by Rhonda Mason
Why didn’t I see this coming?
The appearance of a guard at his cell caught him by surprise. No one had come to interrogate him about Janeen’s death. And why should they? The people who thought he was guilty were probably satisfied with the evidence they already had. And the perpetrators, who knew he was innocent? They had accomplished all they’d needed to by having Janeen killed and framing him for it, getting him firmly—and likely permanently—out of their way. They had no reason to speak to him at all.
The guard told Malkor to stick his wrists through the slot in the field to be cuffed with magcuffs like a good little criminal. He almost refused. It was beyond galling.
Instead he complied, too curious about who wanted to see him. He followed the guard to an interrogation room near the front of the sub-basement. The guard opened the door and when Malkor caught a glimpse of an indigo and teal IDC uniform, he had a hope that Parrel might be here to tell him his plan for clearing Malkor’s name.
Instead, Senior Commander Vega waited for him.
Any doubt about Vega being dirty fled Malkor’s mind. She stood against one white wall in the square room, arms clasped behind her back, her uniform crisp and her expression serious. Vega nodded sharply to the guard and dismissed him before gesturing that Malkor should have a seat at the lone table in the room.
He’d rather his hands weren’t cuffed, but he refused to ask her to demagnetize them and give her that display of power. Instead he took his seat with the bearing of a senior agent in good standing, sure of his rank and his worth. He kept his cuffed hands on his lap, out of sight.
Vega sat opposite.
Malkor wanted to shake her composure. Underneath lay a scheming, conniving power-broker with no limits.
“Come to gloat?” he asked.
“Do I really seem the type?”
Not really. She looked comfortably composed, and serious without being severe.
Vega bent to pull a datapad from the case beside her chair and set it on the table. She slid it across to him, not saying anything, just watching his face. The datapad showed the “evidence” compiled against him and it looked damn convincing.
Malkor had been asleep in his apartment at the time of the murder, but the only proof he had was his ID unlocking the place when he got home, and he could have passed that ID on to anyone to enter for him and provide a supposed alibi. It was worthless.
“Quite extensive for a frame-job.”
Vega retrieved the datapad. “The ‘evidence’ is so airtight you’re not getting out of this without a confession from the guilty party that they’d done it, as well as an explanation of how they’d done it.”
“Since you know I’m innocent, why don’t you go get that for me?” And go hang yourself, while you’re at it.
“I’d be happy to.” She sounded perfectly reasonable. It was strange how much she looked the same as always, and how differently he saw her now. “Problem is, I’m terribly busy at the moment. You making noise about an IDC conspiracy, a certain army sergeant making noise about the IDC being involved in that nasty TNV situation with Trebulan…”
Carsov. Shit. Of course she’d find out about him.
“Not to mention your friends in the councils making a big push for a peaceful withdrawal from Ordoch—which does not suit my plans at all.” Vega leaned back in her chair, totally at ease, crossing one leg over the other. “By the way, Isonde springing your Wyrd princess’s identity? I didn’t see that coming. Bravo.”
Yeah. We were all so pleased with that particular stunt.
“The Wyrd has a chance to be a rallying point for the peace movement.” Vega seemed to consider that. “If I didn’t think she would make an excellent martyr, even more sympathetic dead than alive, I’d take care of that situation.”
“Don’t you touch her,” he growled.
Vega lifted a brow. “Or what, you’ll shake your magcuffs at me? You’re worthless to her at the moment.
“Honestly,” Vega continued, “it would be easiest for me to let you rot in here.”
She could do it, too.
“You wouldn’t bother to visit if that was your intention.”
“True enough.” Vega tugged at one cuff, aligning the jade piping more perfectly. “I have a meeting shortly so I’ll get to it. You have one and only one way to gain your freedom.”
“Turning over Dolan’s scientific data and tech specs.” The moment he saw Vega from the doorway, he knew that’s why she was here. “Never going to happen.”
