Contact Imminent (6 page)

“But you knew enough to consider such, which is something that I find most indicating an unchanged state of self.” Tsecha nodded at his own response, too wrapped up in thought to notice his pupil's discomfort. “Sànalàn, of course, would deny such. Such an ungodly chief propitiator she is. To her, Feres's destroyed body indicates that his soul is no longer whole. If he has not yet died, I fear he soon will.”

Jani spread her hands apart, then lowered them to her sides. “When I see you consider as a priest, I wonder if you wish you still served as ambassador. Politics is easier than religion.”

“No longer, nìa. It seems to me, and truly, that Chicago is
as Rauta Shèràa was when you schooled at the Academy. The nearness to humanish would destroy us all, so they said in Temple and Council. Six documents students, and a Consulate set behind high walls. So few, to be accused of so much.”

Jani stood near the center of the bare room, absorbing the Vynshàrau-level heat through every pore. Wishing she merely paid a social call, and could leave the difficult questions she needed to ask out in the cold where they belonged. “Our nearness helped destroy the Laum.”

Tsecha chopped the air with his right hand, a harsh Vynshàrau Haárin negative. “The Laum destroyed themselves. They took the worst of humanish, the greed and the need to control with secrets. If they had taken the best of humanish, the ability to adapt and explore, to change, they might have survived.”

Jani took a step nearer the window. “The hell you say?”

Tsecha hung his head. “You are most correct, nìa. The best of humanish is not what I am seeing now.”

They stood side by side, watching the occasional Haárin, swaddled in ankle-length coat and trailing scarves, emerge from a building and dash down the street. “Even before I left Acadia to school on Shèrá, before I realized the depth of variation between worlds, I never thought of myself as a citizen of the Commonwealth. I always referred to myself as Acadienne.
Une jeune fille de les Vieux Rouges.
” Jani caught Tsecha raising a curved hand in puzzlement, and smiled. “A young girl of the Old Red. My birthplace, Ville Acadie, is built on red clay. The first colonists christened it ‘Le Vieux Rouge.' That's also the name of our football team.”

“Ah. The Commonwealth Cup.” A little of the confusion cleared from Tsecha's face. “Acadia Central United. They lost the final match to a group from this place.”

“Gruppo Helvetica.” The name still stuck in Jani's throat, months after the fact. “Acadia tried too hard. They wanted it too badly. Gruppo had its weaknesses—they'd have beaten themselves if given the chance.” She watched a youngish
trudge up the street, kicking a stone. “Niall thinks the Haárin tried too hard to force their way in here, that I tried too hard helping you. We set Chicago back on its heels, threatened them. Gave them something to fight.”

“Your scarred colonel does not like me. He believes I keep you from what you should do, whatever that is. I most doubt he could tell me, if I asked.” Tsecha drummed his fingers against the window. “So little I understand of humanish pairings, even after so many years. You are not with Colonel Pierce as you are with Lucien?”

“No, inshah.”
Jani sighed.
Maybe if I drew a diagram
…“We are friends, as you were with Hansen Wyle.”

“Angevin's father. My Hansen of the godly hair. He taught me much of humanish ways.” Tsecha brightened for a moment, baring his teeth wide. Then the expression faded. “Not enough, most sadly, to understand your colonel. He seemed most as upset when you said you would speak to me alone.”

Before Jani could reply, the door to the meeting room opened.

“Glories of this damned cold night to you, Kièrshia!” Dathim Naré, Tsecha's secular suborn, strode in coatless and hatless, his gold-brown skin paled to dun from the cold. “Pierce has returned to his skimmer, to smoke. I remind him of the protocols forbidding open displays of eating on idomeni lands. He tells me that a nicstick is not food, and I should look the other way. He enjoys argument, that one.” Two meters tall, broad-shouldered, a face of shadowed hollows and heavy bone, he seemed suited to chill and wind even though he had been born in a desert and craved heat as much as Jani. “He tried to question me of what you both would speak of. I pretended I did not understand his English.” He dragged a wireframe seat from against the wall and set it by the window. “So,” he said as he sat in a humanish male sprawl, “do you speak of Kièrshia's bruises, and why I shall always be able to defeat her with blades? Do you speak of Feyó? Of mines? What?”

