by Rachel Ford
Life was indeed funny.
Chapter Nineteen
Grel was cleared for mild exercise by time Diven arrived. Nik had been so on edge, he was glad to be able to stand on his own two feet for the other man’s homecoming.
“He’s your brother, Nik,” he’d told her that morning when she’d been pacing their room. “It’s not like you’re meeting the Grand Leader.”
“I know. But it’s been thirty months since I’ve seen Diven.” She shook her head. “And we said some terrible things to each other.”
“Oh love. If your parents can let bygones be bygones, I’m sure he can.”
Still, he was glad to be able to meet Diven Aldir on his feet when he stepped out of the jet-black transport.
He was Nik’s younger brother, but he looked like he might have been her twin. Diven was the same height, his hair was the same chestnut brown, and his features might have been a mirror of hers. Except, he thought, for the eyes. There was a distance in his eyes that, despite the smile he forced onto his features, never really disappeared.
Still, he was civil – so civil, in fact, that Grel found himself surprised. Nik’s apprehension and Elsa’s warning had prepared him for a hostile reception. Even Luk had been on edge all morning. But Diven shook his hand with a cordial, uneffusive greeting. His welcome to Nik was awkward at first, but ended in a hug.
He was, Grel soon saw, very pleased with himself. He tended to be the focus of most of his conversation: his own ambitions, his accomplishments, his plans. Now and again, he’d remember his audience. But Diven Aldir was an accomplished businessman, taking the family’s financial empire into new territory, and he was the star of a production of his own making.
They spent most of lunch discussing his latest acquisition. Then, he turned to Nikia. “Maybe, once you’re up to speed of course, you’ll start sitting in on the board meetings, Nik,” he offered. “You did have some aptitude for it, I think. Before…well, back in the day.”
“I hope you will, Nik,” Luk put in. “You had a sense for it, as good a sense as any of us. You’ve got your mother’s brains.”
“We’ll see, der. Right now, my focus is on the baby.” She squeezed her husband’s arm. “And Grel, of course.”
“Of course, of course. We’ve got all the time in the world to figure it out.”
Part of Grel, he had to admit, didn’t care for this talk. He was grateful, it was true, to the Aldirs. He owed them much – probably, his very life. But the idea of Nik getting mixed up in their business, of becoming herself one of the City’s Grand Contributors, didn’t sit well with him.
He was still coming to terms with the realization that his dreams of reform would never be. He didn’t want to think of becoming a part of the problem, the rot that had corrupted the core of Tribari civilization.
But then, this was Nik after all. If anyone could be involved in the commerce of this damned, corrupt city and remained unsullied, uncorrupted, it would be her. Maybe it would be Nik Idan, and not Grel at all, in the end who effected some kind of change. With the money and influence of the Aldirs, who could say what she might be able to do?
Maybe change would have to start within the circles of the ruling elites, from the top down rather than the bottom up. He didn’t know.
The world had been moving too fast, too madly for him to know anything lately, it seemed. All he knew was that he trusted Nik, and that he would always trust her. The rest, he’d have to work out as time went on.
The evening ran long, and the Aldirs toasted the reunion of their family. Nik drank sparkling juice on account of the fetus, but champagne was brought out for the rest of the group. “To better days and many happy returns,” Luk said.
“Hear, hear.”
“I’ll drink to that.”
And they did, first one bottle and then another. By time they made their way through the third, Grel was feeling quite ridiculous. His head swam, and everything amused him. Nik had to help him back to their room and into bed. “I’ve married the most beautiful woman on Central, you know,” he told her, kissing her as she settled in beside him. “On any of the worlds.”
“You’re drunk, Grel,” she laughed.
“On love, perhaps.”
“No, it’s definitely champagne.”
“Perhaps,” he acknowledged. “Love too, though.” He went to sleep convinced that, of his entire ordeal, the acutest torture so far had been sharing a bed with Nik, his heart full of amorous intent, and his body too damaged to comply.