“Never’s a long time, Agent.”
Malkor shrugged. He could hear again Bredard’s prediction, made under the influence of the truth serum, that they would get their hands on the data.
Rigger better have hidden it well.
For the first time since the interview began, Vega’s mouth turned down in the slightest of frowns. “One way or another—”
“I wouldn’t hold your breath.”
Her frown disappeared, her mask of professionalism shifting back into place. “You like your sarcastic edge. It’s noted in your personnel file.” She nodded as if she’d expected it to surface all along. “How about this? You sit there smugly in your little cell and I’ll go after your octet. Most of them are loners, true. Agent Aronse, however, has family in Falanar City, doesn’t she? And Agent Gio spends quite a bit of his off time in Shimville.”
Malkor kept his tone unconcerned with effort, though he lost the smile. “Won’t help you any.”
“I guess we’ll see.” Vega got to her feet, smoothed out her uniform, and called for the guard to collect Malkor. “I’ll keep you apprised of my progress, Agent, and you let me know when you’ve changed your mind.”
* * *
By noon Kayla was speaking with Hekkar again via vidcomm. He had zero info on Malkor’s status, and it took all of Kayla’s self-control not to rail at the man. The uncertainty of Malkor’s safety ate at her until she couldn’t think. Now Hekkar counseled her to be patient and she wanted to scream.
She was a ro’haar. She did not do patient when it came to protecting the people she loved.
Her mobile comm chirped: Unknown Identification.
“Let me know as soon as you hear something,” she said to Hekkar, then ended his call and answered her mobile comm.
Commander Parrel.
If he didn’t tell her exactly what she wanted to hear, she was going to scream.
Parrel’s gruff voice came on. “I’m still patching loose ends and scrambling to close holes. I intend to call a press conference this evening, as soon as I have everything ready.”
Thank the stars.
“What can I do?” She was going crazy sitting here, useless.
“You should be there. You’re not the most popular person at the moment,” he said wryly, “but once I reveal IDC’s connection with Dolan’s activities, you can speak about your family being held prisoner and what they’d gone through, since you saw it firsthand.”
“What time?”
“Be at headquarters at eighteen hundred, though I might not be ready until later. I’m waiting for two agents to commit to coming forward. Parrel out.”
He’d barely finished speaking when her door chime sounded. “Kayla? It’s Isonde.”
“For frutt’s sake.” She had too much on her mind to deal with the princess right now. Sadly, she couldn’t ignore her. The presence of Kayla’s two guards outside proved she was here.
Isonde breezed in when Kayla unlocked the door, heading straight for the vidscreen.
“What—”
Isonde shushed her as she flipped on the vidscreen. It was already set to Falanar’s main news feed. Kayla had never watched so much damn news in her entire life.
STUNNING DECISION blazed across the top of the screen above a reporter’s head, who looked to be standing outside the Protectorate Council building.
“The Protectorate Council released their plan moments ago for handling the escalating TNV crisis. This comes before the Sovereign Coun
cil’s decision has been made, an almost unprecedented move for the Protectorate Council. Here’s Councilor Abjarni talking about the decision.”
The scene flashed to a press room. A stoop-shouldered woman wrapped in voluminous aqua robes stood at the front, against a backdrop of the Sakien Empire flag. Her ebony skin was finely wrinkled and her advanced age showed in her creaking walk to the podium. Her face could barely be seen over the lectern.
“We, the Protectorate Council, have announced our approved agenda and submitted it to the Council of Seven as of eleven hundred.”
Her voice was remarkably strong for so aged a figure. It was easy to understand why she was the speaker for the Protectorate Council.
“We advocate, without reservation, the immediate and complete withdrawal from Wyrd Space.”
Kayla sucked in a breath and Isonde let out the most unladylike “whoop!” of triumph. She and Isonde had had little involvement with Raorin’s plan to sway the Protectorate Council. They’d counted on his contacts and influence to manage that part of it, and as of last night, things had still looked shaky.