“We speak of football, and old clay, and old times.” Tsecha looked down at his suborn and shook his head in a humanish display of frustration. “Ask your questions, nìa. Dathim grows impatient.”

“I played him to a draw the day before yesterday. Only the third time I fought with two blades—I think I surprised us both.” Jani caught Tsecha's teeth-baring and Dathim's grimace, then turned back to the window to watch the youngish continue to kick her stone. Another young Haárin had joined her, darting back and forth in front of her in an effort to distract. “How much did Feyó tell you, inshah, about this challenge to her dominance?”

“What I have told you, nìa, is all I know,” Tsecha replied. “I have no secrets.”

Jani heard the youngish cries through the glass, the stone clatter against a metal post. “John received a shipment from Amsun some days ago. Inside the container he found an imager, a device that displays recorded holo images.”

Tsecha sighed. “I do know of such things, nìa.”

“The image contained in the device looks just like a male hybrid. Did Feyó tell you anything that might indicate that someone on Elyas engaged in that sort of research?” Jani looked to Dathim, to find him regarding her, back straight, gaze fixed.
This is the first he's heard of this
.

“Another hybrid?” Tsecha raised a hand to gesture surprise, but stopped halfway. He looked Jani in the face, eyes now clear and bright. “Feyó told me that she did not trust the security of our communications. This was why she gave so little information, and made certain she spoke in terms most vague.” He made to gesture again, and stalled again. “Another hybrid.” He fell silent, left hand curved and resting against his chest, a gesture of great surprise cut off in mid-flourish.

“Holo images may be easily forged, may they not?” Dathim stood and walked to Tsecha's side. He hovered over the elder male, his usually blank posture tensed and curved with worry.

Jani nodded. “Yes, ní Dathim. But if the image is indeed a forgery, it then begs more questions than it answers. Why use a hybrid image as a lure, and what, if anything, does this image have to do with Feyó's problem?” Outside, the youngish had moved on to other distractions, leaving the street empty and quiet.

Tsecha let his hand fall to his side. “Dathim fears that I will take such joy in the discovery of another hybrid that I will forget how to question.” He turned away from the window and made a slow promenade of the room, his hands clasped behind his back, half hidden by his shirtcuffs. “He does not know me as well as he believes he does.” His tone sharpened, his English harsh with impatience. “What do you believe, nìa?”

“I can speculate until the sun comes up.” Jani turned and leaned against the glass, wondering if any of the Haárin could see the three of them from their houses. “I wish I had more facts. John and Val recognize the possibility that the image could be faked, a lure to draw them to Elyas. Add to this the chance that Eamon DeVries may be involved, and the plot gets murkier and murkier.”

“Eamon!”
Tsecha threw his head back and emitted a barking laugh. “Always the secrets, with that one. Always
money
.” Cruel humor shaved years from his face and posture. “I most envy you, nìa, for you will learn so much strange truth, and I fear you may not trust the security of our communications sufficiently to inform us of your discoveries. Thus will I live for months and months without word.” His posture softened. “Do you believe it possible, nìa, that this hybrid exists?”

Jani looked about the room. Dathim had worked his tile-mastery on the surfaces, decorating them with interlocking networks of cord and chain that made it seem as though the walls were lashed together. All linked. All inseparable, one from the other. “I exist. Why not another?” She followed the path of one chain, tracking it until it lost itself in a tangle
near one corner. “But I refuse to speculate. I will wait for facts.”

“Ah.” Tsecha clasped his hands. “I know many at Temple who would say that you do not sound much as a priest.”

“It is better to wait for facts.” Dathim walked to the far wall and traced one length of chain with a discerning hand, frowning at an imperfection only he could see. “We will remain here, and wait for Mako's facts about his mine. Kièrshia will go to Elyas, and search for facts of an image that vanishes when one alters a switch.” He rapped the wall with his fist, then walked to the door. “Safe journey, hybrid priest. Do not cut yourself, and glories of the damned cold night to you.”

Tsecha watched Dathim leave, then tilted his head and curved his shoulders in a posture of regret. “He and his suborns have spent the time since the incident scanning the enclave for more mines. I have seen in him a fear of humanish that I have never seen before.” He straightened. “Do you feel prepared, nìa, for this journey?”

Jani hesitated, caught by the abrupt change in subject. “No,” she said finally, “but I've never felt prepared for any journey I've taken. I learn what I can beforehand, and deal with each thing as it comes.”

