by Loren Walker
Renzo's jaw dropped. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this from you.”
“I’m just as determined as the rest of you to learn what this is all about,” Sydel said, lowering her hand. “And who this Red person is, and how to stop this bloodshed.”
* * *
Sydel left a shaken Renzo to his repair work, and trekked through the warehouses, moving to the property edge, where CaLarca was scheduled to meet her with the Mazarine. As she walked, she tried to focus, and decipher the strange noises she heard. There was a clue there, she knew it, if only she could recover it...
A shadow in the distance. Sydel stiffened.
Then she recognized the slim silhouette, and the face under the wide-brimmed black hat.
“You done?” Jetsun Sava called over as she scanned the sky.
“Yes,” Sydel said. She shielded her eyes from the sun and stood next to the woman. Her heart skittered. More than anything, she wanted to slump down to the ground, close her eyes, and block out the images rotating in her head.
“Anything new to share?”
“A path to follow,” Sydel said cautiously. “Perhaps. And you? Why are you here?”
“Just had to take care of a few things on land. The sooner I get onboard, update Theron and get off, the better.” She tipped her head up, so her eyes were visible under her hat. “I have to ask: are you really the long-lost daughter of Joran Asanto?”
Sydel stared at the concrete ground. “So I’ve been told.”
“You’ve never laid claim to the family estate.”
“I only learned of my heritage recently.”
“You registered as Sydel Shovann Asanto to medically clear Theron. Is that the first step?”
“I haven’t decided yet,” Sydel shot back.
“If you need some help navigating the legal waters,” Jetsun said smoothly, “I can be of service.”
“For a price, I’m sure.”
Jetsun’s lips were red, grinning without teeth. “You’ll have plenty to spare, if you’re the true thing.”
“I don’t care about money,” Sydel said.
“You say that now,” Jetsun said, “but you’ll find something to do with it, I’m sure.” She quirked her blonde eyebrow at Sydel. “It’ll be a fight, though. I’m familiar with the estate. You could use someone who knows the soft spots.”
For whatever reason, the term ‘soft spots’ made Sydel think of Kuri, and his manipulations, and his desire for her blood and her signature, all in the name of gaining access to the Asanto fortune.
“If someone wished to make a claim,” she blurted out, “could someone just use my blood and a signature, to gain access on my behalf?”
“No,” Jetsun said, her voice serious for the first time. “Of course not. The blood withdraw must be witnessed, the results notarized. And a signature isn't worth a thing. There's paperwork, official rulings, not to mention court fees if the claim is contested. You can’t just show up with a vial and expect a bag of rana. What gives you that idea?”
“It wasn’t my idea,” Sydel muttered. “But is it really so complicated? To take a surname?”
“Everything that involves rana is complicated,” Jetsun said. “But if you’re legitimate, then it’s legally yours. Just depends if you have the courage to go for it.”
Was the woman trying to prod Sydel into action? Sydel narrowed her eyes. “You’re a mob lawyer, for murderers and thieves.”
“I’m a licensed attorney, with a powerful family,” Jetsun corrected. “I’m not exclusively evil, thanks. I abide by the rules.”
“The rules that you can slip past, I'm sure.”
Jetsun waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, please. Listen: prove you are who you are first, and I’ll ensure you get what you're entitled to, no matter who opposes - ”
There was a rush of wind, and the sun was blocked out. Both women looked up, into the silhouette of the ship, descending from above.
“Time to finish this,” Sydel heard the other woman mutter, over the rush of wind and engines, before swallowing a handful of pills: anti-nausea, by the smell.
Do I have other family?
Since the revelation from CaLarca, Sydel had been afraid to look deeper into any blood connections, choosing to bury herself in her work with Emir. Now, blank faces swarmed in her mind as she watched Cohen take Jetsun by the wrist and hoist her onto the rope ladder.
When Jetsun disappeared into the darkness, Cohen gestured for Sydel to follow.
