“Oh, I know the lecture on Corizen poverty, Andie. Spare me,” he grumbled. Andie refused to let his tone irritate her. She could tell he was very tired and also very worried.
“We did have one stroke of luck. The Brotherhood got in because they had an inside man—a member who was a guard. The CPF managed to catch him, and they passed him to the Armada. The Armada is still questioning him of course, but before I left, we had gotten far more information from him than we could have hoped for. I guess he was a long-time member back from the smuggling days. He agreed to tell us everything he knew if we would quietly ship him off-planet. My office is seeing to the details.”
The hope dawning on Andie’s face lit up her eyes. “So do you think we’ll be able to catch up with the Brotherhood then? End all of this violence?”
“Well, we have a chance anyway. It depends on what else he tells them.”
“So what are you not telling me? There must be something or you wouldn’t be so worried,” Andie insisted.
“The Brotherhood has declared war on the government of Corizen. The new Oman has declared himself a prophet, and he says the Brotherhood has been called to bring down the apostate government and drive out the foreign invaders.”
“Invaders?”
“Well, he says that the goal of the Union is to come and turn away all Denicorizens from worshipping Veshti like they are supposed to.”
“So this is a religious crusade,” Andie said fearfully. “How did a smuggling organization mutate into a religious cult?”
“No idea,” Casey sighed wearily. “But that’s not the worst, Andie. The Brotherhood has a list—it’s called the Red List . . .” Andie suddenly noticed that Casey was gripping the arms of his chair tightly. So this was what was bothering him. It was this Red List thing.
“The Red List?” she repeated quietly.
“It’s an assassination list. The Top Ten To-Do List of murders that Veshti wants committed, I guess. Mostly political targets. Morek-Li is number one.”
“Well,” Andie returned thoughtfully, “I can’t say that is a surprise. He may be the ex-President now, but he still has a lot of influence.” But Casey was still looking haunted and Andie didn’t know quite what to say. They sat in silence for several minutes. Casey looked out the kitchen window, and Andie patiently waited for him to share what was really troubling him.
Finally, Casey spoke again. “I’m number ten on the list.”
They sat in silence for a few more minutes. Andie anxiously chewed at a fingernail. Her husband was on a hit list. Once again she was married to a man people were out to kill. It just wasn’t fair!
“What does this mean for us?” Andie finally spoke, raising her gaze to Casey’s face. Casey turned from the window. “I don’t think it will affect us much. After all, I always have security wherever I go. However, I would feel much better if you stopped making public appearances. It will be much safer if you just stay in the International Complex.”
“What, you want me to quit going with you on trips?” Andie asked incredulously.
“Maybe it will just be for a short time. I’d feel so much better if I knew you were safe.”Andie submitted silently. She didn’t like the idea at all; it felt so confining, but she could do it for his peace of mind. Besides, there was no point in risking leaving Tiran as an orphan.
“What about Kendra? Should I contact Jenna and tell her Kendra should stay home?” Andie brought up. Her sister’s daughter had been accepted at the International University here in Roma as part of an exchange program. She was supposed to arrive in just a few months.
“Well, that’s really up to Kendra and her parents, I guess. She’ll be here in the International Complex with you and Tiran. She will probably be just fine. In fact, I’m sure we’re all going to be fine. Hopefully, the Armada will be able to shut the Brotherhood down quickly.”
Andie asked Casey the one question that had been bothering her throughout all of this. “Why is the Armada hunting down the Brotherhood, Casey? Shouldn’t the CPF be handling it?” The Corizen Protection Force was Corizen’s planet-wide army and main peacekeeping force.
Casey didn’t answer.
“Are you just being stubborn or is it classified information?” she pressured.
“It’s classified,” he said shortly. He rose from his chair and kissed her cheek. “I’ve got to go check in, Andie.”
