“Good afternoon, Ms. Laine, Mr. Krycek,” Casey greeted. He chose a seat next to Krycek and pulled a map in front of him.
“What are we looking at? Anything new?”
Krycek cleared his throat. “Those are maps of Nubia, Ambassador.”
“Nubia! Where the king was exiled? Why would my daughter be on Nubia?”
“After you received that note from your daughter saying she had eloped, I began a search on all the interstellar travel permits that had been issued within a few days of the Inaugural Ball. I found one under the names Markus and Tiran Stoer. It was to travel to Nubia by private ship,” Laine said, pulling out a sheaf of photocopies from a folder. “Travel permits being what they are on Corizen, they have no information but the names and a general range of travel date. No verification of ID or anything.”
“Still, isn’t this Markus a native of Urok? Why in the universe would he want to go live with the exiled king? I wasn’t aware he was a Royalist.”
“Neither were the people who did the background check. But during the search of his apartment we found a collection of books on Nubia. It does make it seem possible at least,” Laine suggested.
Casey frowned. It was possible he supposed. However, it just seemed so unlike Tiran to agree to leave the planet. Of course, he never thought she would have eloped like this, not in a million years. None of it made any sense.
Steven spoke up. “A trip to Nubia would have been tremendously expensive. I didn’t think this guy was very wealthy.”
“That is the one problem with the theory,” admitted Krycek. “There is no way that he could have afforded an off-planet trip like that. Not on a librarian’s salary. We have already checked the banks. That didn’t take long since there are only about five banks worldwide.” Krycek snorted in derision. He clearly was not one of those people who fell in love with Corizen’s rustic ways.
“Stoer seems to be just like every other Denicorizen, too suspicious to put his money in a bank. So unless he usually carries around a large trunk of money everywhere he goes, I doubt he had the means.”
“He could have kept it in his flat, Krycek,” Laine countered flatly. “Just like ‘every other Denicorizen.’ Of course we wouldn’t find it now—he’s gone, and he took whatever money he had with him. His background interviews showed he made his living by gambling in Jezne. Maybe he really racked up the winnings over time.”
Krycek and Martin laughed as if that was the funniest idea ever.
“Sorry, Ms. Laine,” said Martin wiping his eyes, “but if he had been such a successful gambler, why get a job as a librarian in Roma? If it were me, I would have kept up the gambling. A lot less work for a lot more pay.” Casey pursed his lips thoughtfully.
“Unless he wanted to find a legal way into the Complex,” Casey answered seriously. “Maybe this whole thing was what he intended from the beginning. It does seem too much of a coincidence that the night the Brotherhood assassinates my wife, Tiran supposedly elopes with this man.” The rest of the table was silent now. The others shot silent glances at each other but didn’t say anything. Finally, Steven spoke up.
“Only we know Stoer wasn’t a member of the Brotherhood, Ambassador. He didn’t have the mark.”
“True,” Casey admitted. “But isn’t it possible that the Brotherhood finally figured out that we track the mark? It would have been so simple to bring someone in and not implant that transmitter.”
“Transmitter?” asked Laine, puzzled.
Casey closed his eyes. “Please tell me you’re cleared for classified information,” he groaned.
“I am,” she said defensively, tossing her hair back. “I wouldn’t be working for you if I wasn’t.”
Krycek cleared his throat. “Um, Ambassador, Laine only arrived a week ago. She has not been completely briefed on anything related to the Brotherhood yet. It wasn’t seen as necessary since your daughter’s disappearance is not related to any terrorist activities.”
Casey sprang to his feet and swore loudly. “What are you saying? That this isn’t important?” He gripped the chair tightly, tempted to fling it across the room. He fought to bring himself under control.
“I didn’t mean that this isn’t important, Ambassador. It just isn’t exactly a matter of importance to the Union,” Krycek ventured.
“Shut up, Krycek,” Casey ordered angrily. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Krycek and Laine exchanged knowing glances. It made Casey even angrier.
“Ambassador,” Steven said quietly, putting his hand on Casey’s arm. Then he turned to the others. “Martin, why don’t you take Ms. Laine and Mr. Krycek and get them something to drink? I am sure they are ready for a break.” Martin nodded, and Krycek and Laine silently rose and followed him to the lift. Steven waited silently until they were gone.
“You might feel better if you have a seat, sir,” he coaxed. Casey complied in defeat, slumping back into his chair.
“I don’t know what’s gotten into me,” he admitted. “I’m acting like a two-year-old.”
Steven chuckled drily. “I’m just glad you didn’t throw anything at them.”
Casey managed a weak smile. “I nearly did.”
“Look, you’ve been under a lot of strain recently, Ambassador, and I know you are really worried about Tiran. However, Krycek has a point. Tiran’s disappearance isn’t exactly galactic news.”
“You don’t think this is important either?” Casey began, bristling up again.
“Hear me out, Ambassador,” Steven continued quietly. “Try to keep an open mind.”
Casey tried valiantly to keep control of his emotions. He trusted Steven implicitly. Steven was one of the few who he could depend on right now.