He woke early the next morning and found he couldn’t sleep. For a few minutes he lay in place, readjusting now and again as he struggled to get comfortable.
His movement woke Nik. “Love? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Can’t sleep, that’s all.”
She yawned, nestling in beside him. “It’s too early to get up.”
He smiled. “I know. Sleep now, love.” He resisted the urge to fidget, watching her slip back into slumber, watching the gentle rise and fall of her chest. Gods I love you, Nik.
Still, his ribs were starting to ache. He had to get out of bed. Quietly, carefully, he rose, tucking the blanket in around her as she stirred. He threw on a set of clothes and walked for the veranda. It was slow going. He was cleared to move, but he moved like an old man yet, taking one careful, stiff step after the other.
The veranda was one of his favorite spots in the Aldir mansion. He appreciated the grandeur of the gilded rooms, of course. But they made him uncomfortable, too. He had still not reconciled himself to the fact that these people he loved lived in such a symbol of decadence and extravagance – that he, for the time being anyway, lived here.
But on the veranda, all of that was behind him. He could stand and breathe the fresh air. He could look out on the sprawling grounds of the estate, its great, green park and winding lanes, its manufactured brook and quiet pond. He could feel the breeze and hear the chatter of birds and wild things.
And he could almost forget everything else and be at peace.
He was standing for a few minutes on that veranda, that sense of unthinking equanimity settled on his mind, when Diven’s voice reached his ears. “Grel.”
He turned, wincing as he moved a little too quickly. “Diven,” he said, “good morning.”
“I’m not disturbing you, I hope?”
“No, no. I couldn’t sleep, and didn’t want to wake Nik…so I came out here.”
He nodded. “Mother mentioned you liked to sit out here.”
“Yes,” he acknowledged. “I do.”
“I was going to take my morning turn,” Diven said. “I don’t suppose you’d want to walk with me?”
The invitation surprised Grel, but he nodded. “I’d be happy to. If you don’t mind that my step is slow yet.”
Diven smiled, gesturing toward one of the paths. “Not at all.” They walked for a minute in silence, and then the young man spoke again. “I understand you went through rather an ordeal.”
He laughed. “You could say that.” Then he shook his head. “Although I’m lucky. There are others still in jail.”
“It’s an unfortunate business.”
That seemed an understatement of epic proportions to Grel. Still, he nodded. “Yes.”
“Well, at least things worked out for you and Nik.”
They lapsed again into silence. “What about you?” Grel asked in a minute. “Do you have a wife?”
“Not I.” The young man shook his head. “I’ve no time for that kind of thing. Not yet. I don’t think a man ought to take a wife until he’s set up to provide her the kind of life he means to. And I’ve a long way to go yet before I’m ready for that.”
“Oh.” There seemed to be an edge of reproach in the words, but Diven’s expression hadn’t changed. I’m being paranoid.
“You must be excited, though, to be a father?”
“Excited?” He considered. “Yes. A little terrified too.”
Diven nodded. “It’s a tremendous respo
nsibility.”
“Yes, it is.”
They’d reached a bend in the path, and Diven took the rightward fork. Grel glanced around. He hadn’t been this far before. It was a pretty area, less tended than the rest so consequently with a wilder look to it.
“Well,” his companion was saying, “I’m sure you’ll do fine at it.”
“I hope so.”
“You know,” Diven told him, “when you and Nik married, no one thought it would last.”
“I know.”
“We all thought she’d – forgive me, but – get wise, realize she’d made a mistake, and move on.”
He felt his cheeks flush. “I know.”
“I was surprised when it lasted a twelve month.”
Grel frowned, wondering what had brought on such a bout of frankness. Perhaps Diven felt a clearing of the air was necessary. He, though, didn’t. He understood well enough what they’d thought. They’d expressed it clearly to Nik, if not to himself. He didn’t need to rehash it all. “Well, what’s done is done.”
“Yes.” He nodded thoughtfully. “I know, now that the baby’s on the way, der and mer are ready to surrender the point.”
“Surrender?” Grel’s frown deepened.
Diven ignored him. “But me?” He shook his head. “My sister’s a fool.” He turned a set of cold eyes on him. “But I won’t let her ruin our family with trash like you.”
Grel felt a rush of alarm at this sudden change in his brother-in-law. He started to back away, when a sound caught his ears. He turned, cringing at the pain in his ribs.
Four figures in dark, tactical armor seemed to have materialized from the growth around them. “What the hell is this, Diven?”
“What my father should have let happen the first time,” he said, and he smiled as he spoke. “Goodbye, Grel.”
Chapter Twenty
The men fell on Grel like a swarm of flesh-eaters descending on food dropped into a river. He cried out for help as his arms and legs were seized.
Diven, meanwhile, had turned back to the house.
“Help,” he called. “Someone. Luk! Nik!”
“Shut up,” one of the men said. “Come quietly.”
“Let him call,” another said. The voice sent a shiver up his spine. It was Protector Ridi. “I’ll be happy to arrest little miss Nikia too.”
Grel stopped struggling, and he stopped calling. He prayed that Nik hadn’t heard him after all.
“That’s better, terrorist,” Ridi grinned.
They hustled him, now, toward a rear gate. It was unlocked, and they passed through to the street beyond. A windowless shuttle waited.
Grel felt his heart sink as they threw him in the back. His knees impacted sharply with the metal, but he hardly noticed. He was a dead man. This was a one-way ride, and there’d be no coming back. He knew that.
So much for his plans with Nik, his thoughts of a new life; so much for seeing their baby born. Oh gods. This is the end.
The door slammed behind them, and he felt the shuttle lurch into motion. Grel pushed to his feet. “Well, terrorist,” Ridi said. He had pulled out a submission prod. “Time to finish what we started.”
One of the other officers moved forward, but Ridi held up a hand. “He’s mine.”
Someone sighed behind him. “Get on with it, then. He needs to be dead before we reach the station.”
Ridi grinned. “He will be. But not yet.” He pressed a button on the handle of the prod, and blue arcs of electricity surged around the tip. “Remember this?”
Grel gritted his teeth, and the protector laughed. He lunged of a sudden, the prod flying through the distance between them.
Ignoring the pain in his ribs, Grel leaped aside. Ridi laughed again, more excitedly this time, and darted for him again.
Once, twice, and thrice they repeated this. The protector was grinning ear to ear now. “There’s nowhere to run, terrorist. Not for you.” His eyes turned an amber, and he added, “And not for that wife of yours, either. I’ll be back for her. Sooner or later.”
Grel waited for the weapon to come toward him again, and this time he didn’t jump aside. He jumped toward the protector, ducking below the tip of the prod and seizing the handle. The agony was almost blinding, but he kept at it, wrenching the prod out of the other man’s hands. “I’m done running.”
He stabbed as if he was wielding a dagger for the other man’s face. He jabbed with every ounce of strength he possessed. Ridi backed up, but not fast enough. The tip of the prod struck right below his left eye and slid upward, hesitating for a fraction of a second as it reached the eyeball. Then, with a slick, wet sound, it continued on its way. Ridi screamed. Somewhere behind them, other protectors screamed too.
Grel kept pushing, until the prod was lodged deep in the other man’s eye socket. Then, he pressed the button on the handle. He heard the crackle of electricity. He saw the protector convulse. He smelled something terrible, like flesh burning.
Then he felt the blows, the surge of submission prods against his own back. He turned, stumbling toward his attackers. Someone had pulled out a pistol, and fired a stream of searing energy at his torso. He forced himself forward. They fired again.
He fell to the shuttle floor, blood streaming from the holes in his chest. He saw Protector Ridi, his body smoking as he stared unseeing up at the ceiling above them with a lifeless eye, a submission prod sticking out of the other socket.