She nodded and continued to sit in her stiff kitchen chair, considering what Casey couldn’t tell her. What if “Modern Myths” was somewhat right and the Armada did indeed have a much deeper reach on Corizen than anyone expected? Surely the Union wasn’t planning to overtake Corizen? She shook the thoughts from her head. The Union always insisted that it had no desire to govern planets that wanted to be independent. No one in their wildest dreams could believe that Corizen wanted the Union in charge.
2. The Steward & the Heir
Oanni stood in the shadows of a sheltered storefront watching the pedestrians who were leaving the International Complex. Most were nondescript Denicorizens: lots of students, a few who looked like businessmen or perhaps government lackeys. Occasionally he noted an Armada uniform. For the two months he had been free from the Bastalt he had methodically pursued his vengeance whenever he could. He had other assignments given him by his patria (his direct supervisor in the new family he had joined), but every moment of his free time he had spent in the public library here in Roma searching news archives for the details that would point to where he could find the runaway slave who had betrayed his master. At the end of three weeks he had amassed a sheaf of printouts on Sirra Bruche, but he found no hints as to where she might be now. His best guess was that she had finally returned to her home planet of Zenith. However, this time around Oanni refused to give up. Even if she had returned to Zenith he would track her down and serve her justice.
Just when he had decided that he would have to look off-planet, the stars favored him. He came across coverage of the dedication ceremony of the memorial that some fools had erected on the site of Master Jaory’s beloved Fortress in Kruundin City. The camera panned for a moment on some of the visiting dignitaries, including the Union ambassador. Oanni froze the picture on the somber blonde woman who stood at his side. He studied it intently and then began to pull up everything he could find on Ambassador Morten. It didn’t take long for him to be sure. His quarry was here in Roma, living in the International Complex.
Yet after nearly a month of staking out the International Complex, he was sure of one thing. The slave never seemed to leave the Complex, and he couldn’t get in. What he needed was someone who could get a job in the Complex. Someone who spoke Union Basic well and would pass the background screening. As the crowd leaving the Complex thinned, he started back to his new home, a tiny apartment shared by five men in one of the poorest sections of the city.
He had barely entered the apartment when his patria demanded a time accounting. “The Oman is very concerned,” he told Oanni. “You seem to be obsessed with some project that could compromise us. Why are you spending hours outside the International Complex? You have no such assignment.”
“It is personal,” Oanni answered shortly. He was not afraid of the Brotherhood. He had taken advantage of their offer; it freed him from prison and allowed him to work on his true purpose in life, but he felt no strong loyalty to them. He privately thought that the Oman was no more a prophet than Oanni himself. Then he flinched at a sharp stabbing pain behind his eyes. He closed his eyes for a moment and waited for it to pass. These headaches came frequently these days, but he had conditioned himself to pain long ago. In a moment he was fine again, and he returned his attention to his patria who was speaking in a subdued yet slightly menacing tone.
“The Oman requests to know all of the personal business of his servants. Please, share it with me and I will send word of it to the Oman. Perhaps you will receive divine sanction for your work
. If not, you should cease such activities that must be displeasing to Veshti.” Oanni heard the implied threat and decided to comply.
“I have discovered the location of Sirra Bruche. I intend to avenge myself and my master by killing her,” he explained simply.
That was how Oanni got to meet the Oman, the mysterious supreme leader of the Brotherhood.
♦
Oanni may have joined the Brotherhood, but clearly he had not earned their trust. He was required to submit to a drug that allowed them to transport him unconsciously to the Oman’s presence. This was a departure from tradition, and it surprised Oanni. In the old days it had been necessary to keep the leader of the smugglers a secret from the public to protect him from the king. However, the members of the Brotherhood had known and worked with their leader personally. (Of course, nobody who had held the title of Oman in the past had ever been considered a prophet either.) Oanni’s first instinct was to refuse the drug, but his curiosity was roused. Why did the Oman care if he killed Sirra Bruche? If it was this hard to have a personal audience with such a man, then certainly he must have a good reason for wanting to speak with Oanni personally about it. In the end Oanni gave in and drank the steaming mug that was offered him by his patria.