She shook her head. Then she patted at her hips, making her hand into a gun and lifting her eyebrow, inquiring.
Holding onto the frame of the entryway, Cohen showed her his firearm, locked at his waist.
She nodded, and gestured for him to come down.
Cohen glanced back. Then he vaulted off the platform. Landing with a thunk! dust billowed around his feet.
“Are you okay?” he yelled, over the rumble of the engines.
She nodded again, noting the shape of his Lissome in his pocket. Sydel removed it, twisted it in two, and placed the adhesive square under her ear, wincing only a little at the automated pinch.
“It’s Sydel. I’m taking Cohen,” she announced. “Fly off, and don’t ask.”
There was no response from inside. But the Mazarine ascended into the sky, picking up speed.
Soon the wind died down, and everything was silent. Sydel removed the Lissome from her ear, and joined it with its other half. Then she tried out a smile on Cohen, who was staring at her with confusion.
“I have a lead,” Sydel said shyly. “We’re the only ones who can move unnoticed, I think, to follow it.”
Cohen looked back up at the clouds. Then he shrugged. “Okay.”
Sydel smiled at him. “Finally alone.”
“I know." He shuffled his feet. “So - can I - ?”
“Yes.”
He smelled of grass, and the woods.
Then his hands were on her face, and she stood on the balls of her feet, the scruff of his beard a strange, but appealing sensation as he kissed her.
III.
After a bus ride out of Lea, they were finally on the train to Cardine. Sydel removed her shoes and crossed her legs on the seat. Her hip strained a little at the angle, but she ignored it, rubbing her cold, bare toes, and arching her back, feeling the tiny pops in her spine. She took in a long, cool breath of air, and folded her hands together, her fingers entwined, her thumbs touching, and tried to relax.
Cardine would be the key, she knew it. They would find something to tell them where that assassin was next. Of course it was very possible that the red threat was following them right now. Or it was tracking down Theron and the others. She tried not to think about those scenarios too much. Now that her Eko was active again, she felt certain that she could pick up on any hostility.
And Cohen was more imposing than ever. Sitting across the aisle on the train, his legs splayed, he looked fierce and determined. Then he leaned over the armrest in her direction.
“It’s great to be here with you. Finally.” There was a tiny exhalation at the end of it, like he couldn’t believe what was happening. “Wish it was under better circumstances.”
“I know,” Sydel said. Instinctively, she reached across the aisle and took his hand.
He squeezed her fingers. “Surprised Emir let you go. You guys had so many stops still to make.”
“He understood,” Sydel said. “Was it difficult to leave your grandmother? Vyoma was ill,” she recalled their last conversation. “A mini-stroke, you said, only a couple of weeks ago.”
“She’s doing much better. Back to bossing around the militia. She says hello, by the way.”
That, Sydel didn't believe. Vyoma never liked Sydel, or CaLarca for that matter; she was always suspicious, and for good reason, given CaLarca’s deception.
But then again, Cohen swore that Vyoma was the reason behind his first call via Lissome, the first time they spoke after separating, just two weeks into her travels with E
mir. She was so stunned to hear from him since they had left on such strange terms.
When the line connected, Cohen didn't waste any time. “I’ve been thinking about things, and I wondered if maybe I ruined everything.”
“You didn’t ruin anything,” Sydel said haltingly, heat rushing to her face. “I was a mess. We were all in a mess. It's better that we all separated and - ”
“I just thought - y’know, Syd, things happen that we can't predict. And it’s best to be honest.”
Honesty. She closed her eyes. Yes, honesty. “What is it you want to know, Cohen?”
“Are we… friends?”
“Of course we are. Though,” she added, flushing from head to toe, “I don't know if the term is… satisfactory.”
He was silent for a long time after that. Finally, he spoke. “Did you - back in Jala Communia - did you ever have a boyfriend?”
“No,” Sydel said timidly, wondering if that made her lesser in his eyes.
He stumbled over the next words: “Would you be open to having one?”
Smiling to herself, Sydel came back to the present: the rumbling train, the heat pressing through the windows, his hand dropping from hers, already damp with sweat.
“Cohen,” she murmured. “I’m thinking about going public. About who I am.”
He glanced over his shoulder. “When?”
“Soon. I spoke to Theron’s cousin, that lawyer.”
“You can’t trust what she says, Syd.”
“Maybe. But I’ve wanted to know who I am for years. Now that I know, why hesitate to claim what’s rightfully mine?” Sydel gave a firm nod at her statement. “You know, I would be a good wealthy person,” she declared. “Honest. Charitable. Working hard to help people.”
Cohen laughed. “See that? You know who you are, Syd. A name isn’t going to change that.”
“When we find this assassin, when this is done, will you come with me to file the motion?”
Cohen’s grin faded. Sydel shook her head at him. “Don’t start worrying.”
“I’m always gonna worry. How many times does it seem like things are getting better, then they’re not?”
Poor man. He was right. But this time would be different, she would make certain. Sydel took Cohen's hand again and kissed the back. “This part is good,” she reassured him. “This is the part that’s good.”
“You know, Syd, it’s only been a few months,” Cohen said, gazing at her, “but you’re different. I can see it. More confident. More sure of yourself.”
“I see the same in you. Toomba has been good for you, I think.”
“It’s been an education.” He narrowed his eyes as the train slowed, and the edges of Cardine came into focus.
“When we get in there,” he said under his breath. “Whatever it takes, Syd, you know that, right?”
“I know,” Sydel said. Her stomach was warming, like coals smoldering. “I’m ready.”
“Damn right you are. Let’s find this thing.”
* * *
Sydel held Cohen’s arm as they wound through the shabby streets of Cardine, getting their bearings of the town's layout. No one paid much notice; those who did even gave them a smile. It helped that they presented as a couple. As they walked, Sydel relayed all she had seen in the Arazura.
“The Red would need a medical professional,” Sydel concluded. “A skilled pair of hands, to reach all the stab wounds in the back, and seal them properly.”
“Couldn't they just bandage it?"
Sydel shook her head. “I felt the wounds, their width and depth. They wouldn’t stop bleeding on their own. The Red might be able to manage the blood flow but within the day, they would need to be sealed to prevent infection.”
“Well, there’re only three doctors listed in this town,” Cohen said, looking at the crowds before them. “I guess there could be people unlisted, though, in the underground.” He sighed. “This is going to be tough. What do we do first? Where do we look?”
“I know Theron said not to involve Anandi,” Sydel said, “but she can check cameras and surveillance, and give us a direction to go in. It seems foolish to not use her skills.”
“If he wants our help,” Cohen concluded, “he’s got to open up. And she’s discreet. At least I think she is.”
“She's a good person,” Sydel said. “I think she would want to stop a killer from hurting anyone else.”
Cohen grinned down at her. “Logical, as always.”
Ducking into an alleyway, he activated his Lissome and punched in the cc. It rang three times before Anandi's voice, tinny and angry, came through the sound system. “I’m not being dragged into this, so don't ask.”
Cohen frowned. “We’re just asking you to access some - ”
“No. I don’t care what Theron's gotten himself into. It’s his own damn fault.”
Sydel stared at the Lissome. “Why do you hate him so much?”
“You don’t know that family like I do. Once you do one favor, it never stops, and then you’re sucked into doing things you never….” Anandi’s voice trailed off.
After a few moments, she spoke again, quieter now. “I heard rumors that he’s in a bad way.”
“He’s stable,” Sydel said. “And safe, for the time being.”
The girl's bitter tone returned. “Too bad. If he had died, then the Savas could have torn themselves apart on their own. Now they will hold steady until something changes. Either Theron dies, or he’s victorious.”
“This is more than Theron,” Cohen cut in. “This goes beyond whatever problem you've got with him. That Red thing killed bodyguards, sure, but it also killed two people and spilled their guts everywhere. It almost killed Phaira, wrecked the Arazura, and it’s still out there, still dangerous, still angry, still after Theron and the people around him. That’s us, Anandi. Doesn’t that matter to you?”
“You’re shaming me into doing this?”
“Yeah, I am,” Cohen snapped. “You’re supposed to be a friend, and friends help their friends to not get murdered.”
The line was quiet for many, many seconds.
“You tell no one,” came her voice finally. “You found the information on your own.”
“I think people will have a hard time believing that,” Sydel said. “We’re not very adept with - ”
“I don’t care. Make up a story. My name never gets mentioned. I’ll deny it if you say I did, to anyone, and that includes Renzo and Phaira.”
“Fine,” Cohen said, before Sydel could protest further. “Find out if there’s been any Cardine arrests or warrants in the past two days. Could show up as vandalism or assault, stealing medical supplies, car-jacking….”
“Way ahead of you,” Anandi said. “The Cardine East Bay Clinic reported minor vandalism two days ago, and shut down. Still closed, by their accounts, for repairs. Also, five reports of stolen vehicles in the past forty-eight hours; guess they have a problem with that around here…”
“Surveillance footage of the clinic?” Sydel asked.
“None that documents the vandalism; it was disconnected for a few hours, and when it went back online, the place was already closed."
“That’s it,” Cohen said. “That’s got to be it. That wasn’t so hard, wasn’t it?”
“Don’t joke,” came Anandi’s low response. “And don't call me again. Got it?”
And the Lissome disconnected.
* * *
Standing on tiptoe, Sydel tried to peer through the clinic windows, but they were covered in paper. “Should we break in?” she asked over her shoulder, at Cohen.
Cohen chortled. “I can’t believe you just said that.”
Why isn't there anyone in there, cleaning up, or making repairs?” Sydel wondered. “If it were just some act of vandalism, they would be trying to get it back to operational as soon as possible. But it’s just closed, and empty.”
Cohen’s smile dropped. “What if the Red is still in there? Hiding out?”
“It's n
ot in there."
“Are you sure?”
When Sydel gave him a look, he lifted his hands. “Okay, sorry, I forgot who I am talking to here.” He looked up, noting the position of the sun. “Go in after dark?”
Sydel stared at the clinic's door. “Do we really have time to wait?”
“I don’t want to get arrested breaking into a place while carrying a firearm, Syd,” Cohen pointed out. “You’ll see me again in twenty years.”
Sydel bit her lip. “I don’t think we can wait. I think we need to get in there, now, and get what we need.”
“Which is what?”
“I’m not sure yet.”
Cohen sighed. Then he bashed his wrapped fist into the window frame, cracking the glass. Sydel kept watch for any patrol, half-wondering what she might do if someone were to emerge, as Cohen dismantled the rest of the glass, and helped her to climb inside.
Their feet sank into dark green carpet. Surprisingly, despite the report, there wasn't any visible damage in the waiting room of the clinic: ugly peach paintings, and worn furniture, but no wreckage. Why was it closed, then? Light filtered through the papered windows, streaks of sun showing all the dust in the air.
Moving as quietly as they could, Cohen and Sydel crept through the double doors, passing rows of empty cots.
There was an office at the back, the lights on inside. Slowing his pace, Cohen held out an arm, keeping Sydel behind him as he reached for his firearm and primed it with his thumb.
When Cohen pushed the door open, the stench of bleach hit Sydel so hard it made her dizzy. There was a yelp: a man crouched on the floor, scrambling back with a sponge in hand. “You shouldn’t be here!” he gasped, coughing and holding his ribs. “We are closed, can’t you read the signs? This is trespassing!”
Bruised ribs, Sydel thought. Maybe even broken. Her attention went to the far corner, to a crumpled tissue; garbage in any other’s view, but she was drawn to it, somehow.
“Someone hurt you?” Cohen demanded.
The man shrank away. “No. There was an accident. Some kids spilled some chemicals, and we had to close. Look, I’ll alert patrol if you don’t remove yourself from the property.”