Corizen Rising

by Heidi J. Leavitt

  35. Fury

  Andie woke to the sound of low moaning to her side. Her eyes fluttered open and she saw that she was lying on some kind of hard pavement facing a dull gray sky. Rolling over, she saw that the moaning was coming from a man on the ground beside her with a horribly gashed leg and a battered face. Quickly she tried to sit up.

  “Easy there. I think you might have a concussion,” advised a quiet voice. Andie turned to see a stately woman with a smudged blue dress and tangled white hair. She immediately recognized her as the prisoner the Oman had referred to as Sister Marna. Another blasphemer like me, she thought, but then shook her head. Where did that come from? She had no reason to judge this woman. She pressed a hand to her aching temple.

  “What happened?” she asked shakily.

  “There was an earthquake,” Sister Marna said solemnly. “I think it may have been a judgment, actually,” she added, more to herself.

  “An earthquake?” Andie repeated anxiously. “Was anyone hurt? Where is Tiran?”

  “Tiran’s fine. She went with the other woman—Shelle, I think her name was—to get some help for us,” explained Sister Marna. Andie twisted uneasily trying to see down the street. Looking up, she saw the smoke rising from the building next to them.

  “Is that the building we were in?” she asked, her voice shaking.

  “Yes,” Sister Marna answered. “With the earthquake the stage caught on fire.”

  “But the Oman, did he get out?” Andie asked anxiously. “He got out didn’t he?” Then she grimaced. Why in the world was she worried about this man who had just tried to have her daughter executed? Still, the tight feeling in her chest continued and she restlessly wanted to dart back into the building to look for him. Sister Marna was frowning at her.

  “It’s all wrong,” Andie murmured, her head pounding. “These feelings, they are all wrong. It’s not me at all.”

  Faint chortling startled her. Andie and Sister Marna both turned in surprise.

  “No, it’s not you at all,” the man chuckled feebly.

  “Do I know you?” Andie asked, her brow furrowing. It was so hard to think. Her head ached terribly.

  “Not formally,” the man said. “We had the pleasure of meeting once before, long ago, but I don’t think you’d remember. Name’s Burke.” Andie studied his face, puzzled. Did she know a Burke? It didn’t sound familiar.

  Sister Marna knelt at his side. “You need to rest, Burke,” she chided gently.

  “I’m resting. Lying here like a sack on the ground. Can’t rest any more than that.” He turned his head and nodded at Andie.

  “I owe you an apology,” he began, his voice more serious and scarcely louder than a whisper.

  “An apology?” asked Andie bewildered. “What for?”

  “For taking you away from your home. For selling you to Jaory. I was a foolish man, and all of us, we only thought of the money. I never thought I might be ruining your life,” he explained, his voice hoarse.

  “Oh,” Andie exhaled. “You were one of those smugglers.”

  “I was. I stood next to you and delivered you into the hands of a man without conscience, and I can only say I’m sorry. Just glad I get to apologize before I die,” he added with a weak laugh. Andie stared thoughtfully at Burke for a moment and then she leaned over, her face next to his.

  “It didn’t ruin my life,” she told him softly. “It’s been a rough ride sometimes, but I wouldn’t change any of it. Not a thing.” It was the truth. Her life had been hard and frightening at times, but in the end it had all been worth it.

  Burke smiled widely and then groaned, his lips white. Andie watched anxiously as Burke’s eyes drooped shut.

  “I hope he can hold on just a little longer,” Sister Marna worried, looking around them impatiently.

  Suddenly the distant shouting swelled.

  “They’re coming toward us,” Andie whispered. Sister Marna looked toward the street then around the empty lot. Andie followed her gaze. At the back of the lot was another building but there were no doors. The side opposite the theater was blocked by a large building also, but there were some stacks of crates. Some of them had been smashed by falling roof tiles, but it was the only possible cover near them.

  “Can you get to your feet?” Sister Marna asked anxiously.

