display toward the wall opposite until
her eyes stopped swimming.

“It’s very vexing not being able to see you to speak to you,” her
mother continued. “I was quite shocked when I saw your new face. So much like
my grandmother Jamuna, my father’s mother whom you did not know. I had grown so
used to you looking like your father, to see my family in you now—” She held a
hand to her mouth as the seconds passed. Ten. Twenty.

The hand dropped. “I have received so many messages these past
weeks. Some of them have been quite . . . startling. So many
doctors, reassuring me you are all right. That told me how sick you were. You
can imagine my thoughts.”

Jani rubbed her forehead and imagined her hands around Val’s
throat. It would have been his idea, of course, to reassure her parents that
she was just fine, then to nudge John into doing the same. And Roger. And God
knows who else.

Her mother reached out and touched the display, her eyes soft with
apology. “Your father is not here. He is helping Oncle Shamus install systems
at Faeroe Outpost. He has been there two months common already, and the delays
still multiply like
lapin
. He is furious, but if they do not install the
relays now, they will miss the peak of the tourist season and have to wait
until next quarter to renew the permits and you know how anxious Shamus
becomes. Already, he jumps at loud noises. Of course, most of those loud noises
are your father. But it is for the best. He would only want to go to Earth
immediately to see you, and Dr. Pimentel warned us you need time to recover.
Without undue strain, he said. He seems very worried about that. I quite like
him. He seems . . . normal.” Her unexpressed opinion of John and
Val rang loud and clear.

“Your Colonel Hals also messaged. I quite liked her. Solid woman.
Lots of common sense. If she is your friend, you are lucky. I feel I have less
to worry.”

She inhaled shakily. “It was very silly—” Her hand went to her
mouth again. “Silly of you to think we would not want to see you. You’re our
daughter, our only child—” She once more touched the display. “I can’t talk to
a blinking screen. I want to talk to you in the same room. I want to hold my
Jani-girl—” With that, all semblance of reserve shattered. She sagged forward,
her face buried in her hands, shoulders shaking. “I don’t want to cry in this
booth by myself. I want to cry with you. Tears should be shared.” She sat up
and wiped her eyes with a tattered dispo.

“I will send another message in a few days, when I can talk
without crying. Dr. Shroud told me I should send as many as I wish, that
Neoclona will pay. That is very generous of him, but I do not like to take
advantage.” Her eyes narrowed, glittering with a sharp light Declan
Kilian always referred to as “roasted almond.” “But maybe I will. I most look
forward to meeting him, Janila, when we come to Earth.” Again, the melting. “
Beaux
rêves, ma petite fille. Au revoir
.” The display blanked.

Jani wiped her face. Then she touched the reply pad. She talked
for almost an hour, telling her mother about life on the base. Acadia Central
United’s continuing quest for the Cup. The weather. Her upcoming life in
Chicago, that she had not even planned. Three months’ nonexistent income shot
out into space when she pressed the touchpad, but if Neoclona could pay for her
mother’s messages, they could pay for hers, too. John owed her that and more.

Discharge came one week later. John and Val, who had made
themselves scarce since Jani’s blowup with John, were nowhere to be seen.
Morley helped her pack, while Roger lectured her on diet and the need to take
it easy. In order to stave off the heart attack he’d threatened her with for
weeks, she relented and accepted his offer to carry her full-kit duffel. When
he staggered under its weight, she took it back and told him to stop being
silly.

Friesian waited for her in the lobby. To Jani’s surprise, Hals
stood next to him. They both wore dress blue-greys; Friesian held a bouquet of
mixed colonial blooms that looked suspiciously like those growing around the
buildings in North Lakeside.

“Remember what I said about a table in the lobby?” He handed her
the flowers, then pulled a sheaf of papers from the documents case that rested
on the floor at his feet. “I was being optimistic.” He handed her the papers
along with a stylus, then turned around. “Sign the bottom of pages one, four,
and twelve, then touch the fingertips of your right hand to the sensor square
at the bottom of page twenty.”

Jani handed the flowers to Hals and dropped her bag to the floor.
Using Friesian’s back as the table, she wrote the coda to her Service career.
“Any surprises?” She tapped him on the shoulder to indicate she had finished
and handed the documents back to him.

“Nope. It’s just like I told you.” He slid the papers into a
Service courier envelope, returned them to the case, then handed the case to a
mainline lieutenant who had appeared out of nowhere. “Your first pension
payment will be deposited into a general account at the Service Bank by month’s
end,” he said as the lieutenant departed. “Go to any branch in the city to
arrange transfer to your own account.”

“Take your shooter badge,” Hals added with a grin. “They’ll give
you two tickets to a Cubs game.”

As Jani shouldered her duffel, she caught sight of another full kit
resting beside the lobby sofa. “Whose is that?”

Friesian held a hand to his heart. “I’m shipping out. In two
hours, I catch the shuttle to Luna, then the
Reina Amalia
back to
Constanza. There’s already a new brief waiting for me on board.”