Free Code of Conduct by Kristine Smith Page A

never broke rules. He never bucked authority. But things got done his way, usually by people who should have known better.
    He had even finagled her some Interiorwear that actually fit, like the grey-and-white wrapshirt and trousers she wore. A courtesy, he had told her, from one professional to another.
    I almost preferred it when he was trying to gig me—it took my mind off my work . Evan’s files. She understood why he had been so reluctant to let her see them. There had been some dealings with a junior member of the Justice Ministry that wouldn’t have borne the weight of a public inquiry, as well as personal financial hopscotch of the sort that implied tax evasion. It had taken her almost two weeks just to sort out the intricacies of the accounting involved. The NorthPort Haárin could have learned something from Evan’s financial advisor.
    But even so, she’d seen worse. Certainly nothing to merit a death. There had already been too many. First, Evan’s and Lyssa’s children, drowned during their efforts to sail an antique boat during a summer holiday. Two boys and a girl—ages fourteen, twelve, and ten. Martin, Jerrold, and Serena.
    Then came Lyssa. Official record confirmed the gossip. The woman’s behavior had become increasingly erratic over the past two years. Unexplained disappearances. Rumors of drug abuse. Hushed-up accidents.
    But all the documents scanned within normal variation . Nothing to suggest tampering. Nothing to merit a murder. Have I proved your fears unfounded already, Evan ? As things now stood, Lyssa died a broken woman’s death, driven by past tragedy.
    Jani watched construction workers flit along a future commercial transport’s spindly framework, one beat ahead of the immense robot ganglion that did the actual hoisting, joining, and fastening. No matter how well-programmed the ’bot, however fuzzified the thinking, human supervision was still required. No robot was capable of seeing the overall picture. Ultimately, it only knew what it was told.
    Jani watched a moon-suited human dodge and weave about one of the arms like an armored gnat…
    I sense an effort to lead me by the nose .
    â€¦ensuring that the arm moved in the correct direction and hit the chosen target.
    His initials are Durian Ridgeway .
    Jani finished her sandwich. She hoped she hadn’t wasted almost five weeks working with half the data, but she knew that hope was misplaced. She had slipped an urgent meeting request, coded to Evan’s attention, into the queue of scrambled messages transmitted to Chicago every half hour. But she doubted she would receive a reply before her shuttle left in—she checked her timepiece—forty-five minutes.
    â€œDo you have anything to declare?”
    Jani turned toward the voice. On the far side of the lounge, Customs clerks moved among the waiting passengers, logging colonial purchases, calculating tariffs, handing out receipts. She exhaled with a shudder. Augie notwithstanding, she hadn’t been breathing very easily the past few minutes. But she could relax now. The sending-out-of-the-clerks meant all those who merited more personal attention from Customs had already been winnowed.
    I wonder how my young couple is doing ? Had the body cavity scans begun? Attorneys been contacted?
    â€œDo you have anything to declare?” Chipper voices grew closer. Paper rustled. Recording boards chirped. “Anything at all?”
    If you only knew .
    â€œNothing?”
    Not an issue, now. You had your shot and missed. Go away .
    â€œAre you quite sure?”
    Yes. My secrets remain mine. I am Jani Moragh Kilian. Captain. United Services. C-number S-one-two-dash-four-seven-dash-one-seven-nine-D. Sideline Service, assigned to Rauta Shèràa Base, First Documents and Documentation Division. Not a real soldier .
    â€œAnything else?”
    Eighteen years ago, in a place called Knevçet Shèràa, during the height of the