Into the Rift

by Cynthia Garner

  But would that be enough to satisfy the authorities? She hadn’t alerted anyone to the potential threat, but in her defense she really had believed she’d dissuaded him from the plot. There had been nothing to notify them of.

  Two hours later her door chime sounded. On her way to the front area of her quarters she paused by the security monitor and checked to see who it was. Her heart started banging against her ribs. The dark blue uniforms with gold epaulets marked the visitors as members of the Republican Guard, the personal security team sworn to protect the Supreme Leader.

  Taking a deep breath, Sirina pressed the release button and smiled as the door swooshed open. She recognized the man at the front of the three-man unit. Jarrad T’heone, his face hardened with grief and rage, his eyes more red than pink, showed her his credentials. “Colonist lan Maro, we need to talk.”

  Sirina kept a calm expression on her face though her pulse pounded in her throat like a trapped cootie bird. She motioned them in and closed the door behind them. “It’s nice to see you again, Jarrad,” she said, keeping her expression placid even as panic and anxiety began to roil beneath the surface. That they were here suggested they had picked up on her and Kester’s communiqué, but they couldn’t know anything. Could they? “May I get you some refreshments? Water, or perhaps a citrus cooler?”

  “This isn’t a social call.” Jarrad glanced over her shoulder, his gaze tracking around the rooms he could see from where he stood. “Are you here alone?”

  “Yes.”

  With a glance at his two companions, he gave a quick jerk of his chin. They immediately moved away from him and into different areas of her living quarters.

  Sirina crossed her arms and tried not to let her growing fear show. “I’m not lying. There’s no one else here.” She glanced toward the hallway one of the officers had gone down. “Where is your writ allowing access to my home?”

  “The vice chancellor has decreed martial law. Until we find the assassin and anyone who aided him, we have the right to enter any home and conduct searches.” Jarrad waited until his team returned before he motioned toward her main living area. “Why don’t we sit down? As I said, we need to talk.”

  As she walked into the room, ice settled in her belly and spread outward. She licked her dry lips and settled into a chair. Jarrad sat down on the settee across from her while his two companions stood at attention behind him.

  “Have you seen any of the news flashes today?”

  It would be a mistake to claim ignorance. “Oh, my gods. You’re talking about the murder of Supreme Leader Vardan, aren’t you? I just saw a report on it a couple of hours ago.” She paused, widening her eyes for effect. “Do you know who’s responsible?”

  “Not yet.” He clasped his hands across his flat stomach and studied her. It took all her willpower not to fidget. “We’ve had the security system searching all communications that happened two months before and these last several hours following Vardan’s death.” His gaze never left her face. “You should know that we intercepted a vid comm between you and your brother from earlier today. It was… an interesting conversation.”

  Sküt. What could she say that wouldn’t incriminate her or Kester? As hard as she thought, she couldn’t come up with anything, so she remained silent.

  “Smart.” Jarrad crossed one leg over the other. “I realize that many Avasans don’t…” He faltered, his lips tightening for a moment. “Many Avasans didn’t hold Kai Vardan in very high regard. But he was a good man. A decent man. He didn’t deserve to be killed.”

  “No, I agree he didn’t.” Which was why she’d told Natchook to drop the idea.

  “I’ve known the man for ten years,” he went on. “I was more than just the chief of his personal guard. I was his friend.” His jaw flexed.

  “I’m so sorry for your loss.” Sirina leaned forward and splayed her hands. “But I can’t help you.”

  “No?” He stood and stared down at her. “I think perhaps you can. Who were you and your brother talking about earlier?”

