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Captain Jani Killian had been Evan Van Reuter's lover eighteen years ago, when a Commonwealth diplomatic corps, sent to establish peaceful relations with the alien idomeni, took sides in a civil war. Jani was presumed killed in the ensuing bloodbath, and Evan went on to become the Commonwealth's Interior Minister. But Jani survived as well more or less. Doctors gave her a new face and patched her broken body together with illegally obtained idomeni genetic materials. They healed her of everything but her memory ...
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Captain Jani Killian had been Evan Van Reuter's lover eighteen years ago, when a Commonwealth diplomatic corps, sent to establish peaceful relations with the alien idomeni, took sides in a civil war. Jani was presumed killed in the ensuing bloodbath, and Evan went on to become the Commonwealth's Interior Minister. But Jani survived as well more or less. Doctors gave her a new face and patched her broken body together with illegally obtained idomeni genetic materials. They healed her of everything but her memory of the desperate actions she had taken — sure to result in summary execution should Commonwealth authorities discover her existence.
Which makes it unwise to refuse Evan's request for help in solving the mystery of his wife's death. There is no shortage of suspects, and the trail draws Jani back into the trauma of Rauta Shiraa and secrets long buried there, secrets someone has killed to protect. If she isn't careful, she'll wind up the next victim — assuming her own body doesn't kill her first. For after eighteen years, her rebuilt body is failing. Jani is dying. Or is she being reborn?
The frigid morning dampness seeped through Jani's weatherall as she hurried out of the charge lot. She jammed the notes from her crack-of-dawn meeting into the side pocket of her duffel; as she did, she quickly surveyed the scene behind her. Rain-slick skimmers hovered beside boxy charge stations. Trickle-charge lights glimmered like distant stars. A single streetlight bathed everything in a cold blue sheen. No movement in the ice-light. No sound.
Jani took a step. Stopped. She could feel eyes follow her, could sense their probing like a skin-crawl across her shoulders. She turned.
A few meters away, a feral cat regarded her from its perch atop a discarded shipping crate. It stared at her for a few moments, then poured to the ground and vanished into an alley. Seconds later, Jani heard, the scatter of garbage, followed by a strangled squeak.
Sounds familiar. The poor mouse. It probably never knew what hit it. Jani could sympathize. Her meeting had gone much the same way.
It's like everyone's forgotten Whalen's Planet exists, girly. Commercial traffic at the docks is down sixty percent in the last two weeks. That's six-oh.
She trotted down a side street that led to the main thoroughfare. Her right knee locked as she turned the corner, and she stumbled against a pair of mutually supportive inebriates who had emerged from one of NorthPort's many bars.
One of the drunks shouted as Jani disentangled herself and hurried away. Something about how her limp made her ass wiggle. She looked over her shoulder, caught glimpses of brightly colored ship patches and a slack-jawed leer. She felt the heatcreep up her neck and kept moving.
She entered the lobby of a hostel that catered to merchantfleet officers, tossing a wave to the desk clerk as she hurried to the holoVee alcove. Several employees already sat on the floor in front of the display screen, their positions carefully gauged to allow them a clear view of the front desk.
On the lookout for the manager. Jani kept quiet until she entered within range of the holoVee's soundshielding. She knew an unauthorized break when she saw one. "Is this it?"
One of the cleaners nodded. "Hi, Cory," she said without looking up. "It's the CapNet broadcast. It's just getting started."
Jani did a quick mental roll call of the small group, counting faces, uniforms. She didn't know their names -- she tried to avoid the complication of names whenever possible. "Where's the garage guy?"
"He's still out sick," the cleaner said. "Should be back tomorrow. He'll be mad he missed this." The young woman grinned. "I'll tell him you asked about him. He thinks you jam."
Jani responded with her "Cory" smile. Quiet. Closed. A smile whose owner would blush and keep walking. She leaned against a planter and surveyed with satisfaction the lack of fuss that greeted her arrival. Yes, Cory Sato, documents technician, had settled quite nicely in NorthPort over the last six months. Jani Kilian had never seemed farther away.
Until her morning meeting.
Business has dropped over the side these past two weeks, girly. NUVA-SCAN annex won't answer our calls. Even the Hadrin are complaining. But you wouldn't know anything about that, would you?
