Yes. It’s as good a way as any.
They reached the intersection with the first Civil Strip street.
Kendra dropped Bren’s arm and swept her hand out with a flourish. “Well, here it is. The Civil Strip, the architectural wonder of Roma! To your left you can see the amazingly creative vision of a master architect who wanted to leave the dramatic stamp of Citizen efficiency on the International Complex. To the right you can see the Ambassador House, yet another copy of the architect’s vision, only with a much better view of the complex grounds below it.”
Bren snorted.
“What? It’s totally worth a near-sprint on a chilly day just to admire the view. My mother, an acclaimed architect herself, would no doubt agree. It would inspire a new trend in forward-thinking architects everywhere,” she said with a straight face.
Bren’s grim expression finally cracked and he smiled, though his grin looked particularly ghastly with the black eye and the gash.
“Your mother needs to visit Krati for inspiration. We take creativity to new heights, seeing as how most people’s houses are made out of old asteroid driller panels, and we consider paint an unnecessary waste.”
Kendra giggled. “The new look—genuine oxidized!”
Bren just shook his head.
Enough flirting! Dina reprimanded impatiently. I want to know why he dragged us all the way out here. And why he looks like he tried to wrestle a bear. That’s what he was going to tell us about, or did you forget?
I’m not flirting! Kendra said indignantly. I’m just trying to cheer him up!
Just ask him, Kendra.
“So what happened last night, Bren?” Kendra hoped the change in subject wasn’t too abrupt. Bren’s smile immediately faded. He looked around again, though there was nobody in sight. It was the middle of the day, and not even an aide was hurrying from his house to the embassy.
“First, let me give you this back. I didn’t get as many different locations as you hoped,” he apologized as he withdrew Kip’s scanner from his hip belt pouch. “Only two. But I did get them.” Kendra tried to stifle any disappointment. Only two chances to hopefully find any trace of Dina’s twinspark.
Well, we knew the odds were not in our favor, Dina said gloomily.
“So only two bars . . . that’s unusual for Mikal. Did he get tired early?” Kendra asked lightly.
“We never went to a bar at all. Turns out he had a very different destination in mind last night. If I’d known . . . well, perhaps it’s better that I went so I could see firsthand what’s going on.”
“You’re being very mysterious,” Kendra observed. Dina was about to howl in frustration. Just tell us what happened to you!
“Yeah, so was Mikal last night. He wouldn’t tell me where we were going, and he insisted I wear one of those huge, lined Denicorizen cloaks and a pair of gloves. Then we met up with Reyon and Pitte—you know who they are?”
Kendra frowned, trying to match the names to memories. “Brothers, right? In their third term? Locals who live off campus.”
“That’s them. Anyway, we met them in this dark alley not far from downtown Roma. It didn’t take us very long to get there by hired transport. Then we went to this musty, decrepit warehouse where a steady trickle of people were making their way in from the shadows. I couldn’t see anyone very well, which is why I didn’t stand out either. In my cloak I probably looked like a local too, which was what Mikal intended.” He paused for a moment to draw a deep breath.
“Inside the warehouse we joined a large group of people. Almost all of them were men, and though it was still dim, pretty much everyone looked Denicorizen to me. At this point I started to get worried. It’s one thing to go out and try to keep Mikal out of trouble in the bars. It’s another thing to join a crowd of restless locals when there’s a terrorist group at large in the city. I was afraid I was going to get arrested and chucked into a Denicorizen prison to rot.”
Would they do that? asked Dina. Isn’t Bren the son of an important politician? Wouldn’t that protect him?
Not if they thought he was involved with the Brotherhood, Kendra disagreed.
“Eventually some man stood on a stand made out of boxes or crates or something and started a speech. I won’t repeat any of it, but it was inflammatory and hateful—about the Revolution, toward the government, and especially toward Citizens. He kept making the argument that the Union is planning to take over the planet, steal all the resources, and enslave all Denicorizens.”
