Endgame Page 10

  Jani looked past Scriabin to the skimmer just as his helpful driver emerged.

  “Mornin’, gel!” Niall smoothed the front of his dress desertweight tunic, then set his brimmed lid. “Not used to all this subterfuge and evasive maneuvering so early in the morning. Felt like I was sixteen again, running the White Line in the Wodonga Mountains.”

  Markos laughed. “A Victorian boy, are you, Colonel?”

  “Born and bred, Your Excellency.” Niall circled around the vehicle toward them, eyes bright with the thrill of the chase. “Shaped and baked to a crusty turn.”

  Scriabin cocked his head. “The white line?”

  Niall slowed. “The White River, Your Excellency,” he piped a bit too brightly. “Loops around the northern half of the city of Wodonga. My school chums and I enjoyed many a summer rafting trip.” His grin at Jani held a touch of friendly malice. “You look surprised to see me.” He herded her into the doorway, leaving Scriabin and Markos standing by the skimmer.

  “Rafting with school chums.” Jani kept her eye on the two officials, who leaned against the skimmer and waited for the other governors. “Make that running stolen goods from the Wodonga shuttleport to where the hell ever.”

  “We used rafts sometimes.” Niall pulled out his case and plucked out a ’stick. “When the jungle got too dense and the skimtrucks couldn’t hold the track.” He cracked the tip and took a long pull as he slumped against the polished stone. “I know enough about John to fill in the rest. Cao wants him out at Neoclona. I’m surprised it took her this long. What’s Parini’s role?”

  “Stunned bystander.” Jani stifled another yawn. “They let him come here to inform John only after the legal surgery had already started. Now he’s hiding out in the Main House, trying to pretend he’s just visiting and not having much luck.”

  “If he fights to defend John, he’s out, and Cao hands the whole Easter egg over to Eamon DeVries, third in line and incipient gutter sot.” Niall sneered, his scarred lip curling to reveal a pointed canine. “Here’s your choice, boy. We destroy you a little or we destroy you a lot.” Another pull, a drift of smoke. “Smuggling was cleaner. When you over-stepped, they just shot you.”

  “Who shoots, Colonel?” Tsecha poked his head between them and bared his teeth.

  “Figure of speech, ní Tsecha.” Niall pulled the ’stick from his mouth and hid it cradled in his hand like a schoolboy caught out during recess.

  “Hah.” Tsecha turned and vanished back into the comparative dark of the meeting house. “Smoke your nicstick, Colonel, before you choke.”

  “Dammit.” Niall stuck the ’stick back in his mouth, then examined his palm for burns. “Look, gel, I know Markos isn’t here just to admire ní Dathim’s tilework. I’ve been here for nigh on six months, and I’m not fuckin’ blind. Or deaf.” He took one last drag, then tossed the spent ’stick into a nearby planter. “I am, in point of fact, the Service representative at this little discussion, as ordered by Admiral General Hiroshi Mako himself.”

  It’s too early in the morning and I’m too tired to be surprised. Jani looked out toward the street, where another skimmer had joined the governor’s. “Any danger of Lucien turning up?”

  “He’s blogged down with transfer paperwork,” Niall said as he headed toward the skimmers. “Should keep him busy for the day.”

  Scriabin hurried to the new skimmer just as the passenger gullwing drifted upward. “You finally made it.”

  Jani heard an all-too-familiar voice emerge from the vehicle and froze.

  “—not since Rauta Shèràa, when we all feared for our lives every moment.” Exterior Minister Anais Ulanova, dressed in cool blue, as ever the elegant hatchet, disembarked the skimmer and immediately latched onto her nephew’s arm. “Zhenya, you left Karistos too quickly. We lost you—” She stopped when she saw Jani, mouth stalled in mid-word as though caught in the midst of a scream.

  Jani heard Niall emit a low, tuneless whistle.

  “Tyotya Ani.” Scriabin patted his aunt’s hand. “I believe you and ná Kièrshia know one another.”

  Jani bowed as low as her sensibility allowed, which wasn’t much. “Excellency.”

  Anais Ulanova said nothing, even when her nephew touched her arm and spoke in her ear. She simply stared, eyes dark as space and just as cold.