  “I think so,” Andie answered, taking Sister Marna’s proffered hand. Unsteadily she rose, her vision swimming. She tried to take a step but tottered to the side. Her balance was off. Sister Marna grabbed Burke under his arms. “I’m going to have to drag him,” she grunted. “It doesn’t look like you’re going to be able to help. Let’s head for those boxes so we can stay out of sight.” The older woman then started to heave Burke across the lot, but Andie could hear the voices coming closer, and now she could hear the chanting.

  Death! Death!

  She whipped around to Sister Marna, her ears ringing. “Just get him out of sight!” she urged. “I’ll delay them.”

  “No, wait!” protested Sister Marna, but Andie ignored her. Stumbling up the lot she headed for the street. It was maybe twenty-five feet away, but judging by the death chant of the crowd, it would only be moments before they rushed into view. Her head whirling she staggered forward a few more steps.

  Suddenly a host of people burst into view running down the street.

  “Look!” a woman screamed. The people in front skidded to a stop and Andie found herself facing about twenty furious black-robed figures. She held up her hands.

  “Wait!” she protested.

  “It’s Sirra Bruche!” shouted a man. “Sirra Bruche the traitor! Sirra Bruche the murderer!”

  “I know what you think of me!” cried Andie desperately. “And maybe you’re right. But this isn’t how it’s supposed to work! If you kill me now, here in the street, you will regret it forever. You are not killers!”

  That gave the group pause. Andie held her ground.

  “The Oman did something to us, to all of us,” she explained loudly. “He embedded some kind of transmitter in our necks. It changes the way we think but you can still choose for yourselves. You still have free will!”

  “You are not killers,” she repeated firmly. “That’s not who you are. I just need you to remember that. Please, remember that.”

  “No,” challenged a voice. “We are not killers. You are! The Oman is dead, and it is all your fault!”

  Andie gasped as if she had been punched. The Oman was dead—no, he couldn’t be dead. A wave of panic swept over her. What was she going to do without the Oman? He was the only one who could make things better on Corizen. Then, she caught herself. That wasn’t what she really believed.

  “I know you are worried and you are scared without the Oman,” she comforted, trying to keep her voice steady. “But life here on Corizen can get easier, even without him. We can all work to make this planet a better place to live.”

  “You are not one of us,” accused a woman shrilly. “You are one of Them. You don’t care what happens to us.”

  “Corizen is my home!” she refuted. “I care about what happens to you, and I am not the only Citizen who does.”

  “Bah, all Citizens are scum,” denounced a surly man. Cries of agreement erupted from the group. The man closest to her advanced on her slowly. His head was shaved and his dark eyes sparked with hatred under thick menacing eyebrows.

  “The Oman brought you here to receive justice,” he stated, his voice clear and cold. Everyone around seemed to hold their breath at his words. “Now he is dead and cannot fulfill his purpose, so we will do it for him. We are dispensing justice, and you deserve to die!” The crowd moved toward her menacingly and Andie took a step back, her hands still held up. Glancing around she could see no escape. Then before she could move, the first man was on her, his hands on her throat choking off her breath. Struggling fiercely, she was pulling at his a
rms when suddenly a canister dropped onto the ground next to her. She stared at it in surprise and then heard the hissing. Her attacker backed hastily away and turned to run but it was if he was moving through mud. Dizzily she watched him collapse onto the ground. A rushing filled her ears and she stumbled to her knees, her vision swimming. The last thing she saw was the dusty pavement swirling toward her face.

  ♦

  When Andie finally opened her eyes again, she found herself lying in a soft bed facing a sparkling clean window with elegant lace curtains. The first faint rosy light of dawn colored the sky beyond. Had she died then? Where was she? Her head was throbbing a bit. Surely if she had died her head wouldn’t hurt any more would it?

  “Good morning, sleepyhead,” greeted a cheerful voice. She turned stiffly.

  “Casey?” she asked in wonder.

  “Hey.” He looked so tired. She reached a hand out to him that he clasped with both of his. She was so confused. Hadn’t Casey been arrested?