“The Council is just doing us a favor by allowing us to use their resources right now. Councilor Meecham is showing his loyalty to you by assigning you two of his staff to help. It’s out of respect to you that they are helping us, not because it matters much to the Union if we find Tiran.”
Casey opened his mouth to argue, but the protest died unspoken. If he was honest with himself, he knew Steven was telling him the truth.
“But Ambassador,” Steven continued more earnestly, “I know your family, and I believe you when you say that this doesn’t seem like your daughter at all. Most of all, it really is too much of a coincidence that all of this happened on the same night. But what if she did end up on Nubia, whether she intended to or not? It might be better to let them try to track her down. The Brotherhood may have paid him to take her away.”
“No,” Casey rebutted flatly. “If Othar Eshude knows about Tiran, he will want her dead. I understand that much about a blood feud at least. Three generations of death, or it’s not over. It’s unthinkable, I know,” he shook his head, catching Steven’s horrified look. “Parents, spouse, and children, as well as the original target all have to be dead for the oath to be fulfilled.”
The color had drained from Steven’s face. “That’s barbaric. What kind of culture endorses that?”
Casey just shook his head. There were some absolutely atrocious parts to Denicorizen culture, and not all of it belonged to the past. Part of him wished he had never set foot on Corizen. Still, he reminded himself that it was here that he had reunited with Andie, and if she had never married Laeren first, Tiran never would have been born. No, he wouldn’t go back and undo all of that. The last twelve years had been the best years of his life.
He turned his thoughts back to the present. “I think I still want to explore a possible link between the Brotherhood and Markus . . .” he had started to say when a sudden explosion rocked the room. Casey was thrown to the floor, and he smacked his head against the wall. A light panel from the ceiling crashed on top of him and dust rained from the gaping hole it left. Casey moaned in pain and rolled to his side, pushing aside the debris that covered him. For a moment he gazed at the cei
ling blankly. Then suddenly he came to life.
“Steven?” he coughed through the dust still sifting from the ceiling.
“Yeah,” returned the muffled voice. Steven was curled up on the other side of the table, his arms over his head.
“Are you hurt?” Casey croaked.
“I d-d-don’t think so,” he stammered, raising his head. “What in the name of the stars was that?”
Casey steadied himself against the chairs that had been thrown to the floor. “An explosion, I think.”
Steven drew a sharp, shuddering breath. “Here?” he whispered.
“I think,” Casey said with a grunt as he got to his feet, “the Brotherhood has definitely figured out that we can track their transmitters, Steven.” He forced his way around the fallen ceiling panels to reach Steven’s side. He extended a hand to help his aide to his feet. As Steven brushed himself off, Casey looked around the room. The furniture had been thrown around and two light panels had fallen, but there didn’t seem to be any structural damage, fortunately. The power was off but the emergency lights were lit, giving the room a faintly green glow.
“I’m sure the lift isn’t working,” Casey observed. “I hope there are stairs so we can get out of here.”
“To the left,” Steven managed as a coughing fit seized him. The violent coughs racked his frame. Casey took his arm and started toward the stairs. “The sooner we get some fresh air the better,” he advised, fighting back a cough himself.
They climbed the four stories back to the ground level fairly quickly. They hurried through the lobby barely glancing at the shattered lamps and pictures that had been flung from the walls. Broken glass covered the carpet. The front windows and sliding door had completely imploded.
Casey carefully stepped through the empty frame of the sliding glass door and stopped dead. Behind him, Steven cried out in horror.
Smoke curled from the embassy building. The whole north side of the building was missing. It was as if a giant had ripped off the outside walls to get at the inside. A massive crater in front marked the spot where the bomb had exploded. People were running in all directions, and Casey was vaguely aware of distant screaming amid the sirens that seemed to blare from every side.
Without thinking he started to sprint toward the building. The adrenaline pumped through his body and time seemed to slow down. Five feet from the gaping crater he saw a bloody figure stirring in a clump of bushes. He dashed for the bushes and found a woman moaning piteously. Her entire blouse was drenched in blood. His instincts took over, and he began probing her for injuries. Steven arrived breathlessly at his side.
“I’ve got this one,” Casey gasped. “See if you can find any other survivors.” Steven took off without speaking. Gently Casey lifted her from the bushes and laid her on the ground. He saw at a glance that her abdomen was in shreds. Fighting down a wave of nausea, he ripped off his own shirt and began to press against the bleeding.
The woman cried out in pain and opened her eyes.
“Am I dying?” she murmured.
“No,” Casey reassured quietly. “No, you’re hurt pretty bad but you’re going to be just fine. We just need to wait for a medic.” Her breathing was shallow and quick, he noted with concern. She was in shock.
“I don’t know what happened. I was just making copies . . .” Her voice faltered and her eyes closed.
“Stay with me,” Casey commanded fiercely. Her eyes cracked open again.
“What’s your name?” he asked more gently.
“Ryaida,” she whispered.
“Do you have a family, Ryaida? Are you married?” he asked, trying to keep her attention while he pressed at her wound. The bleeding didn’t seem to be slowing. His shirt was nearly soaked through.