  “Minister Ulanova.” Tsecha glared Sìah daggers over the top of Ulanova’s head at her nephew. “Minister Scriabin should have informed us.”

  “Ní Tsecha.” If Ulanova noticed the tension in Tsecha’s manner, she ignored it. “I trust my nephew implicitly, of course, but given the sensitive nature of this discussion, we felt that the presence of a first-level minister would lend more credence to any agreement reached.”

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Niall said as he joined Jani at one end of the long table.

  “If you did, you wouldn’t sit next to me.” Jani continued to watch Ulanova, who still hung onto Scriabin’s arm then laughed too loudly at something Tsecha said. “Who was the genius who pulled her into this?”

  They had adjourned to the largest meeting room, which opened out onto a small garden complete with bubbling fountain. Jani concentrated on the trickling burble in the hope that the sound would calm her, and knew from the roil in her gut that she hoped in vain.

  “She’s been Exterior Minister for a long time.” Niall lowered his voice as the governors from Amsun and Hortensia, Avelos and Wallach, took seats nearby. “She does know the lay of the land out here.”

  “The first hint of trouble, she’ll sell you out to Cao.”

  “Not as long as her nephew’s involved. He’s our insurance. If he falls, she tumbles with him.”

  Ulanova took a seat near the head of the table, next to Scriabin. Since the initial shock of recognition, she had ignored Jani, and seemed determined to carry that standard throughout the balance of the meeting. She greeted Avelos and Wallach like the old friends they likely were, and complimented Markos’s neckpiece before directing her attention to the recording board set before her by an aide.

  “Looks like I don’t rate a personal greeting.” Niall sniffed. “I’m crushed.”

  “That’s what you get for sitting next to me.” Jani pulled a folded sheet of parchment from the inner pocket of her shirt-jacket and spread it flat on the table. “Feel free to move if you’d rather sit with the popular kids.”

  “Nah. I’ve always been a back-of-the-room type.” Niall grinned, the expression altering to a formal smile when Avelos pointed at him.

  “So, your Mako’s hip-deep in anti-Cao factionitis.” Avelos was an angular woman with a voice to match, the light bouncing off her lofty cheekbones and casting deep shadows under her eyes. “Doesn’t surprise me—those two never got on. They’ve been trying to cut one another off at the knees for years.”

  Niall shook his head. “It’s much deeper than that, Your Excellency. There’s a fundamental difference in how we view the state of the Commonwealth and her relations with the worldskein. With her colonies.”

  “The Service is stretched to the brink out here.” Wallach, a skinny whip of a man with an unfashionable receding hair-line, doodled in the margins of his recording board display. “No one’s gotten to the bottom of the dock attacks, and Cèel is threatening to call the Haárin back into the worldskein if any more of their facilities are hit.”

  “Cèel can call all he wishes.” Tsecha had seated himself at the head of the table, hands clasped lightly in front of him, no note-taking device to be seen. “The Haárin will not go.”

  “Then he’ll send his warrior skein to come and get them.” Wallach shook his head as a series of interlaced loops appeared on his board. “And who will save our sorry asses from a colonial version of the Night of the Blade?” He glanced across the table at Niall, then resumed his doodling.

  “I thank you for raising the subject of defense, Your Excellency.” Niall adopted his instructor’s voice, world-weary and wise. “His Excellency Minister Scriabin and I,
along with those we represent, are also examining this matter from that point of view.” He stifled a cough. “Six Common months ago, I was charged with the task of evaluating the situation at Fort Karistos. Over the last two weeks, I have collated my findings. I’ve concluded that thanks to years of neglect by Chicago, the Service personnel stationed there have evolved in sensibility to the point that they feel more loyalty to their base colony and the mixture of races surrounding it than to their nominal homeworld.”

  “It’s taken you long enough to figure it out.” Jani paused as another yawn threatened. Not now, dammit. “It’s been that way out here for a generation, at least.”

  Niall nodded agreement. “The decision we’re faced with is, do we clean the place out, restaff it with more traditionally loyal forces we can’t spare, and alienate the local populations?” He took a stylus from the holder in the middle of the table and rolled it between his fingers. “Or do we work with the situation as it stands, maybe even help it to…evolve, then concentrate on developing a close relationship with whoever happens to wind up in charge.”