“You depend on your Lord Ganesha to remove all obstacles from your path, as always? Your wise elephant god who sits atop a mouse?” Tsecha offered a close-lipped, humanish smile. “Your Lord must have every room in his house filled, so many obstacles has he cleared over the years.”

Jani laughed. “He complains to me that he must build more.” She crossed to where Tsecha stood, and as she approached saw him as Feyó, as any of her Haárin would. Reassuring in his age, his lined face a testament to a common history, a common belief, both in their gods and the path down which they led.
When they see me, they must not see
me,
but what I am through him. Tsecha vo Kièrshia. Tsecha's toxin
. She felt a now-familiar inward quaver, and
hoped her old teacher couldn't see her fear of failure. As she joined him, they uttered a prayer to Shiou, the goddess of order, and as she did with Niall, Jani concentrated on the words, not their meaning.
I go to help Feyó, and find a hybrid
. Saving souls would have to wait for another time.

“You leave a cold place behind,” Tsecha said after they uttered the closing. “I understand Karistos is quite warm.”

“That, I look forward to.” Jani walked to the door, pausing so Tsecha could catch her up. “It's possible that I may be able to communicate with you via Neoclona—they're known for their security. But if I see any problem, I will not risk it.”

“And if you see the hybrid?” Tsecha leaned close, the lack of gesture in his speech betraying his excitement. “I would so wish to know, if possible.”

“I'll do my best.” Jani gave his arm a tentative pat, felt old muscle like cord beneath her hand. “You will take care? Stay out of trouble?”

Tsecha looked her in the eye. Bornsect idomeni reserved such familiarity for their most intimate moments, but as a whole, their Haárin had adopted the humanish approach. “I will do as I do, nìa.”

“One more thing to worry about.” Jani sighed. “Glories of this strange night to you, inshah.” She took her leave of him, her boots sounding a muted cadence down the empty hall.

She walked down the deserted street, conscious of being watched yet unable to tell by whom. Down one alley, then another, until she came to the bare dunes. Niall waited for her there, huddled inside the skimmer, coat collar pulled up to hide his contraband nicstick. He released the passenger-side door as she drew near; she lowered inside. Niall then banked the vehicle around and they headed back across the lake.

 

The other shoe
. Jani rested her head against the seatback, the soft thrum of the skimmer motor providing counterpoint for
her thoughts.
With all that's happened, why is he here?
She glanced at Niall, then away before he sensed her gaze.
All hell's broken loose at Sheridan, Mako's on the hot seat, and where's his right-hand man? Carting one of the root causes of all the trouble back and forth across the lake like a hired driver
. Granted, Niall did see to her security.
But that can't be foremost in his mind right now
.

She yawned. However long she'd slept, it hadn't been enough. “This reminds me of a few nights at Rauta Shèràa Base. I'd get dragged out of bed to answer questions about this or that shipment that the Laumrau claimed we hadn't cleared with them. When I showed them the signed-off paperwork, they pulled out the tweezers and looked for mistakes.” She smiled humorless remembrance. “Foodstuffs, mostly, that they couldn't classify under their strict fruit-nut-meat-veg system. Prepack meals drove them crazy.”

“I couldn't have handled that crap.” Niall shook his head, voice heavy with the man-of-action's disdain for the clerk's side of things.

“Turned me into a stickler where the rules were concerned.” Jani ignored Niall's derisive snort. “And it wasn't like a Sheridan transport dexxie's job. The Families still controlled the Service back then, so you found yourself faced with these situations where you knew no one had broken rules, but yet and all they had these cesspit aromas about them. I spent half my time digging for the rest of the story.” She laughed. “Chicago at its worst had nothing on a Family member out for their due. They had a way of turning the most simple procedure into a personal mint. Billet privileges were the worst. Chapter and verse, quote, ‘Any civilian craft is required to offer any and all assistance to a Service member requiring emergency transport in the course of performance of his duty,' unquote. In my day, the owner of the ship involved could bill the Service for expenses incurred. Service members who were also Family members used it as a way to billet themselves in style on one of their own ships.
Then they'd bill the Service for the cost of everything from food to fuel to crew salaries and uniforms. Abascal, the Treasury Minister—his uncle once tried to pass off the cost for a complete refit for a spaceliner. I made a lot of friends shutting that one down.”