Kendra shivered. Of course none of that was true. Why would the Union want Denicorizen slaves? What would they want with Corizen at all?
“He whipped the crowd up into a frenzy. They were shouting and stamping their feet and applauding, and toward the end, I realized that if anyone figured out I was a Citizen, they might well tear me into pieces.”
Kendra put a hand to her mouth. “Is that how . . . ?” She gestured wordlessly at his face.
Bren shook his head. “No, luckily. It would be a lot worse if they had.”
He started to walk again, turning in the direction of the Ambassador House, and Kendra latched on to his arm to keep him at her pace. “Anyway, Mikal seemed fascinated by what he was hearing—he wasn’t shouting agreement with everyone, but it was like he was unable to peel his eyes away from the man in front. I decided that it was time to head home on my own. It took some work to squeeze my way out of the crowd, but we weren’t too far from the back, so I made it without anyone paying attention to me. Once I was in the alley I couldn’t help it. I started to run away, and well, it was dark, and you know I’m not the most coordinated person ever . . .” He trailed off with a sheepish grin.
“You tripped and managed to give yourself a black eye?” Kendra said incredulously. “You know that’s like the oldest, most pathetic excuse ever?”
“Well, I tripped and cut my cheek on some junk sticking out along the alley way. I got the black eye from the homeless guy I landed on,” he added, his eyes on the ground. “Apparently the junk was his makeshift shelter.”
Kendra tried to choke back a laugh and failed. Only Bren would manage to get hurt in the clumsiest way possible.
“The poor guy!” she said when she could talk again. “Did you help him rebuild his house?”
“Are you kidding? We were right outside a warehouse full of raving lunatics crying, ‘Death to Citizens!’”
“Coward,” she said playfully. “It was the least you could do after wrecking it.”
“Right. In between dodging his swings. You call it being a coward, but I call it being practical.”
Kendra laughed again.
“I came right home after that. So the only readings I got for you were outside the complex when we were waiting for the transport and later when we were waiting outside the warehouse. I guess you can figure out if your quarky energy is making the locals go crazy. It sure seemed like it to me.”
I wonder . . . Dina mused.
What? You really think the two could be connected? What could Ulyssa have to do with any of this?
Nothing. I hope, Dina said fervently.
6. Fingers of the Brotherhood
Kendra didn’t get a chance to review the readings that Bren brought her that night. Her Uncle Casey was entertaining, and several of the Denicorizen congress representatives had been over for a “casual family dinner.” It hadn’t been casual on the family end, that was for sure. Aunt Andie’s cooking skills were better than her mother’s, but that wasn’t saying much, and she was such a wreck about it that one of her Denicorizen friends sent a cook to help out. It took two hours of Aunt Andie, Tiran, and Kendra all working frantically under the direction of the tyrannical cook to prepare the dinner. The Mortens employed a housekeeper who came in once a week, and she came in and did a whirlwind deep clean of the entire house. Uncle Casey rushed in from the embassy a mere fifteen minutes before the
congress reps were due to arrive, having no time to do anything but rapidly change from his formal embassy suit into something casual. Kendra and Tiran giggled to each other when he came down—Aunt Andie had chosen his “casual outfit” with her own subtle revenge in mind for this evening. Instead of the faded jeans and stretchy shirt her uncle favored while at home, he was stuck in a multicolored wool vest and stiff brocade pants.
“What in the name of the blue planet is this?” he asked Aunt Andie accusingly.
She smiled mischievously. “Denicorizens are more formal, you know. That ratty stuff you normally wear isn’t good enough for a casual dinner party.”
“I have never seen a single Denicorizen wear anything this hideous,” he protested.
“Then you need to spend more time in Kruundin City,” she offered. “Besides, if I have to wear this,” she gestured downward at her long, pleated skirt made out of fuchsia brocade, “and cook a five-course ‘family dinner,’ you are not getting off easy. At least I didn’t make you wear the bow tie.”