  Avelos and Wallach stared across the table at one another, while Markos folded his arms and nodded. “The Service supports secession.”

  Niall glanced downtable at Scriabin, who nodded almost imperceptibly. “The Outer Circle would remain allied with the Commonwealth—that would be one of the conditions of the separation. But the colonial governments would be granted their autonomy. The forces stationed both here and at Amsun Base would be theirs, to command as they would. To man as they would, be it with humans”—he gestured toward Jani—“hybrids…even Haárin.” He spoke slowly, his Victorian twang all but buried in careful intonation. “All indications are that Cèel and his Vynshàrau will face a challenge from the Pathen by year’s end. Aden nìRau Wuntoi, the Pathen dominant, is ready—he has Oà and Sìah backing, and would be anyone’s first pick to assume the Oligarchy. The Pathen and Sìah Haárin are well settled here in the Circle, and we want them on our side now. We want friendlies in place so if Rauta Shèràa implodes and civil war spreads throughout the worldskein, our border colonies don’t get chewed up in the process.” He placed the stylus back in its holder, then worked off his nerves by flexing his fingers. “One war at a time. We can’t fight to keep the Outer Circle in check and at the same time take on whatever Cèel throws at us. For that reason, we don’t want to risk losing the support of either the resident humans or the Haárin. Or any combination thereof.”

  Jani made to speak, then paused and pressed her fingertips to the middle of her forehead. She could feel the tightening, and knew it would only get worse. Tracking the Thalassan ball through the diplomatic maze had that effect on her. “You would support the Pathen alliance against the Vynshàrau, knowing Cèel would see this as a threat to his authority, maybe even an act of war.” She waited for Niall to nod. He didn’t. He didn’t look at her, either, which made the sweat bloom along her back. “You’d commit Service troops to this?”

  Scriabin nodded. “Yes.”

  “Troops that you and Mako have no right to commit?” Jani recalled Niall’s words during one long ago lunch. Do you believe in ghosts? Maybe the bigger question was, did the ghosts believe in you? “The Service taking sides in an idomeni civil war. Am I the only one who’s seeing history gearing up for an encore performance here?”

  “It would be different this time.” Niall’s lips barely moved, as though he feared to say the words aloud.

  “You, of all people, can sit there and say that to me? We’re Exhibits A and B, for crying out—” Jani stopped when she felt the stares from the rest of the table. Took a deep breath. “What happens,” she finally said, “when Cao figures out that you’re snaking her?”

  “She’s preoccupied with the upcoming election.” Niall sat forward, braced his elbows on the table’s edge and gestured toward his ally. “Yevgeny’s going to clean her out. He’s playing Cao even in most polls, and all his numbers are trending up. In between now and then, we just need to keep Cao out of the loop.”

  “Thank you for the vote of confidence, Niall, but I take ná Kièrshia’s point.” Scriabin ignored his aunt’s irritated muttering. “The number of like minds on Cabinet Row is significant, and most are not seen to be supporters of mine. Even if I should lose the election—and despite what the good colonel says, odds that I win are even at best—I feel that there will be sufficient push in place to ram the secession bill through.”

  “Many a slip twixt cup and lip,” said Wallach, the resident realist.

  “The word’s treason.” Jani looked around the table, and saw that even Ulanova had grown thoughtful. “Much as I care for some of you, my concerns are other. If Mako gets rousted out of bed in the middle of the night and disappears into some Cabinet Row cellar with the rest of his buddies, what happens to Thalassa? If it becomes known that I aided and abetted a treasonous cause, and with John Shroud stripped of all influence and ability to pull strings due to his expulsion from Neoclona, what happens?” She took note of the lack of surprise at that particular bit of news. Great Ganesh—did everyone know it was coming but us? “You’ll all be arrested.” She clenched a fist and tapped the table. “Meanwhile, Fort Karistos will be restocked with hardcore Earthbound. Thalassans would be split into Haárin or humanish regardless of their level of hybridization—the Haárin would be shipped back to their former enclaves, and the humanish would be jailed. Without medical care, some of them would die. The ones who didn’t could be exiled or executed, rejected by their families, or simply stoned in the street like lepers. Thalassa isn’t just the only home they have. For some, it’s the only home they can have.”