  She shook her head. She had to steer him off this path. “It had nothing to do with—”

  “Don’t,” he warned, his voice raspy, anger flaring in his eyes. “Don’t make things worse by lying to me about something I already halfway know the truth of.” He clasped his hands behind his back and looked at her a few moments. When she didn’t respond, he continued. “Let me tell you what I do know. Based on recordings from security cameras in the area, your cousin Natchook ot Renz stopped in to see you last week. I know that a masked man attacked and murdered Kai Vardan. I know that when the assassin ran off the stage he had a slight limp in his left leg, like Natchook.” His jaw flexed again. “I know that six hours later you and your brother talked about someone who had asked you for help with something, and I know that if your brother had helped with whatever that something was, he would have been executed. The only crime punishable by death is the assassination of a head of state.”

  Sirina didn’t respond. How could she? She was pretty sure the assassin was her cousin, but she couldn’t say that with absolute certainty. And in her world, regardless of how the Talisians acted, people were innocent until their guilt was proven.

  Jarrad scowled. “Still nothing to say?”

  She shook her head.

  “It would be best if you cooperated, Colonist lan Maro.” His expression grew unyielding. “Or I can’t promise a pleasant outcome when all of this is resolved.”

  Shock robbed her of breath. “Are you threatening me?”

  “Not at all.” His rigid stance relaxed. “I’m merely stating a fact.” He took a deep breath and held it a moment, then let it out, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand and staring up at the ceiling. “Listen, Natchook is my friend. At least, I thought he was. Now I’m wondering if maybe he used me to get close to Kai.” When he looked at her again, his eyes were moist with emotion. “What can you tell me about that?”

  “Nothing.” Her voice wobbled, and she cleared her throat. Sküt. She was no good at prevarication; her stomach was a writhing knot of anxiety and guilt. “He told me once that he made a point of getting to know you. But I’m sure he came to value your friendship.” She had to believe that her cousin wasn’t so hardened as to have felt nothing for this man he’d called friend.

  “Right. He valued it because it got him closer to Kai.” Jarrad’s face lost its softness as his gaze sharpened. “I can see we’re not going to get anywhere here. But don’t think we’re finished. The fact that he came to see you before committing this unspeakable crime is damning.” He turned toward the door. “And in case you think of perhaps meeting up with Natchook, think again.”

  He and his team exited the quad and, as she peered through the window, she saw him pause to converse with the other officers. Then Jarrad drove off in a hover car, leaving the two men behind to stand guard at her door.

  Natchook’s conversation with her had been partially hypothetical. Even if she’d thought he might get involved, she’d never dreamed he would be the actual killer. If she’d told Jarrad the specifics, what could he have done with the information? She had nothing to do with the assassination and hadn’t seen or talked to Natchook since the event took place.

  Yet here she was, under detention. She knew the authorities believed she knew something about the attack, either before or after, but she also knew she was a prisoner in her own home because she was Avasan and therefore presumed guilty.

  She went over to her workstation and punched in the number to her brother’s unit. When she didn’t get a connection, she frowned and tried it again before she realized they’d cut off her communications. She couldn’t even warn Kester. And she knew if they hadn’t already been to see him, they soon would be.

  Chapter Three

  Two days passed with Sirina trapped inside her living quarters unable to communicate with anyone. On the second night, she shot awake at the sound of the door to her sleeping quarters sliding open. Before she could even try to
figure out what was going on, a squad of security officers surged into her room.

  Without a word she was dragged out of bed and thrown face-first onto the floor, her arms wrenched behind her back and wrists shackled together.

  “Wait!” she yelled. “What’s going on?” As she was yanked to her feet and hustled out of the house, she asked, “Where are you taking me?”

  “By the authority of the new Talisian Supreme Leader, former Vice Chancellor Djorkäjn,” one black-uniformed officer behind her replied in clipped tones, “you’re under arrest.”

  Her blood iced within her veins. She’d warned Natchook that things could get worse because Djorkäjn was so hard-line. “Under arrest for what?” Sirina tried to twist around to look at her captor, but she was stuffed into a security vehicle and lost sight of him. Her stomach was in knots, and her heart thudded a dull, unsteady rhythm. She’d assumed she’d be questioned again, but being arrested so quickly had never entered her mind. “Under arrest for what?” she asked again, hoping someone would give her an answer.