“I can’t believe it,” Kayla said. Isonde shushed her again as Abjarni continued.
“Our responsibilities and interests lie entirely with the great Sakien Empire. Our recommendation to withdraw from Wyrd Space is based on the necessity of such a move if we’re to save this shining empire. The Protectorate Planets have been hit hardest by the TNV plague and we are fighting a losing battle to save our homes and the very lives of our people. It is clear that all hope of a cure lies with the Wyrds, and our only way to appease them at this point is to withdraw.
“Added to that, the immense amount of money being funneled to the occupation is desperately needed domestically. With those resources—”
Isonde muted the vid. “Best possible outcome.” Her pale eyes gleamed like a glacier hit by sunlight. “Not just withdrawal, immediate withdrawal. Not a long, drawn out, three hundred twenty-five step plan to get there after we’re all dead.”
“This could actually work,” Kayla said, stunned. All her efforts for the last few months might not be totally in vain.
“Our first victory!” Isonde grinned. “I have to call Raorin.” And she was gone as quickly as she’d come.
Kayla stared at the vidscreen, feeling an unexpected surge of hope as the words Protectorate Council calls to abandon Wyrd Space scrolled across the bottom of the screen.
This could really work.
I might actually be able to go home.
She sank blindly onto the nearest sofa, the word “home” echoing in her mind, in her heart.
* * *
By the time evening rolled around and Kayla readied herself for the press conference with Parrel, she was wound tighter than a plasma coil.
She’d spoken with Ardin and Isonde about what they could do to get Malkor exonerated—the answer was a frustrating “nothing.”
She’d tried to see Malkor while he was in custody and had been denied access. The guards assured her that he was alive and well, and she’d told them where they could shove their assurances.
She’d tried to write notes on what she might say at the press conference. That ended in her flinging the datapad against the wall in frustration.
The only way to get what she wanted, what she needed, was to reveal the conspiracy within the IDC.
They should have done it a month ago.
Shit, Parrel should have done it way back when he first caught on to it, before any of this had happened.
The chronometer pinged a fifteen-minute warning before her intended departure time. She checked her appearance in the mirror one more time.
Sapphire-blue bodysuit that set off her hair, rich purple tunic over that, black boots and her kris and she was ready to go. She didn’t want to appear too “Wyrd,” but she didn’t want it forgotten, either. Her royal torque would have been a nice touch. The imperial bastards had probably looted that from her home.
The sun set as she and her guards exited the garage in an unmarked hover car. The usual protesters stood outside the palace gates, and new signs had been added claiming the Protectorate Council was in bed with the Wyrds, or some nonsense like that.
People and cars clogged the streets on the way to IDC headquarters. The traffic grew worse the closer they got, jammed for blocks and blocks.
“Probably all news crews,” one of her guards said. “An IDC announcement, coming so soon after the Protectorate Council’s announcement—has to be big business.”
And of course Parrel would have called as many people as possible to be there. Good. The more coverage for the fall of the IDC the better.
When they were two blocks away, Kayla noticed that people weren’t randomly milling in the streets and on the sidewalks, they were patrolling them. Cars were being stopped and IDC agents, all armed, were questioning the passengers.
Something’s not right. “Turn on the news,” she demanded, while their car stopped yet again in the endless traffic. Had something else happened in the last few hours? “Do you see Parrel anywhere?” The light quickly faded as the sun sank below the city skyline.
He wasn’t visible, if he was even there. She could make out the front steps of the IDC building from her spot in the back seat, and the view set off warning bells. Too many agents. Way too many for a press conference. Their heads turned this way and that, everyone scanning the crowd, the street, the cars.
“One hour ago,” the newsperson said, “IDC Senior Commander Jersain Vega made a startling announcement about a group of rogue agents operating from within the IDC with the help of the Wyrd Princess, Kayla Reinumon. Their leader, identified as Senior Agent Malkor Rua—”
“Get me out of here,” Kayla said. “Now. Right now.”