  Scriabin studied Jani for a long moment, then glanced sidelong at Tsecha. “What does Thalassa want?”

  “I think the more important question is, why should we care?” Ulanova didn’t look at Jani but instead concentrated on her hands, running a fingertip over the edge of one scarlet talon. “What can they offer that makes sustaining them worth the effort?” The single word reply, Nothing, hung unspoken in the air.

  Jani stared down at her single page of notes. Despite the hours spent on the library balcony, she’d sketched out only a few words, arranged in a list, written in a mongrel Acadian French-Vynshàrau scrawl that no one could read but she. Then she glanced at Tsecha, who studied her in turn with narrowed eyes. So, nìa? his look said. Academy examination, but on a different scale, the results the altering of lives rather than student assessments. Teacher and student, in the class that never ends. She bit back a nervous laugh, and began.

  “Thalassa’s bargaining power is that it’s the chosen home of a male who is acknowledged to possess one of the foremost medical minds in a generation.” Jani traced the first word on the list. John. “With some initial support, and a base from which to operate, he can continue to provide the area with a level of economic stability that it otherwise wouldn’t possess.”

  Ulanova raised a hand. “Eamon DeVries—”

  “Will wreck Neoclona inside of a year.” Jani dug a thumbnail across a word farther down the list, grooving the parchment. Jackass. “No one can deny that he’s a good device man, but when it comes to the complex dynamics of running a Commonwealth-spanning entity like Neoclona…” She took note of the stricken expression on Scriabin’s face, and knew she’d struck the right chord. Or nerve. “John Shroud, working on the colonial side. Val Parini, on the Commonwealth. A measure of stability during what may turn out to be a tumultuous time.” Friend. The last word on the list.

  “Our Neoclona facility serves the entire colony and provides about one-quarter of the jobs in Unter den Linden and the surrounding area.” Wallach sketched something that resembled a tombstone. “I don’t want to see that end.”

  “Neither do I.” Avelos shook her head. “I think we can speak for our colleague on Whalen and the heads of the satellites and stations. We need Neoclona as it is today, a strong, stable medical care provider and employer.”

  “This is good.�
� Tsecha bared his teeth. “The Outer Circle Haárin value the opportunity they find here, and wish that John Shroud may continue to thrive so that all remains as it is. We will support your cleaving of the Outer Circle colonies from your Commonwealth.”

  And we will keep our businesses with you, and continue to run your most profitable ports, and promote the stability of your colonial governments. Jani read between those lines as though they’d been scrawled on the wall in letters a meter high. So did Markos and his colleagues, judging from their soft sighs of relief.

  “No one I’ve spoken with thinks breaking up Neoclona’s a good idea. I think a reversal of that particular decision should be easy enough to shove through.” Scriabin’s shoulders sagged, the first and only sign that he’d felt any tension at all. “Well. It appears we’re all in agreement.” He looked to Tsecha, who nodded. As one, they pushed back from the table and fell into light conversation while those who used recording boards fingered pads and tapped displays, erasing the contents and purging memories.

  What you say here, what you see here, let it stay here when you leave here. Words to keep living by. Jani folded her own notes and tucked them back in her pocket, then looked at Niall to find him grinning at her.

  “That was too goddamned easy, wasn’t it?” He leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling. “Sad day, when you can’t trust common sense.”

  “It was too easy, but we’re all like minds here. The fight comes when Scriabin takes this to Chicago.” Jani stood, stretched. Her stomach rumbled, this time from hunger.

  “—sabotage.” Markos’s voice carried from the other end of the table. “Cèel scares me. He’s spent the last decade building a network of spies throughout the Commonwealth. He’ll find out about this and—”

  “Stash.” Scriabin closed his eyes for a long moment, then opened them slowly, like a beast roused from slumber. “Cèel’s attempts at spy networks have gone and will continue to go the way of all the other humanish practices he has sought to adopt. Subtlety is not his strong suit. I remember when…” He circled the table and draped a thick arm around the man’s shoulders and steered him to the door.