Rules of Conflict by Kristine Smith

round wound had healed to form a darkened scar. Her new Service
ID chip lay implanted beneath. They had her now. If Security activated the
proper codes, they could pinpoint her exact location in a room and tell whether
she sat, stood, or did push-ups.
    She looked through the arch into the heart of the concourse.
Functional furnishings, well maintained and spotless. Lots of steel blue and
silver on the walls and floor, accented by splashes of mainline red in the
chair cushions and fixtures. Through the wide windows opposite her, trim
shuttles and sleek aircraft glinted in the summer sun.
    Every object she looked at, every surface, every blue-and-grey
uniform, told her where she was, and what waited for her. My name is Jani
Moragh Kilian, Captain, United Services. Eighteen years ago, at a place called
Knevçet Shèràa, I killed Colonel Rikart Neumann, my commanding officer. Now
I’ve been brought here to pay. He had deserved to die, but that wasn’t the
point. The Service frowned on the individual Spacer making that judgment, and
they had a time-honored method for showing their displeasure. The firing squad.
“I’m scared, Piers.”
    Friesian eyed her in puzzlement. “I’m not saying you have nothing
to worry about. But considering the state of your health, you’re doing yourself
no favors holding back from me.” He stood as Lieutenant Forceful came into
view, a Security guard in tow. “We’ll talk after we get checked in at Sheridan.
After you check in at the hospital.”
    Shutting down the doorscan worked as Jani said it would, much to
Forceful’s disappointment. Their journey to the lower-level parking garage was
punctuated by his comments as to how he could have jazzed the mech if only he’d
had the time.
    He made up for the loss, however, by brute-forcing the side
conversion panels of their skimmer so the passenger opening could accommodate
the skimchair. His joy multiplied manyfold when Friesian asked him to expand
the interior space by pulling out one of the seats. Rearguard and the driver, a
corporal with a squint, struggled to keep from laughing as they fielded the
components that came flying out the door.
    Jani eyed the pearl grey, triple-length that had been provided for
their transport. The enamel coating shone wetly, even in the dull light of the
garage. “What’s with the chariot?” she asked Friesian.
    He pointed to her seat. “It was the only vehicle available that
could hold a skimchair.”
    “What about a brig van?”
    Another look of puzzled appraisal. “Jani, why would you expect a
brig van?”
    Jani fell silent. They stuck me with an idiot, she thought
as Forceful and Rearguard loaded her into the skimmer. The Judge Advocate was
required by charter to provide for her defense, but the charter said nothing
about the quality of defense they had to provide her with. Friesian obviously
had no idea what crime she’d committed or what the Service planned to do to her
after they convicted her. He’d sit at the Officers’ Club bar after her execution
and wonder where the hell it all went wrong.
    As they departed the garage, the sudden change from half-light to
full glare of summer caught them all by surprise. Jani shut her eyes to stop
them tearing, while Rearguard exploded with a sharp burst of sneezing. The Boul
artery on which they rode seemed to glimmer in the heat. Chicago had been
buried beneath mountains of snow the last time Jani had visited. Now, she could
see the verdant patches of parkland and clusters of low houses, backed by the
distant skyline.
    Their driver took them on a route that skirted the city—within
minutes, they left the crowding traffic behind. The four-lane skimway they rode
cut along a line of homes obscured from view by large stands of trees.
    “The South Bluffs.” Forceful gazed out the window and sighed.
“This is the low-rent section, and still all I can afford to do is look.”
    “Why would you want to live here, Don?” Rearguard sniffed as he
took in the