Spin State - Chris Moriarty [115]
Korchow smiled. “I have a certain reputation among discerning collectors. Can I get you something? Tea?”
He bustled through a curtained doorway into the back of the shop, and Li heard the clink of glass on china, the sound of running water. He returned with two covered teacups, an ornately carved glazed-iron teapot, and a sleek black box that he set carefully on the desk between them.
He served the tea, which was excellent. Then he picked up the box and handed it to her. “I thought you might like to see it,” he said. “You seemed quite put out by it the last time we met.”
She turned the device over, feeling the weight of it, trying unsuccessfully to scan it.
“Second button from the left,” Korchow said.
She pressed it. The box beeped discreetly. A bioluminescent display window began counting thousandths of seconds. Li’s security programs flashed a yellow alert on her retina and went dead as her internals cut out.
Korchow leaned across the desk and took back the box. “Some things are better kept private,” he said.
“What do you want from me?” Li asked.
“Nothing complicated. Just to do business. Business that could be to our mutual advantage.” He paused and fingered the controls of the jamming device.
“It’s working fine,” Li snapped. “And it’s giving me a headache. So just tell me what you want and get it over with.”
“I represent parties who are, shall we say, interested in recent events in the Anaconda mine. Particularly in the aspects of the explosion that your, er, office seems to be investigating.”
“You want information about Sharifi,” Li said.
“Among other things.” Korchow smiled. “I can see how difficult this is for you, Major. You’d rather halo-jump into enemy territory than sit over tea talking to a Syndicate spy. I understand better than you can imagine. But we are not always called to serve in the ways we prefer. This is the price of owing allegiance to a greater good.” Steam curled from his cup, veiling his narrow, intelligent face. “We’ve met before,” he said. “Do you remember? Or have they taken that from you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I was with the Thirty-second on Gilead. I fought on Cale’s Hill.”
Li looked at him, her face stiff. She’d commanded that assault.
“You don’t remember me, I suppose. Corps files are so . . . unreliable. But I remember you. I remember with perfect clarity.” He unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt, pulled the cloth aside to show Li a chewed-up slash of scar tissue at the base of his neck. “I was sitting in the sun. The first warmth after a cold night. Drinking a cup of tea, of all things.”
An image of a thin, stubble-faced soldier flashed through Li’s mind. A spill of dark tea and darker blood runneling over boot-packed dirt.
She looked at the wound. The shooter had pulled high and left, missing the spine by a hair. “I remember,” she said finally. “There was a crosswind. I overcorrected.”
Korchow buttoned his shirt. “Do you remember what happened after that? Or have your psychiatric technicians deleted it?”
Li watched Korchow, her heart pounding.
“I was still conscious when you arrived,” he went on. “I remember that your captain’s insignia was ripped off another uniform and sewn on with mismatched thread. I remember your smile—quite a lovely one, by the way. I remember you talking to your lieutenants. They asked you what to do with the wounded. Do you recall what you told them?”
“I told them to shoot everyone still breathing.”
“Don’t think I blame you,” Korchow said. “Though I do owe my life to the fact that some of your soldiers had more . . . scruples than you did. Still, it was a moment of revelation. A conversion of sorts. Do you know what I thought as I looked up at you?”
Li stirred restlessly. “How the hell would I?”
“I thought, She’s one of us. She’s like us. She can’t help but be merciful. I saw your face, you see. And I thought you would spare us because of what you were. Because of who you were. When you ordered them to shoot us, I understood, finally and completely, what they