“Not married. Live with my sister,” she answered with effort.
“What’s your sister’s name? Ryaida? Ryaida?” She had lost consciousness. Casey turned and looked frantically for a medic. Everyone seemed to be already busy. He yelled frantically for help, but amid all the chaos, his cries went unnoticed.
Ryaida didn’t last too much longer. By the time the rescue medics worked their way to where they were, she was already gone. He sat numbly on the ground as they covered her with a sheet. Then the medics moved on. They didn’t have time to take care of the dead right now; they were still searching for the injured. Still, Casey sat by her side for another endless moment, grieving for this stranger who had slipped away from life right before his eyes. Finally he heaved himself to his feet, intending to join the search for survivors. Before he could leave he was accosted by two Armada officers.
“Ambassador Morten!” one of the men cried. “We have been looking for you everywhere! Are you injured, sir?”
“No, I’m fine. I just was helping . . .” his voice trailed off thinking of the others, people who he knew from his office who could be lying around the smoking crater dying alone. “I’m perfectly fine, I just need to return to the search,” he said urgently. “There are probably many more injured whose time is running out. Who is in command?” he asked, coming back into control.
“Lieutenant Grizham is in command of the rescue effort, sir,” answered the officer. “He is organizing the search efforts from a post on the north side of the building.”
“Thank you. If you could show me to the post before you return to your duties I’d appreciate it,” Casey requested.
“I’m sorry, sir, but we have orders to bring you to the Armada command center,” the other soldier answered hesitantly. “Could you come with us please?”
“But I need to . . .”
“On Admiral Hernadez’ orders, sir,” he interrupted apologetically.
“Oh, very well.” Casey gave Ryaida’s body one final look as the two soldiers led him away.
♦
The underground command center of the Armada was frantically active. Officers were running in several different directions and people were shouting updates at each other from across the room. Casey registered it all as if from a distance. He simply focused on following the soldier that led the way.
The soldiers left him in a small, soundproof conference room. He sat at the table and thought idly of the conference room he had been in only hours before. He wondered briefly if the others from his meeting were okay. Where was Steven?
The door opened and Admiral Hernandez strode into the room. He sat down abruptly in front of Casey, heaving a great sigh.
“Hell of a day, Morten,” he began gloomily. “Maybe we’ll all wake up tomorrow to find it was a dream.” Casey didn’t answer. He was still numb. The Admiral looked at him in concern.
“Are you all right?” he inquired brusquely.
“Yes,” Casey answered briefly. He supposed he was all right, if a curious detachment from reality was normal. The Admiral narrowed his eyes.
“The last straw for you, I expect, after last week. Probably just as well. I have orders from the Council to transport you directly to the Assembly Station. You are being recalled indefinitely for consultation.”
This pierced Casey’s fog with a vengeance.
“No way, Admiral,” he refused. “I haven’t found my daughter, and I’m not leaving until I do.”
The Admiral grunted. “Face the facts, Morten. Didn’t you see all that destruction outside? These people are savage lunatics. There’s nothing you can do for your daughter.”
Casey winced. “I can’t leave, Admiral. I have to know.”
“It doesn’t matter what you want. I have my orders, which means you have your orders. You are going whether you cooperate or not.” The Admiral sipped his coffee complacently. “Look on the bright side. They might just let you leave fairly quickly, and you can get off to Zenith.”
That was a benefit Casey admitted to himself. He wanted to see his wife so badly and reassure himself that she was doing fine. He had nev
er needed her more.
So despite all his misgivings, Casey found himself on a ship headed for the portal that would transport him to Tyre. As he watched the planet drop away, he silently prayed that Tiran would be all right. It was all he could do for her now.
12. Women of the
Tender Heart
Tiran woke to the sound of singing, a light-hearted song in a woman’s soprano voice. She blinked against the light flooding her eyes and moved to sit up. She wasn’t at all sure where she was or who was singing. Did Kendra sing? She knew her mother didn’t. The mature voice didn’t sound like Kendra though. Suddenly she remembered that she was in Kruundin City and alone. She sat up in a panic. The singing abruptly broke off.
“Awake at last!” a merry voice observed. Tiran twisted around and saw a middle-aged woman in a plain gray dress. She had sleek black hair twisted into a bun and a warm, kind expression on her face. She held a tray with a bowl of steaming soup. Tiran felt her mouth watering in response. “I’m glad to see it,” the woman continued pleasantly. “You’ll be able to eat on your own this morning.”
“On my own?” Tiran repeated, in confusion. “How long have I been here? And where am I?” She looked around the room. It was a plain white room with no furnishings but a cot, a small table and a chair. It had a single window draped with navy blue curtains. The bright light came from a single light bulb that hung from the ceiling. It looked clean and neat, but desperately devoid of personality.
“You’ve been here for four days,” the woman answered as she placed the tray on the plain wood table next to the cot Tiran was sitting up in. “Don’t you remember?” Tiran frowned in concentration. Yes, she could vaguely remember periods of restless sleep, followed by someone spooning soup into her mouth. It all seemed like some kind of muddled dream.
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