  “Where are we?” she managed in a dry, raspy voice. “Where’s Tiran?”

  “This is Jerrapo’s house. Tiran’s asleep in the next room.”

  A tight knot seemed to loosen in her chest. She drew breath in a deep, shuddering gasp. All her memories came flooding back: her arrest at Kruunde Manor, the murky early days in the hands of the Brotherhood, her “confession” on the live transmission, the execution.

  “Oh,” she choked.

  “What’s wrong?” demanded Casey worriedly, leaning forward.

  “I’m so sorry, Casey,” she sobbed. “I’m so very sorry. I never should have said those things about you, naming you as the traitor. I should have been stronger.”

  “Hey, hey, it’s all right,” Casey soothed. “I know why you did. It wasn’t your fault.” He smoothed her hair, his other hand holding hers tightly. “It’s going to be fine. It’s over now.”

  “Over? How can it be over? I have some piece of metal stuck in the back of my neck that makes me think that the Oman was the best thing ever to happen to Corizen!”

  Casey laughed. “Do you really think that?”

  “Yes, or I get this blinding headache . . .” she trailed off. No part of her mind at all was singing the praises of the Oman. She reached a hand behind her neck and touched the small incision mark. She flinched; the spot was inflamed and tender.

  “Zaq told us it might be sore for a few days. Does it hurt much?” Casey asked with concern.

  “Just a little. Who is Zaq?” she questioned, confused.

  “A friend of Tiran’s. He’s the one who told us where we could find you,” Casey explained.

  “What happened?” Andie wanted to know, sitting up in bed. Her head spun a bit and Casey leaned forward.

  “You should be resting. You got a concussion in the earthquake, and your body just isn’t that resilient right now. Not too long ago you were in coma, after all. I’ll tell you a little bit if you promise to lie down and rest.”

  Andie meekly complied. It was worth it if she could get some answers. She had so many questions agitating around in her head.

  “When this kid Zaq gave us your location, Jerrapo decided to take matters in her own hands,” Casey explained. “She and Saren . . .”

  “Mikal Saren?” Andie interrupted in disbelief. “From the Resistance Council?”

  “Yeah. Anyway, they planned this commando mission to go in to Mazor and snatch the Oman. Of course when we got there . . .”

  “We? You mean you went with them?” Andie was horrified.

  “Are you going to let me finish or are you going to interrupt me every few seconds?” Casey asked in mock exasperation.

  “Sorry,” muttered Andie sheepishly.

  “We got there just before the earthquake hit. By the time the team got into the town they found a whole crowd of injured members of the Brotherhood, a dead Oman, and two separate mobs intent on killing the most important women in my life. I think the guys chasing Tiran got the shock treatment while yours got riot gas. Knocked you out too but at least you’re alive.” The relief in Casey’s voice was palpable. She squeezed his hand.

  “The commander called for reinforcements to take care of the incapacitated Brotherhood, and we brought you, Tiran, a guy named Burke and some lady named Sister Marna back here to Roma. That was more than two days ago.”

  “I’ve been asleep all that time?” asked Andie suspiciously.

  “Well, asleep or sedated. They let me bring you here just last night. But the best part,” Casey lowered his voice, “was that this Burke that was with you has invented a tool of some kind that makes those implants quit working. He had brought it to Roma but it had gotten left in some inn when he got captured.” Casey traced her neck gently with his finger.

  “Zaq went and found it and brought it to us. We used it on you to short out your implant,” he finished, his voice a whisper. Andie thought for a moment while that sank in. She could think whatever she wanted without effort. She turned her thoughts to the Oman and effortlessly rejected the idea that she had somehow sinned by helping the Resistance. In relief she closed her eyes.

  “You’re free,” Casey told her gently.

  “I’m free,” she whispered. After all these years it was truly over.

  36. The Last Piece

  To Casey’s great relief, Andie was up and walking around within a day. She had had a tearful reunion with Tiran and then with Jerrapo. By the evening, she was itching to get out of Jerrapo’s house, and though Casey insisted that she stay inside and rest, he was very reassured. Andie was going to be just fine.

