Law of Survival by Kristine Smith Page B

voice, muffled by poppy seed bread and stuffed egg, sounded smug.
    â€œJust massing my artillery.” Jani picked through the assorted baskets and plates as John’s ever-growing list of forbidden foods looped through her mind, searching for something to quell her roiling gut. She settled for a piece of flatbread; the taste lived up to the name. “If you’re looking for an initial volley, I think you’re both full of shit.”
    Derringer responded with a cocked eyebrow and a nod in Lescaux’s direction. “Careful. You’ll shock young Peter.”
    Jani looked at Young Peter, who stared fixedly at his water glass. “Do you have any idea the magnitude of the accusation you’re leveling?” Lescaux’s eyes, awash in full defensive smolder, came up to meet hers, but before he could answer, Derringer intercepted the conversational pass.
    â€œIt makes sense. Tsecha’s the most pro-human idomeni alive. He thinks you’re his heir, that we’re all destined to become human-idomeni hybrids, and that our futures are as one.” He broke bread, scattered crumbs. “Oligarch Cèel has had Tsecha’s delusions up to here and has started blocking him at every turn. Tsecha’s old and getting older, afraid he’ll die before his dream is realized. That fear has made him desperate enough to give us a leg up.”
    The anger in Lescaux’s eyes transmuted to shocked realization. “That’s right! Anais told me that Tsecha started grooming you at the Academy. He thinks you’re to succeed him as the next chief propitiator of the Vynshàrau!”
    The silence that fell held a tense, after-the-thunderclap quality. Jani studied the diners at the other tables, the flagstones at her feet, the flowering shrubs surrounding the patio. Anything to avoid the two faces that regarded her, one with distaste, the other with rapt curiosity.
    Waitstaff arrived to refill and take orders. That broke the tension somewhat, even though Lescaux looked uncomfortable when Jani declined to order any food. Derringer, however, let it pass. He knew about her dietary difficulties. Their relationship being what it was, he had taken special care to bring her to a restaurant that specialized in the dairy-drenched food she could no longer stomach.
    While Derringer and Lescaux devoured the creamy, cheese-laced appetizers, Jani scanned what she had already christened The Nema Letter. She placed her palm-sized scanpack over the upper left-hand corner of the document and began the slow back and forth initial analysis. She had only gone a few centimeters when her ’pack display flared red and the unit squealed so loudly that a woman sitting at the next table dropped her spoon in her soup.
    â€œThat’s what made Exterior Doc Control suspicious about the document’s origins.” Lescaux’s face reddened as the soup-spattered woman graced them with a highbred scowl. “That letter was subjected to five full-bore scans and each time, seventeen separate incompatibilities registered.”
    Jani lowered the volume on her ’pack output and rescanned the same spot; this time, the device emitted a barely detectable chirp. She read the error coordinates on the display, and frowned. “Did all the inconsistencies show up in the same places each time?”
    â€œYes.” Lescaux fell silent as the waiter arrived with their main courses.
    â€œDo you have a copy of your chief dexxie’s report delineating the locations and types of errors?”
    â€œY-yes.” Lescaux fidgeted as the waiter hovered.
    â€œBetter give it to her now, boyo. She’s going to keep asking questions until you do.” Derringer tore his attention away from his sauce-drenched steak just long enough to shoot Jani a self-satisfied smirk.
    â€œJust doing my job, Eugene.”
    â€œI know, Jani. And nothing kicks your overofficious ass into high gear like a professional anxiety