It was a trap. They knew she was coming.
She was the one the armed agents were scanning the area for. No one could snatch her from the palace, but here, in the open, she was vulnerable.
“Now!” she said, when the car didn’t move.
“I’m sorry, Princess, the traffic…”
Frutt.
They were still a good dozen cars away from where the agents were stopping people. If she got out now…
She popped open the hatch. “Don’t follow me or I’m dead,” she told the guards, and slid out of the car. She was way too conspicuous to blend into the crowd—royal guards at her side would make her doubly so. Any second now an agent would recognize her.
Only one option.
Kayla chose a side street at random and sprinted for it.
27
The breath sawed in and out of Kayla’s lungs as she sprinted down another unknown street. Shouts had erupted behind her when she’d dashed from the car, but the gathered agents hadn’t been prepared to chase her on foot and she’d distanced herself from the scene rapidly.
That advantage wouldn’t last long, however. Once they mobilized a coordinated search she was done for. She didn’t know the city, she was too conspicuous by half, and combined air and ground searches would locate her shortly. At least the descending night would cover her somewhat.
Gaining distance had been her first priority, and now that transitioned into a need to blend in. Where could she hide?
Her race had taken her through the classier district and into a more downscale section, thronged with a gaggle of people weaving in and out of an enormous number of stores. Street vendors and food markets kept company with massive storefronts and the occasional restaurant. Lights danced around the roofs of the stalls and carts and poured into the street from gigantic display windows. Kayla ducked into a narrow, dark alley between two soaring buildings.
She wiped the sweat from her forehead and struggled to catch her breath. The market district might be the best place to blend in—too bad she wasn’t far enough away from IDC headquarters for comfort. She needed more distance, which would require a cab ride, and enough of a disguise that the driver didn’t make her.
The tunic was the first to
go. Kayla undid the zipup and peeled the garment off. The blue of her bodysuit was too bright for her liking, but it would have to do for now. If she kept to the shadows of the street it wouldn’t stand out too much. If they released a description of her later as last seen wearing blue and purple, she could foil that somewhat.
Next she stripped off the leg harnesses strapping her kris to her thighs and tossed them farther down the alley. It killed her to leave those behind. Nothing screamed “hey, look at me!” quite so much as wearing daggers in the middle of a shopping center, though, so out they went.
Precious seconds ticked by, each bringing her closer to capture. She wrapped her long blue hair into a bun, grabbed her sheathed kris in one hand and calmly stepped out into the flow of people when a gap appeared. Some shot odd looks her way—probably because she’d come out of an alleyway—but she garnered no more notice than that as she headed deeper into the market.
As the hum of voices and confusion of scents enveloped her, Kayla found herself thankful for her five years spent on Altair Tri’s slum side. With the ease of long practice, she filched a black over-the-shoulder bag made of woven ciacha from a store teeming with teenagers. It fit her kris perfectly and kept them out of sight.
Once those were secure she snagged an off-white headwrap that had fallen from the display tree on a corner vendor’s shop. It covered her hair without drawing too much attention, even if it was a touch dirty from lying on the ground. All the while she kept moving, moving. Struggling not to hurry when everything in her blood screamed to run.
The urge to push people out of the way and bolt for the other end of the shopping center was too strong to resist, though, and she found herself cutting in front of people and darting faster and faster through the crowd. Ideally she’d get a new outfit, but that would take planning to steal, and the few credits in her pocket wouldn’t buy her anything at these prices.
Time to get out of here.
Where to go?
She needed a place to hide for the night. She left the shopping center behind and entered into a large plaza, too exposed for safety. Still, it had the one thing she needed most at this point: transportation. A kiosk stood nearby with a map of the city, and as her eyes searched the layout of the districts, she knew exactly where she could go.