“However will you do that?” he demanded. “Sirra Bruche left long ago, Oanni. Everyone knows that. What, are you planning to track her down on Zenith or Terra or Frigeta or whatever planet she went back to?”
“No,” Oanni said simply. “Did you know her real name is not Sirra?” he said conversationally.
Erron frowned in confusion. “No, but that is a bit irrelevant is it not?”
Oanni merely smiled wickedly.
“Well,” Erron thought for a moment, “my father never referred to her by name. The other servants called her Dia but I’m sure that wasn’t her real name.”
“It is Andrea actually. Or Andie, as she preferred. We learned that long ago from the smugglers who originally sold her to us.”
Erron waited patiently for Oanni to explain the point of all this.
“What if she left and then came back to Corizen?” Oanni asked.
“You mean she is here? Using her real name?”
“Suppose our murdering, truant Citizen remarried while she was off-planet and then returned as the wife of the Union ambassador.”
“Andrea Morten,” Erron gasped.
It was easy after that.
♦
Oanni spent the night at one of the local inns and met Erron after breakfast in the town square. They walked briskly away from town on one of the less-used roads to the mines while they discussed Oanni’s plan.
“You’ll need people here in Jezne that can vouch for your identity. A few who are willing to tell the Armada that they have known you all your life,” Oanni detailed. “It’s best if we limit it as much as possible. Certainly they’ll come and interview people here in the village, so nothing you tell them should conflict with what people know of you here.”
Erron nodded, deep in thought. After a moment he spoke. “I think it can be managed. I am just not sure I think it is worth it to go through all of this trouble. In all honesty, I am not so much interested in revenge that I am willing to kill the wife of the Ambassador on Armada protected soil.”
Oanni appraised Erron shrewdly. He was not quite as much a Kruunde as Oanni had thought. “No stomach for blood, Master Erron?”
“I am not interested in spending the rest of my days in prison, Oanni.”
“Fine. If you can just manage to get the woman out of the Complex I will take care of the rest. When Dia is dead, the Brotherhood will pay you one million joyas as agreed.”
“I want half of that up front in an account here in Urok.”
“Agreed,” Oanni consented. He didn’t care. It was the Brotherhood’s money.
“One thing though. I am sure that the Brotherhood has more than enough of their own resources to do this assassination without paying me to do it. Why recruit me?”
Oanni considered this for a moment. It was a fair question.
“I was the one who chose you, Master Erron. I believe you have the best chance of actually getting hired inside the International Complex. Yet I agree with you. The Brotherhood who can penetrate the Bastalt should surely be able to get at someone in the Complex. I will tell what I think, though you must never mention it to any living soul.”
Erron waited expectantly.
“The Oman did not know until I told him that Sirra Bruche and Andrea Morten were the same person. Here is the key: they have never successfully infiltrated the Complex. But I think that the Oman wants Sirra Bruche dead so badly he is willing to let me do it my way. It is even worth a million joyas to him.”
“So why not pay one of his own followers? Why pay me?”
“I am not sure if the Oman is a prophet like they say, Master Erron, but I have never listened to anyone speak like him.” Oanni stopped for a moment, searching for the words to describe the spellbinding pull of the Oman. Erron patiently waited for him to continue.
“I cannot describe it but it was powerful. He truly believes he speaks for Veshti I am sure, and he believes Veshti has commanded that Sirra Bruche be killed. He says that I am the tool Veshti will use.”
“You believe that? I was not aware you were a mystic, Oanni,” commented Erron skeptically.
“No, it is what the Oman believes that matters. He believes I am the one chosen by Veshti to kill Sirra Bruche. So he will let me do things the way I wish. Don’t worry, Master Erron. I am your steward and I will take care of your future.”
They continued to walk and plan for an hour more before returning to the town. Satisfied that all was in motion, Oanni left Jezne Rocktown and traveled back to Roma. It will not be long now, he told himself in satisfaction. Not long before I finally have my revenge.
3. Lunch with Jerrapo
Andie carefully swathed her scarf around her face and pulled her hooded cloak tight before she reached the security gate at the far end of the Complex. She really wasn’t too worried about her safety. In fact, the blood was racing through her veins now in pure excitement. She had always had a liking for a bit of risk. It was one of the main reasons she had become a pilot all those years ago. She had lost a lot of it—as a mother, she supposed it was only natural that she should want to play it safe more—but the adrenaline addicted part of her wasn’t dead yet. She felt alive in a way that she hadn’t felt in years.
For a moment she felt a twinge of guilt at sneaking off the Complex without planning to let Casey know. She had never kept secrets from her husband before. However, sometimes she just needed to get away, and it had been eight long months since she had stepped out of the Complex. Eight months since they had learned about the now notorious Red List. These last eight months had been filled with increasing violence and almost daily there were reports of bombings or fires or people who fled Roma in fear. Casey would be furious if he knew but her itch to leave had become unbearable. So she had made a date for lunch with her friend Jerrapo in a busy café in a nice middle class neighborhood on the other side of the city. It was exactly the kind of place the Brotherhood never bothered. She was going to be fine.