  “Sedition.”

  Sedition? “I’ve never spoken out against the government.” She tried to find a comfortable position on the seat, but with her arms behind her back it was difficult. “And—”

  “Look, we just make the arrests. We don’t have any information other than the charge.”

  “Can’t I at least get dressed?” She looked down at herself, seeing much too much skin since she was clad only in her thin sleep shift. “And put on some shoes?”

  “No.” The officer glanced at her from the front seat. “It would be best if you sat quietly now. You’ll find out more when we get to the detention center.”

  She frowned. They were taking her to the detention center instead of the local security office? Oh, dear gods. She was in worse trouble than she’d first thought.

  Hours later, after spending time in a crowded cell with others who were newly detained, she was brought into the large courtroom. She sat down where she was told, on a chair in the middle of a row in front of a magistrate and two other judges. At least the shackles were off and she’d regained feeling in her upper arms. But sitting here nearly naked did not fill her with confidence. She felt more vulnerable than she ever had in her life.

  “Colonist Sirina lan Maro,” the magistrate droned, “you have been brought before this tribunal to answer charges of sedition. How plead you?”

  Wait… what? They wanted her to announce a plea? Here by herself? “Where’s my advocate?”

  The magistrate exchanged glances with the other judges, then looked back at her. The overhead lighting in the room cast long shadows on his face, giving him a devilish appearance. “Your advocate will review the transcript. Give us your plea.”

  “My advocate will…” She could only stare at him in shock. This proceeding was unlike any she’d ever heard of. Since when did an advocate not, well, advocate?

  “I don’t understand. Why isn’t my advocate here?”

  “Your plea, Colonist lan Maro.”

  She swallowed hard. “Not guilty.”

  “So noted.” The magistrate reached forward and activated a holovid screen. The men on either side of him leaned over and the three of them held a muted conversation. When they straightened, the magistrate stared at Sirina with intense, disdain-filled eyes. “It is the finding of this judiciary that you are guilty of sedition. You are hereby sentenced to be stripped from your body and placed in a holding cell to await the opening of the rift.”

  “But—”

  “Your cousin, the criminal Natchook ot Renz, assassinated Kai Vardan.” Hatred blazed from his eyes. “Looking at the footage of the crime in action, Officer Jarrad T’heone made a positive identification. Your cousin, however, has engineered his escape by somehow managing to go through the body-stripping process. He is now hiding somewhere in one of the holding cells, but because his entry was not input into the records, we have no way of knowing which area he’s in, and little time to search for him. Rest assured, those who helped him will be punished,” he added, his voice hard with determination. “Officer T’heone, realizing it is his duty to apprehend the killer, has volunteered to go through the rift as well. If they survive in some form, T’heone will see justice done.” He looked at the security officers behind her. “Take her away.”

  Before they could reach her, the double doors of the courtroom squeaked open and a woman’s voice rang out. “Just one minute!”

  Sirina looked over her shoulder to see a woman dressed in a slim-cut suit walking toward her. Her boot heels clicked on the tiled floor, the noise echoing in the large chamber. Her nondescript black suit had a narrow skirt that reached her ankles. A shiny epaulette on one shoulder of the matching jacket marked her as a court officer.

  The gray-haired woman walked the length of chairs and stopped next to Sirina. “I am barrister Trellan B’Leigh, Colonist lan Maro’s advocate.” Her gaze pinned each of the judges before finally settling on the magistrate. “You surely weren’t going to pronounce judgment without her advocate present, were you?”

  “It’s already done, Madam Advocate.”

  Sirina noticed he chose to address the barrister by her function rather than her position. She wondered if it was a chauvinistic thing or if he was trying to put Trellan B’Leigh in her place. Of course, it really didn’t make a difference. Sirina was doomed no matter what.

  “With all due respect, esteemed magistrate,” the barrister said, “the law clearly states that even the most contemptible criminals are entitled to a fair and impartial hearing.” She glanced down at the electronic device in her hands, which no doubt held her case files, then looked at the magistrate again. “That includes Colonist lan Maro.”

  His lips thinned and he checked the time display mounted at the end of the table. “The rift is open now, Madam Advocate.” His gaze came back to them. “It will remain open for only another fifteen minutes. We must act now.”

  “And deny my client her rights as a colonist because it will be inconvenient to do the proper thing?” The barrister’s expression twisted with distaste. “If she’s found guilty, her life force will be detained for another seventy-three years, and that’s only on the basis that the rift will happen again. What if it doesn’t and she’s kept in the holding area indefinitely?” Her gaze went from one judge to another. “Tell me we haven’t thrown out our decency and morals for expediency. Please assure me that we aren’t ready to become as uncivilized as the criminal who assassinated Kai Vardan.”

  The magistrate’s sigh carried clearly to where they stood. He and the other judges huddled together for a whispered discussion. Sirina glanced at her advocate and saw that her attention was riveted on the three men.

  Finally the magistrate lifted one hand in surrender. “Say your piece, advocate.”

  She inclined her head. “Thank you. There has been no evidence submitted that directly links my client to the assassination of Supreme Leader Vardan. An ambiguous conversation she and her brother had certainly does not support the egregious charge of sedition.”

  “That’s because it’s unfounded,” Sirina muttered.

  The advocate shot her a warning look.

  The magistrate leaned forward, his elbows on the desk so that the sleeves of his white robes fell down his arms. “Natchook ot Renz was seen heading toward her house just one week prior to the assassination.”

  “He’s her cousin.” Barrister B’Leigh lifted her eyebrows. “Why shouldn’t he visit her? That the visit occurred a week before someone killed Leader Vardan is coincidental.”

  Before she could say more, a young man came into the room from a door behind the panel of judges. He leaned over and whispered into the magistrate’s ear. The older man’s nostrils flared and he gave an abrupt nod. As the younger man turned and left the room, the magistrate fixed a steely glare on the advocate. “The rift has closed.”

  Relief, pure and heady, surged through Sirina. She slumped in her chair.

  The magistr
ate leaned over and talked with the judge on his right, then the one on his left. When he looked up again, his expression held such resolution that her relief dissipated and she was once again filled with dread.

  “We have heard your arguments, Advocate B’Leigh, and appreciate your service to your government.” His gaze went to Sirina. “On your feet, Colonist lan Maro.” As soon as Sirina stood, he said, “You are hereby found guilty of sedition. You will be reduced to your incorporeal life force and contained in the holding area until the next rift occurs.” His disgust was palpable. “Our only regret is that we missed the opportunity to send you through this one.” His disgruntled expression spoke of his displeasure.

  Emotions churned in Sirina. Anger at Natchook, but also relief that he’d gotten away. Trepidation that Jarrad was so focused on vengeance that he would make this sacrifice.

  The magistrate scowled. “You will have to wait in the holding cell for the next seventy-three years, at which time your sentence will be carried out—banishment to the other dimension.” He motioned to the security officers behind her. “Gentlemen, take the prisoner to the debarkation room.”

  The debarkation room, a euphemistic title for the laboratory where people’s souls were stripped out of their bodies. She didn’t know anyone to whom that had happened, but she’d heard rumors that it was agonizing beyond imagination. Any warmth that she’d retained in her skin fled, leaving her cold and trembling.

  “I at least have a chance to appeal,” she said, her voice croaking with dryness. “That’s my right. Isn’t it?” she asked her advocate.

  Before Barrister B’Leigh could respond, the magistrate rapped out, “Appeal denied.” He motioned to the officers.

  Just like that, her future, her fate, was decided. Shackles were placed around her wrists again, though this time her hands were bound in front of her. As the guards escorted her out of the room, she walked along in numbed shock until she saw a prisoner coming toward her with his own set of matching black-clad officers.