He woke suddenly in a pitch black, silent room. For a moment he was disoriented, unable to remember where he was and why, but the memories quickly sorted themselves back into reality and he remembered. He was supposedly now in the presence of the Oman, the prophet directing the return of the old caste order and the expulsion of the foreign enemies. Oanni quickly sat up and found that he had been lying on a plain, concrete floor. His eyes adjusted a bit and he realized that he was sitting on the floor in front of a dark figure enshrined on a chair surrounded by two other tall, imposing figures shrouded in darkness. The only light was a thin strip of light behind the figures. It seemed to be coming from under a door. At this angle it helped Oanni see enough to orient himself, but it cast the faces of the figures before him into even darker shadow.
“I understand that you follow another cause than the one given you by Veshti, my servant.” Oanni was surprised to find the voice gentle and slightly sad, as if he was being addressed by a loving father who was disappointed in his son. He responded instinctively to that voice by lowering his head.
“I am only fulfilling a responsibility to my deceased master, sir. He laid this charge on me years ago, and though I failed his trust then, I cannot rest until I have avenged him. Surely that is but fulfilling Veshti’s wishes to serve one whom he placed as my lord?”
“Perhaps. Sometimes the desires of our hearts can lead us away from the higher purposes Veshti would have us fulfill.” The voice was chiding him now, though kindly.
“I understand that you are searching for Sirra Bruche,” he continued softly. Oanni tried to catch the tone behind these words. Was it in his advantage to be truthful? What did the Oman want? He had no doubt that this truly was the Oman now. Only the Oman could inspire such loyalty. Oanni already wanted to please the man whose voice spoke in such pleasant tones to him. It was almost hypnotic the way he spoke. Maybe this man truly was a prophet.
“I am no longer searching, sir,” Oanni answered respectfully. “Sirra Bruche lives within the International Complex.” The tall figures standing guard over the Oman shifted slightly. The Oman leaned forward sharply.
“Let me be sure I understand you correctly. Are you speaking of the revolutionary traitor Sirra Bruche? The Citizen who was married to Laeren Bruche?” Oanni caught the sudden eagerness in the Oman’s tone.
“Yes, sir. She is now married to the ambassador from the enemy,” he answered. The Oman settled back into his chair.
“Well done, my servant,” he said softly. “Veshti has been trying your faith and found you worthy. He has a mission for you to perform now.”
♦
With the full support of the Oman behind his revenge, Oanni had new options open to him. After careful thought he decided that the man he wanted to be his partner in this mission was Erron Kruunde, the son of his late master. Not only was Erron free of ties to the Brotherhood, he also spoke Basic (the common language of the Union) and probably could get past the background screen. It was just a matter of finding him and recruiting him to the cause.
Money was no longer an issue and the Brotherhood supplied him with the funds to travel to Urok. In fact, they offered to forcibly pick up Erron and bring him to Roma but Oanni preferred to have Erron as a willing accomplice. He would have to go personally. By early summer, Oanni arrived in Urok ready to track down a man who had been in hiding for the last decade.
The search for Erron didn’t take long. Even though it had been such a long time, Oanni suspected that Erron had stayed in the mining town where his father had sent him just before the end of everything. It was late in the evening when Oanni arrived in the main square of Jezne Rocktown. The mining town was at the edge of the Blue Plains in Urok. It was moderately prosperous through its ore mining operations but it was not huge, probably because it was not too far from the extremely populous Crestleport only twenty miles to the south. Crestleport was far richer, as the site of the overflowing diamond mines, and so had much more to offer someone like Erron. But Erron was no longer rich, and the government kept a tight rein on Crestleport. So Oanni was pretty sure that Erron had simply kept to the more moderate pleasures that Jezne afforded, staying reasonably distant from the prying eyes of the vindictive anarchists that had the gall to call themselves revolutionaries.
In the first brightly lit raucous tavern, Oanni spied the tall man carelessly draped on a chair at a gaming table. He recognized Erron instantly. He had aged of course, but the years seemed to barely have touched him. Oanni smiled wryly. Unfortunately, the years had not been so kind to him. Prison had left him wan and thin and deeply wrinkled, with snow white hair. He was a mere shadow of the man he had been as Jaory Kruunde’s steward. Still, he had done what he could in prison to keep his strength up and even now he knew he could hold his own in a fight. He would be a strong asset to Erron, if Erron chose to help him. He had journeyed four thousand miles knowing that if his plan was to succeed he had to convince Erron to join him.
Oanni approached the table silently and waited for the round to finish. A few of the players glanced at him in curiosity, but Erron was lazily playing with his cards and didn’t look up until after his nonchalantly laid hand won the round. A chorus of groans echoed around the table as Erron swept his winnings to his side.
“Ah, no one has such luck as you,” one of the men grumbled. “You practically sleep through the game and still come out ahead.”
“The stars are in the perfect alignment tonight, my friends. It was my fate to win,” Erron parried.
The men laughed good-naturedly. It was obvious that he was popular with the group. Just then Erron glanced up at Oanni and stopped halfway through scooping up his winnings. His eyes widened at the sight of his father’s former steward.
“May I trouble you for a moment?” Oanni said politely. Erron recovered his poise. He finished stowing his money.
“Certainly, stranger. Let me buy you a drink. Gentleman,” he said to the others at the table, “I am finished for the evening. The stars bid me quit while I am ahead!” More chuckling, and with a nod at Oanni, they stepped to a booth in the back, where Erron summoned a waitress and ordered drinks. Oanni sat down and scanned the room. It was smoky and noisy and a motley group of musicians was warming up on the other side of the room. It was unlikely that they would be overheard.
Erron spoke as soon as they were sitting. “Oanni! I thought you were dead!”
“No, Master Erron,” Oanni said with a ghost of a smile, “though perhaps I would have enjoyed death better. I spent the last ten years in the Bastalt Prison.”
Erron sucked in his breath. “The Bastalt?” A wariness appeared in his eyes. “However did you escape? Or did your term expire
?”
“The Brotherhood paroled me when they briefly had control over the prison,” Oanni explained tersely.
“Well, that was quite kind of them.” The words sounded flippant, but when Oanni sharply glanced at Erron he was simply gazing at Oanni sadly. “I’m sorry that you had to suffer so for only serving your master.”
“It was my duty. I would do it again for the honor of House Kruunde,” Oanni replied humbly. “That is why I sought you, Master Erron. You are my master now that your father is dead, and I have come to fulfill my duty.”
Erron chuckled drily. “I don’t think a poor gambler living week to week in a backwater mining town has need of a steward, Oanni. I can barely feed myself, let alone a servant.”
“Ah, but what if the steward has a plan to bring a bit of comfort to his master?”
Oanni noticed with satisfaction the hungry look that immediately leapt into Erron’s eyes. His apathy gone, he sat up straighter in the booth. It was certain that a man of Noble caste who had been raised in easy affluence would wish for its return. However, Erron controlled himself quickly with admirable restraint. “What exactly does this plan require?” he asked with a frown. “I am not going to do anything on behalf of the Brotherhood no matter how much money is involved,” he added shrewdly. Oanni admired the quickness of mind that Erron had certainly inherited from his father. He was able to see through subtleties quite quickly.
“Can you deny that you have joined them?” Erron continued.
“I cannot answer that question as you well know. But,” he lowered his voice, “my loyalty is to House Kruunde no matter what I may have had to do to escape imprisonment. Above all, I must avenge your father!” he whispered intensely.
Erron was taken aback. He sat speechless for a moment. The band had finished warming up and started to play some loud, rhythmic local tune. Looking around to make sure no one was listening, Erron leaned forward to continue the conversation.
Corizen Rising Page 2