He blanched. “There’s a bow tie?”
“Yep. They’ll cut you some slack, though, seeing as how you’re an uncouth Citizen,” she said sweetly.
Her uncle glared for a moment, and then strode to her aunt and kissed her quite thoroughly. Beside her, Tiran mimed gagging motions.
“You’re impossible,” Uncle Casey said, when they broke apart.
“I know. That’s why you married me,” Aunt Andie retorted with a smirk.
The dinner seemed to go smoothly enough. There were three reps and their spouses filling the table in the Mortens’ small dining room. Kendra understood little of the conversation; it was all in Denicorizen. At one point Tiran leaned over and whispered, “You’re not missing out on anything. They’re talking about whether raising sheep on Chiapa would be successful or not. I’m about to doze off and fall face forward into my soup.”
“I might beat you to that,” Kendra muttered back. But in the end, Kendra probably had a better time of it than Tiran. She spent most of the evening gossiping with Dina about the visitors, relishing the amazing result of all their hard work (when was the last time she had eaten until she felt stuffed?), and enjoying Dina’s overwhelming excitement over each new course they tried. Kendra especially enjoyed the chocolate torte at the end, though that may partially have been because of her own pride in successfully putting all the layers together.
Late that night, after all the visitors had gone home, Kendra and Tiran curled up on the sofa, comparing blisters and minor burns on their fingers and trading stories about which rep had terrible table manners while Aunt Andie and Uncle Casey washed the dishes together. Kendra glanced over at them; they were already back in their normal clothes, her uncle’s plain shirt damp where her aunt had playfully flicked water at him. She sighed happily; for the first time she felt perfectly content to be living on Corizen.
Of course, it couldn’t last. The Brotherhood saw to that.
♦
Pretty much every student at the International University would later remember where they were when they heard the news. Kendra was in between her morning Denicorizen class and her afternoon seminar, eating a lunch in the campus cafeteria with Bren. The cafeteria had a bank of terminals that were kept on the more popular entertainment feeds, though lately at least one was on a current political affairs feed at all times.
At first she didn’t know anything was wrong. She had a major exam in Denicorizen the next day, and she wasn’t prepared at all. She was reviewing lists of verb conjugations from a book on the table while forking some kind of mystery casserole into her mouth. Dina was enjoying it, and Kendra needed the energy, so she kept as distracted as possible so the spongy texture didn’t make her gag. She was focusing so hard on the verbs in order to block out the taste of the food that at first she didn’t even notice Bren stand up.
Kendra! Dina hissed.
Hmmm?
Look! What’s going on?
Kendra put down her fork and looked up, realizing that Bren had left the table and joined a crowd of students standing below the terminal showing the politics feed. They were showing live video from the smoking ruins of something on a road. Possibly a transport?
Another terrorist attack? Kendra wondered nervously. Bombs in transports weren’t unheard of. It was one of the reasons she was profoundly grateful the International Complex didn’t allow any transports inside the shield at all. She got up and walked over next to Bren, where she could hear the commentator better. The entire cafeteria was dead silent.
“Again, it has been confirmed that Morek-Li Damato was inside the transport, along with his two personal bodyguards and a driver. All four were killed in the explosion.” Kendra gasped, and she wasn’t the only one. One of the local girls beside her began to cry. “The CPF refused to discuss potential suspects in the bombing, but immediately after the bombing happened, a feed from a man claiming to be the Oman of the Brotherhood took credit for the assassination.”
Didn’t your aunt say something about Damato being the one person the Brotherhood would kill if they could?
Yeah. She also said he had the best security on the planet, at least as good as the International Complex, Kendra said soberly. When my parents hear about this, they are going to flip out.
Your parents are going to want you on the next ship back to Zenith, Dina agreed.