Even still, she shivered slightly as she pressed her thumb to the scanner and left the Complex.
She hired a local transport taxi to take her to the café, and the trip was uneventful. Gazing out the window she noticed how in most areas of the city, people seemed to be going about their normal business. Everyone seemed to be in a hurry but that was pretty normal on such a cold winter’s day. Only occasionally did she see a boarded up storefront or blackened ruins of a transport or house, sites of the Brotherhood’s recent destruction.
The small cafe was bustling and nearly full when Andie arrived. A server showed her to the small square table in the corner where Jerrapo already waited. Andie sat down and ordered a lemon ice. Then she turned to find Jerrapo staring at her intensely.
“Let’s speak in your language today,” she said abruptly in Union Basic.
“Why?” asked an astonished Andie. “Normally you like to pretend you don’t know a word of Basic.”
“True. However, I have decided that I need the practice and few people in this cafe probably speak it.”
“Meaning?”
“I don’t want anyone getting the wrong idea,” Jerrapo said cryptically. “Have you decided what to order?” she asked, changing the subject.
“A salad, of course.”
“Oh, you are always the adventurous one.”
They ordered their lunches and then chatted about inconsequential things for a few minutes while waiting for the food to arrive. They had been friends for nearly twenty years now, and other than Casey there was probably no one on Corizen that Andie knew better. They had met shortly after Andie had joined the Resistance, during her very first year on Corizen. Jerrapo had been one of the local leaders, a niece of the King who had thrown her lot in with the revolutionaries. After the Revolution, Jerrapo had reclaimed some of her family’s property and quietly settled down in a stylish townhouse in an upscale area of Roma, cont
ent to leave politics behind her. The two women had stayed close to each other through the years, but it had been awhile since they had met together. Jerrapo had spent most of the last year away traveling.
While they caught up, Andie noticed that Jerrapo seemed unusually grave, but she waited until after the food arrived at the table before observing lightly to Jerrapo, “I think the last time I saw you so tense was when that one guy—you know, Liem something or other—proposed to you.”
Jerrapo flashed a dark look at Andie. “Please don’t mention that annoying individual, Andie.”
“Come on, Jerrapo, he was only annoying because he was persistent in wanting you for a wife.” Age had not diminished Jerrapo’s stately beauty in the slightest, and no doubt she still had plenty of unwanted suitors. Jerrapo only scowled, her dark brows drawn together ominously.
“So if no eager suitors are back on the scene, what possibly could account for your tension?”
“Don’t be so flippant,” Jerrapo countered flatly. Andie waited, but still Jerrapo didn’t explain. She just continued to gaze somberly at Andie.
“So, what’s the bad news?” Andie finally prompted, more subdued.
“Othar Eshude is back.”
Andie dropped her fork with a clatter.
“You’re not serious?” she said in shock. Years ago, Othar Eshude had sworn a blood feud against her first husband Laeren. Othar’s feud had eventually (though indirectly) led to Laeren’s death.
“I wish I were not. He is not back exactly. Rather I figured out where he has been all this time,” Jerrapo replied gloomily. Andie recovered from her shock quickly.
“We hadn’t heard anything about him for so long I was certain that he had died or ended up in a mental institution or something,” Andie replied, a bit carelessly. Jerrapo eyed her incredulously.
“You are taking this calmly,” she remarked, tapping her fingers on her drink.
“Oh, Jerrapo, I know the man’s a psychopath, but he has no idea that Laeren has any living relatives on Corizen. Otherwise, he would have come after us a long time ago.”
“That may be true, but do you really want a psychopath as Oman of the Brotherhood?”
Andie choked on her mouthful of Urokian salad.
“Oman of the Brotherhood?” she spluttered, bits of cabbage spraying the table. Jerrapo wiped off her arm, grimacing in disgust.
“Sorry,” Andie apologized and took a gulp of her water. Othar Eshude had been one of the early members of the Resistance movement against the king that Morek-Li Damato had formed. He had been a close associate of Laeren, but Laeren had been troubled by Eshude’s obvious drive for power. He had watched Eshude closely and discovered his strange habit of killing stray animals in rather gruesome ways. At Laeren’s request, Morek-Li had basically evicted Eshude from the Resistance. Fortunately, Eshude had known little of the inner workings of the organization. But in retaliation, Eshude had openly fought against the Resistance and had vowed revenge in the ghastly, formal way of the Denicorizen blood feud. Suddenly, she understood what had happened to the Brotherhood.
“So that’s why the terrorist attacks started,” she realized. “Eshude must be taking the organization in a whole new direction.”
Jerrapo inclined her head. “Former smugglers are now violent terrorists.” She lowered her voice. “I had not heard from my contact in the Brotherhood for over a year, but two days ago he contacted me and told me who the Oman was. The Roma police found his body only two hours later, Andie. They have become brutal.”
Andie listened with horror. A man with no conscience and a vindictive passion against everything the Resistance had achieved leading an organization like the Brotherhood. It was terrible; no wonder he wanted to kill Morek-Li.
Jerrapo seemed to be thinking along the same lines. “Now we know why Morek-Li is number one on the Red List even though he is not the current President.”
“Does the Red List often change?” Andie swallowed nervously. Maybe it was more dangerous than she thought. “I guess I’m really asking if names are often eliminated from the list,” she clarified, dreading the answer.
“Well, no one knows much for sure. The Brotherhood is a tricky organization to infiltrate. My only contact is dead now and I only had him because we had worked together for years, even before the Revolution.”
Andie absently stirred her lemon ice until it was no more than yellow liquid. “Casey is number ten on the List, at least the Armada’s Intelligence agents think so,” she remarked a bit fearfully. “Do you think maybe Eshude finally made the connection between us?”
Jerrapo shook her head. “No, I am sure it is just because your husband is the ambassador for the Great Evil Empire.” She smiled faintly. “To be honest, Andie, if Eshude knew about your family, Tiran’s name would be the one on the list, and yours as well. Not Casey. It is blood vengeance he swore against Laeren.”
“I’m not blood related to Laeren.”
“In the case of a traditional Denicorizen blood feud, the spouse of the original target is not only fair game, but a necessary death to satisfy the vow. Not to mention that you were part of the Resistance leadership. Oh, and there is that Kruunde Fortress incident. In fact, I think it likely that you would top the list over some of the political names.”
“Well,” sighed Andie, “at least the official story says that Sirra Bruche left Corizen for good after the Revolution. Tiran never leaves the International Complex, and we are safe enough while we are there.”
“What makes you so confident about the International Complex?” Jerrapo asked skeptically.
Andie hesitated. “Well, there are all the normal security precautions—weapons scans and retina checks to enter, the nuclear shielding, the constant security imaging. No transports allowed within the grounds.”
“That is quite impressive but it may not be enough. What if one of your professors or students is recruited into the Brotherhood?”
“It’s already happened,” Andie confirmed quietly. “We knew it right away.”
For the first time ever, Andie had succeeded in surprising Jerrapo speechless. Jerrapo simply sat stunned for several minutes. Andie started to eat her lunch again.
“You knew?” Jerrapo finally regained the power of speech. “Yet nothing has happened?”
“I can’t give you details, Jerrapo. Not even you. I don’t have many myself. Let’s just say that every true member of the Brotherhood has something the Armada calls ‘the mark,’ and they have learned to identify it.”
Jerrapo was struck by this and frowned in concentration. However, Andie’s thoughts were already off in another direction.
“How come Jaory never swore a blood feud against me, or Oanni even? It seems right in line with them. They were both bloodthirsty crazies who wanted revenge.”
Jerrapo shook her head and smiled a bit ruefully. “You have lived here so long and yet you still have so much to learn.” Jerrapo tore a piece off her black bread and spread some butter on it. “You can only swear a blood feud against someone in your own caste, Andie,” she explained patiently, though a bit condescendingly. “To choose someone above your caste would be presumptuous and ridiculous, rather like a four-year-old swearing to get back at his parents when they put him to bed. To swear a blood feud against a lower caste would be demeaning and equally absurd. A blood feud implies by nature that you consider the person to be your equal. Jaory would have no sooner sworn a blood feud against you than against one of his dogs.”
Andie felt mildly annoyed and insulted by this. “I wasn’t part of the Denicorizen caste system at all. So I was neither above nor below Jaory—wouldn’t that make me his equal?”
Jerrapo actually laughed out loud, and the couple at the nearby table turned their way for a minute. “Oh, my dear Andie,” she snorted, “have you forgotten that you were once Jaory’s slave? Even Oanni would have been higher caste
than you.”
“Well, thank goodness the caste system was abolished,” Andie sighed in relief. “Though by marrying Laeren I worked my way up to Gallant caste. I outranked Oanni then!” she said in mock seriousness. “He should never have dared to lay hands on me.”
“Whatever happened to Oanni anyway?” asked Jerrapo. “Did he die when the Armada attacked Kruunde Fortress?”
“No,” Andie said more soberly. She stared across the table without seeing as the memories rushed back. “No, he survived that. He was in the same lift as me. But he was tried by a revolutionary tribunal and given a life sentence. He’s probably still wasting away in some prison cell.” Andie shuddered. “Thank goodness I’ll never have to see him again.” She said no more but her thoughts stayed in the past. Oanni had haunted Andie’s nightmares for two decades now, ever since she had been first captured and sold as a slave to Jaory Kruunde. Laeren’s mother Randa had helped Andie escape, but Jaory and Oanni had hunted her for years. She shook the thoughts away. Jaory was long dead, and she had nothing to fear from Oanni anymore.
When they finished their lunches they decided to walk outside for a while. It was chilly but there was no wind. