Rules of Conflict (14 page)

“That explains a lot.” Lucien ran a finger along the edge of the
bed. “You know, I’ve been told I have teddy-bear-like qualities.”

“Yeah, you’re both glassy-eyed and stuffed.” Jani tapped her
timepiece. “I have things to do.”

“The first thing you’re doing is dinner with me, but you’re not
going anywhere looking like
that
.” Lucien pulled a comb from his trouser
pocket. “This is Fort Sheridan. There are Appearance and Standards officers
behind every bush.” He recombed Jani’s hair and made her retuck her shirt. Then
he reached into his inside tunic pocket, removed a thin black rod, and tapped
the side—a blue-green light flickered from one end.

“You carry a
micrometer
?” Jani watched him run the lighted
end over her badges, check the readout, then pop the rod in his mouth like a
nicstick as he adjusted the placement of one of her colonial service ribbons.
“You can’t tell me the A&S-holes are that picky.”

“The wha—!” The micrometer wobbled as Lucien tried to suppress a
laugh. “Depends whether they’ve met their quotas. They go on a binge about once
a quarter; those demerit fines can really chew up your pay. You learn not to
take chances.” He touched Jani’s short-shooter badge. “Expert. Really?”

“No, some officers steal clocks, I steal badges.” She pointed to
the micrometer. “That’s bullshit.”

“And you’re all roses, my DI used to say, so suck it up.” Lucien
knelt carefully on the carpeted floor and measured Jani’s trouser hems.

“You had a DI? I thought you emerged fully formed from a
recruiting holo.” She watched him run a dispo over one tietop. “And don’t tell
me that shoe’s dirty because I just polished it.”

Lucien looked up at her and shook his head in dismay. “You’ll
thank me for this later.”

“This entire exercise is just an excuse to touch me.”

“If I wanted an excuse, I could think of much more interesting
ones than this.” He yanked at her other fastener and retied it more neatly.
“What are you going to name him?”

“Who?”

“The bear. He needs a name.”

“Oh, it’s a ‘he,’ is it?”

“Of course.” Lucien straightened up and stood before her in all
his mainline glory. His hair shone more brightly than his badges, which in turn
gleamed enough to flash the roomlight like stars. He’d pass any measurement
test devised by man—oh yes, if you struck him, he’d ring. “What are you going
to name him?”

Jani took a step backward. “Val,” she replied quietly. “After my
old friend, Val Parini.”

Lucien looked heavenward and sighed. “I set out your gear, do your
shopping, save you from A&S wrath, and what thanks do I get?” He pointed to
the two badges decorating his own tunic pocket. “I have you beat. Expert, short
and
long shooter.”

“You had a head start. You were born with half the equipment.”
Jani grabbed her scanpack from the desk, stuffed it into her belt pouch, dashed
out the door, then waited for Lucien to catch her up. After some bickering
while he adjusted her garrison cap, they proceeded to dinner.

They ate at the South Central Officers’ Club, and watched
a freshly transmitted Cup qual match on the bar-mounted ’Vee. The German
provincial team versus Elyas Amalgam in an Earthbound-colony tussle. Elyas was
up five-zip at half-time—most of the faces at the bar appeared rather glum.

The temperature outside had reached record levels, according to
the ServNet weather broadcast. Forty Celsius, with no cool-down expected for at
least a week. The ’Vee viewers nursed their drinks and looked out the
floor-to-ceiling windows to the bright, shimmering lawnscape beyond, delaying
as long as possible the inevitable walk outside.

Jani stepped out onto the patio, sighing with pleasure as a Rauta
Shèràa-quality blast of hell-spawned wind sucked the moisture from her
eyefilms.

Lucien drew alongside. “Want to check out the beach?”

“We’re not dressed for the beach.”

“We can change.” He handed her a dispo of water. “You don’t even
have to buy a swimsuit. You were issued one.”

“Was I?”

“Yep. They’re dark silver this year.” His look grew pointed. “That
color would look great against your skin.”

“Would it?” Jani brushed off Lucien’s subdued leer. “I want to go
to the SIB.” She chewed a mint leaf she’d plucked from her fruit cup—the fruit
had been torture to choke down, even with pepper and hot mustard, but she found
the gnawed mint leaves followed by a cold water chaser refreshing. “I need to
talk to an archivist.”

“You start working tomorrow, not tonight. Tonight, you’re supposed
to relax and have fun.” Lucien flashed a smile, white teeth brilliant against
tanned skin. “That’s what I’m for.”

Jani let his rich brown stare draw her in. A less-experienced soul
could drown in those cool, dark pools. Luckily, she knew how to swim. “Can I
ask you a question?”

Lucien leaned closer. “You know you can ask me anything.”

“Are you using me to get close to Nema, or Nema to get close to
me?”

His head snapped back. His smile vanished. He strode out onto the
lawn. “A little of both. Does that matter?”

Jani remained silent. She knew he didn’t like it when she tossed
his affections, such as they were, back in his face, but she didn’t relish him
treating her like one of his suckers either.

He paced in front of her, with the occasional glance to see if she
watched. “At least I tell you.”

“Only because I already know.”

He slowed to a stroll, then to a halt, and looked at her, his face
a study in line and shadow devoid of emotion. Then the smile returned, grimmer
and more knowing. “It’s too hot for the beach. How about a walk along the South
Marina docks? At least the walkways are covered.”

“SIB.”

“There’s the indoor games room.”