  The next day he agreed to take Tiran to Roma Central Hospital to see Burke. He had waited unobtrusively to the side of the room while Tiran had sat at Burke’s side talking softly to him. Casey couldn’t help but feel immense gratitude toward the man. He had sheltered Tiran for weeks at great personal risk. He had nearly lost his leg to injuries. In the end, he had even lost his sister to the crazed mob of the Brotherhood.

  “Ambassador?” croaked the man from his bed. Casey moved closer and sat down near his head. “Yes?” he answered.

  “On that stand behind you there’s something I want you to have,” he whispered. Casey picked it up. It was a tiny metallic object.

  “I had them take it out of Shelle’s body. I didn’t want her to have to bear any part of that monster Othar, not even in death,” he managed weakly. “You should know I was one of the members of the crew that originally brought these implants to Corizen. We picked them up from a plant on Caligua. I’m willing to testify about it to the Security Council or whoever you need me too.”

  “Thank you,” Casey responded thoughtfully, pocketing the implant. “That is more interesting than you know.”

  “Just catch the bastard that made them. He’s just as responsible for Shelle’s death as Othar Eshude,” insisted Burke hoarsely.

  That night after Andie had fallen asleep, Casey sat in a chair next to her, turning the implant over and over in his hands. Finally the pieces were starting to fall into place. Only a few more holes to fill and the real traitor would be in his hands.

  The next day Casey set out for downtown Roma. Fortunately Captain Jirac’s trial was still two weeks away, and this time the Denicorizen policy of no bail was in his favor. Casey met with President Gulann first, and then accompanied by several CPF interrogators, he went to see Jirac himself. Jirac had been devastated by the loss of the Oman and was more willing to cooperate than anyone would have guessed. Finally he had everything he needed. His next step was to contact Admiral Hernandez who was still on Corizen. Fortunately the Admiral had a small detachment from the Armada in orbit around the planet.

  Later that afternoon, Casey made his way to the small conference building in the International Complex that was still being used as the temporary embassy. He was greeted warmly by Steven in the lobby, who hugged him with one hand before s
tepping back.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” Steven asked seriously. “You can just let the Armada guys take care of it you know. Admiral Hernandez commed me, and they should be here any minute.”

  “I know,” Casey replied, running his fingers through his hair. Then his expression hardened. “But this is just something that I have to do.”

  “All right then. He’s upstairs in the corner lounge. He thinks he’s waiting to meet with the Senior Congress Representative. You have about ten minutes.”

  Casey thanked Steven and trudged up the one flight of stairs and turned down the hallway. He hesitated a moment before knocking on the lounge door but then rapped once.

  “Come in,” a business-like voice commanded. Casey pushed open the door to see Councilor Meecham relaxing on the sofa, a drink in his hand.

  “Hello, Morten,” he greeted casually. “I wasn’t expecting you. What brings you here? Shouldn’t you be out celebrating?”

  “Celebrating?” Casey frowned.

  “You know, your acquittal, the death of that crazy Othar Eshude, all that.”

  “Maybe I will,” Casey shrugged. “There’s still one matter of business I have to resolve first though.”

  “Oh, yes,” Meecham’s voice hardened. “Could that be your impending extradition to Tyre? You know, you may have swayed that corrupt Denicorizen Congress into letting you go, but the Security Council hasn’t dropped any charges against you. Not all of us believe your little farce at the trial.”

  Casey ignored Meecham’s threats. Instead, he strode to the low table arranged before the sofa and dropped a tiny metallic wedge on the top. Meecham looked down at it in surprise.

  “What’s this?” he asked, his eyebrows raised.

  “It might surprise you to know, but the team that raided Mazor a few days ago rescued a man named Burke who did quite a bit of smuggling for the Oman a few years back. I guess he picked up a whole shipment of these little implants from a factory on Caligua. Your home planet.”

  “Are you sure about that?” Meecham’s eyes flashed.