He thought, You’re safe, my love.
And then, he convulsed once, twice; and died.
Chapter Twenty-One
Captain Elgin set his coffee aside and activated the comm panel. “Elgin here,” he said.
It was a priority call from Admiral Lenksha, and, as expected, the other man’s face appeared on his screen. “Captain, there’s been an update on the situation on the ground.”
“Oh?”
“One of the anarchist leaders died this morning in a scuffle with the police.”
Elgin tried to keep the frown off of his forehead. “I hadn’t heard anything about it, sir. This is on Central?”
“Yes. It hasn’t hit the news yet, but it will. And soon. I need you to go to active standby.”
Elgin swallowed. “Sir?”
“In case we need your men deployed over the City.” The admiral shook his head. “This Idan was something of a folk hero among these people. Damned terrorist, but very charismatic, very popular.”
“Unfortunate that he’s dead, then.” It seemed to his cynical ears a little too convenient that a known opposition leader had managed to get himself killed.
Lenksha didn’t seem to agree. “He murdered a protector, Captain. It’ll mean trouble in the short term, but he might have done us a favor in the long, picking a fight like that. At any rate, those are your orders.”
“Yessir.”
“Lenksha out.”
Elgin reached for his coffee mug absently, staring at the terminal. So it comes to this. Fighters in the sky over Central. He tried to remember the name Lenksha had mentioned. Edan? No. Idan.
He pulled up the databanks search function of his terminal and put in the name Idan. There were thousands of records, but one set stood out. It was flagged in yellow, with the keyword security risk.
Elgin opened the records, and the face of a young man, ten years perhaps his junior, appeared on his screen alongside a list of stats. He was married, no children, lived at an address in the poorer section of rented housing in the City.
He scrolled down. There were recent activity updates. The captain saw with a measure of surprise that the records on Idan were very thorough. He was – had been – under intense surveillance.
There was a file from this morning. It was marked suspect apprehension. The timestamp was from oh-seven-hundred hours. Elgin opened it.
A video appeared on screen. It was footage from an external, vehicular surveillance camera. This was, he realized, probably the camera on a protector shuttle, quite probably from the shuttle of the prote
ctors with whom Idan had fought this morning.
He saw a wall with a service gate. For a minute, all seemed still. If not for the seconds rolling away on the lower right-hand corner display, he might have thought he was looking at a still image. He pulled the play meter further along. The wall and gate remained. But now four armored protectors exited, pulling another figure with them.
As the fifth form got nearer the van, Elgin recognized him from the file. It was Idan. He saw something else, too. The young man’s eyes were wide with terror. He paused the video and studied the image. Idan had the look of a condemned prisoner, not a murderous revolutionary.
Still, his mind argued, he killed a protector. Whatever he looked like, he was a killer.
Elgin let the video play again. The anarchist was thrown into the back of the shuttle. The footage ended.
At the bottom of the file, there was a link that read, related files. He clicked it, and a list populated with hundreds of videos. The link that read suspect transport, dated this morning at oh-seven-eighteen, drew his attention. But unlike the video he’d already watched, it was gray and unresponsive when he tried to click it. When he hovered his pointer over the link, a tooltip popped up, alerting him, “File unavailable.”
Elgin frowned again. There were cameras in the interior of protector shuttles, just as there were in the military birds. Whatever had happened that morning had been captured. So why can’t I get my hands on it?
He returned to the files on Idan. There were dozens from the past week and a half. He scrolled through an arrest record, noting the subscript.
“Suspect refused to cooperate, resisted all attempts at persuasion until he was subdued. Extremely agitated, hostile behavior.” It was signed by a Protector Ridi.
There was a medical record, too. This surprised the military man a little more than the rest. It meant Idan had been monitored so closely that whoever was pulling these records had gotten clearance to tap into Central’s medical databanks. That was unusual. He must have been a hell of a threat.