“SIB.”

“We could see what’s playing at the Veedrome.”

“SIB.”

“SIB.” Lucien tugged at his tunic collar, then fanned his face.
“Can I at least change into summerweights first?”

Jani studied him with what she liked to call her criminal eye.
If
I were stealing documents, would I worry if I saw you show up in the middle of
my shift?
She contemplated his trim, rangy frame, displayed to perfection
in the formal uniform. His hard stare. Most particularly, she studied his
packed shooter holster. “No. I like you just the way you are.”

SIB Archives, like most repositories Jani had known, had
been originally designed to be much smaller, then expanded over time to its
divinely ordained size. The area, which took up half the basement, was
comprised of an interwoven network of secured storage rooms and jury-rigged
tech bullpens. She and Lucien walked through the hallways twice, drawing
questioning looks from the techs who filed and performed preliminary doc checks
in cubicles or at open tables.

Lucien eyed his surroundings with a complete lack of interest.
“Forgive me for questioning your absolute authority, but what are you going to
do?”

Jani stopped before a bulletin board and read some of the
postings. The usual announcements of parties. Lost jewelry in the washroom. A
memo from SIB Safety complained about the lousy clear time during the last
evacuation drill, and promised repeat exercises until people “got it right.” “I
thought I’d play the registrar. Poke around. Ask a few questions.”

“Oh. You mean overstep your jurisdiction and meddle in things that
are none of your business.”

“It’s my ServRec that’s missing—I have a right to look for it.”

“Hmm. What do you want me to do?”

“Look like your day won’t be complete until you arrest somebody.”

“You know, I like being a lieutenant. Someday, I’d like to like
being a captain.”

“It’s overrated.” Jani entered the archives room with the most
traffic and walked around the perimeter. She opened a file drawer, leafed
through a report that lay open atop a desk, and smiled at everyone who looked
her way.

“May I help you?”

Jani turned and found herself being subjected to the critical
appraisal of a rotund man in civilian summerweights. “I’m Odergaard. Tech One
on this shift.” His face was flushed, his skin shiny, as though he’d just been
taken from the oven and basted.

“Captain Jani Kilian, First D-Doc.” She cocked her head toward
Lucien. “This is Lieutenant Lucien Pascal, Intelligence.”

Around them, the skritch of styli stopped. Whispers fell silent.

Odergaard’s gaze widened as it flicked from Jani’s name tag, to
her scanpack, then to Lucien’s sidearm. “Is there a problem?”

“I’m trying to obtain access to my Service record, but I’ve been
informed by my attorney that portions of it have been mislaid.”

What ruddiness remained in Odergaard’s face after
Kilian
and
Intelligence
vanished upon mention of the word
attorney.
“We
have been transferring files from the Judge Advocate’s to new bins in this
building for the past few months, and the inevitable cross-ups have, of course,
occurred—”

“I’d like to speak to the shift archivist.” Jani made a show of
looking around the room.

Anger flared in Odergaard’s eyes. “That would be Mr. Duong.” He
took a step, then hesitated, but another look at Lucien’s sidearm decided him.
“This way, please.”

They walked to a more sheltered work space in the far corner of
the room. A small, dark-haired man sat at a workstation, entering document tag
numbers into a grid. Most of the numbers were blue, but the occasional red
string could be seen. Red had meant “missing in action” when Jani interned in
Consulate Archives. She doubted that had changed in the years since.

“You’re running inventory.” Her voice lowered in commiseration. “I
always hated inventory.”

The man turned with a start. Older, fifties probably. Earthbound
Asian or Bandan—Jani wouldn’t know until he opened his mouth. And suspicious.
The look he shot at Odergaard held that special brand of distrust reserved for
meddling managers.

Odergaard spoke first. “Sam—”

Sahm—he’s Bandan.
Jani smiled. This could wind up working
quite well.

“—this is Captain Kilian from First Doc—”

“
Apa kabar, señorìo.
”
Greetings, sir.
Jani’s Bandan
wasn’t perfect, but it was formal, which came in handy when working with the
pedantic precisionists that usually populated the archivist ranks. She held out
her hand to the man. “
I’m looking for my life—can you help me find it?”

He looked up at her. His eyes were old brown—dull, with yellowed
sclera. His face held confusion, as though he remembered her face but couldn’t
recall her name. “
You speak Bandan?
” His handshake consisted of the
barest touch. His voice emerged very small.

“
I lived there for a time. Near the university.”

“
You know the university! I worked there for years—”

As Duong rattled on, Jani heard Odergaard grumble under his
breath. Yes, they were being rude, but she needed Duong’s help more than his
boss’s, and she couldn’t help thinking that Odergaard deserved to get his tail
twisted.

Duong rose from his chair. “
I’ll show you my dead
,” he said
as he gestured for Jani to follow him. “
Maybe in my dead, is your life.
”

“
Maybe.
” Jani wondered if Duong’s Bandan expressions ever
colored his English. Bandan was an interesting language, but it tended toward
the poetic, and some of the literal translations struck the uninformed as odd.

Just as they were about to cut across the hallway into Duong’s
file bin of choice, a younger man in sideline summerweights blocked their path.
His yellow collar tabs marked him as a lieutenant. His holstered scanpack
marked him as the ranking examiner on the shift.

“Lieutenant Yance.” Odergaard transformed into a round-shouldered
hand-rubber. “This is Captain Jani Kilian. Her attorney, Major Friesian—”