An overwrought voice interrupted Jani's troubled meditation. "A great honor is being paid the Commonwealth," the CapNet reporter gushed, "opening a new and exciting chapter in human-idomeni relations!"
Spoken like someone who has no idea what she's talking about, Jani thought as she watched members of the Commonwealth Cabinet walk out onto the sheltered stage that had been erected in front of the Prime Minister's palatial Main House. Steam puffed from their mouths. A few of the coatless ministers shivered in their formal, color-coded uniforms. Chicago in winter looked even less hospitable than NorthPort, if that was possible.
Treasury Minister Abascal, ever-flushed face glowing in lurid contrast to his gold tunic, trundled to the podium "to say a few words."
"Where's the ambassador?" someone grumbled.
"He doesn't come out till later -- you want the poor old bastard to freeze to death?"
"Never get to see him at this rate." One of the day-shift waiters checked his timepiece. "All fourteen ministers gonna talk -- it'll be hours."
"Not all fourteen," said the restaurant hostess. "Van Reuter's not there."
Really? Jani studied the rows of faces, looking for the one she knew. Had known. Long ago. "Too bad," she said. "He's the best speaker of the bunch."
"You like him?" The waiter glanced at Jani over his shoulder and sneered. "He's a Family boy nance."
"He knows the idomeni," Jani replied. "That's more than you can say for the rest of them."
"You don't see him much since his wife died," the hostess said. "Poor man."
"You hear about him, though," the waiter muttered. "Nance."
On-screen, Abascal finished to scattered applause and gave way to Commerce Minister al-Muhammed. Jani leaned forward, straining to hear the commentary over the buzz of multiple conversations. Commerce controlled trade and transport schedules -- maybe something al-Muhammed said would shed light on the slowdown around Whalen.
"Is al-Muhammed the 'A' in NUVA or the 'A' in SCAN?" someone piped, drowning out the minister's voice.
Oh blow! Jani shouldered her bag and walked through the middle of the huddle. "Al-Muhammed's the 'A' in SCAN," she said, bumping the speaker in the back of his head with her knee.
"He's another nance," griped the waiter.
"Cory, I thought you wanted to see this," someone called after her. "You'll miss the ambassador."
"I have to go. I'll catch it somewhere else." Somewhere quieter. She should have known better than to try to watch the program with others. Some things needed to be studied in private. Pondered. Mulled.Code of Conduct. Copyright © by Kristine Smith. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold.
Posted February 15, 2005
This is the first in the series. Believable and engaging characters, motives, intrigue, aliens and worlds, presented in an intense high speed whirl. Just try to read fast enough to keep up.Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.
Posted May 20, 2004
Captain Jani Killian has been on the run for eighteen years. Trained as an expert in the ways of the alien idomeni, she committed the treasonable offense of taking sides in an idomeni civil war. Presumed dead after a transport crash, she was actually hidden and patched together by a trio of doctors using experimental technology. Now she is found by her former lover, Evan van Reuter, who is the current Interior Minister. He wants her to use her expertise to investigate the death of his wife. Jani agrees to maneuver through the bureaucracy in the heart of the Interior Ministry. But the deeper she digs into the secrets surrounding Lyssa's death, the more she wonders if she is being set up to fail, and by whom? In the meantime the Exterior Ministry is hot on her trail and so is her idomeni teacher Tsecha. Jani's investigation turns into a struggle for survival as she tries to evade capture as she deals with the progressive breakdown of her patchwork body. The characters are well-drawn and have complex, hidden motivations. The plot is definitely more character-driven than future-technology driven, but Smith includes some intriguing ideas about the importance of 'smart' documents. Code of Conduct is a surprisingly fast and action packed read, considering the fact that a good portion of the book involves chasing down paper trails and documentation. The author has created an intriguing alien culture and throws out little tidbits about their religion and social structures. Likewise, Jani's troubled past is meted out in spoonfuls through flashbacks. It's almost a tease in a way; leaving you wanting to know a lot more about the idomeni than is revealed in this first book by Smith. I like finding a universe that I want to visit again in other books, so this was a plus for me.Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.
Posted September 8, 2002
A memorable heroine, fully realized and believable future setting, aliens that are as intriguing as the humans, and complex plot that hold up on rereading. Not a lite and brite, though.Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.
Posted January 26, 2011
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Posted November 16, 2011
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