They stood watching the feed replay the same footage and interviews with the same people for at least another half hour before Kendra wondered if Tiran had heard the news. Her tutoring sessions were in the morning (there was no second school on Corizen—you either attended a private academy to prepare for university entrance or studied under a private tutor), and then usually spent her winter afternoons in the library. Even if she happened to be at home, Tiran would never put on a news feed. She avoided politics as if it were a disease. Probably had no desire to end up like her father. Either way, it was unlikely she knew.
Nobody seemed inclined to go to their afternoon seminars, though the Citizens were already losing interest in watching the same vid footage over and over. Not surprising, in Kendra’s opinion.
None of us have that kind of connection to Damato, Kendra observed, watching one of the local students put her head down on her arms at a table. Her shoulders shook with her sobs.
Don’t you have a leader back on Zenith whose loss would affect you that way? Dina asked. Kendra thought seriously about it.
No, not really. I generally know who the regional governors are, but not one made any kind of impression on me. If my grandfather died I would be devastated, and there probably would be others in the Armada who shared that grief, but not like this. Two of the local boys were staring at the screen in shock, both faces twin expressions of misery.
The isithunzi were nearly torn apart with grief by the loss of our leader when I was very young, Dina said woodenly. A whole society in mourning is a grave thing. It led to very serious decisions made hastily, and a lot of division and turmoil.
Kendra was about to ask who the leader was and how they lost him when Bren put his hand on her arm, distracting her.
“I need to go find Mikal,” he said in a low voice. “Since that rally or whatever it was, he’s been making some out-of-character comments about the Revolution. I just want to make sure he’s not doing something stupid.”
“Ohhh-kay,” Kendra said slowly, drawing the word out. Was Bren suggesting that Mikal could be inspired by Damato’s assassination to attempt one on his own? Or did he just mean that Mikal was likely to loudly applaud the death of Damato and get himself in trouble?
“Meet you at the library tonight?”
Kendra nodded and then watched Bren’s back as he strode off. He was so distracted he knocked into every table he passed on the way out and didn’t even stop to apologize to the students whose plates clattered or drinks slopped over the rim of their glas
ses. The clumsiness was normal; the lack of profuse apology was not. Maybe things were worse than she thought.
I doubt anyone is going to attend their seminars this afternoon, Dina remarked.
Let’s go find Tiran, Kendra decided. Someone should tell her the news.
♦
Tiran wasn’t in any of her normal haunts at the library. Kendra checked every reading nook twice and then approached the day librarian at the desk. She smiled at him, and he fumbled the books he held in his hands.
“Can I help you, Miss Forrest?” he asked politely.
“Have you seen Tiran Morten today, Jon?” She hoped so. Without flipcoms, hunting Tiran down would be a pain. The Ambassador House was the opposite direction of the amusement center and the biodiversity park, the only other two places it was likely Tiran would be.
“I did, um, earlier. Miss Morten was here for a few minutes, but then she left. She said the day was too nice to spend inside the library.” His cheeks darkened, making his blue-tinted skin look purple. Was he blushing?
“Thanks. I’ll go look for her outside.” She gave him a parting smile, and he grinned back at her widely.
Another conquest, Dina observed as Kendra made her way back out the library doors.
But he’s at least ten years older than me, Kendra protested. I’m just being friendly, and he’s just doing his job.
Doesn’t matter. Haven’t you noticed the way men have been looking at you since you turned about fifteen? Either they stare at you like lovesick puppies, or they stare at you like a predator about to pounce. It’s just like your mother, all over again. Only now I understand it better, she added, almost as an afterthought. It makes more sense why your grandfather got so gruff with all the dates she brought home.
Bren doesn’t stare at me like that. Hugo doesn’t either, Kendra disagreed.
You’re right. Bren gets nervous and clumsy sometimes, but that just seems to be normal for him. Hugo—something is wrong with that boy. There is something missing in his eyes altogether.
The Search for Ulyssa Page 8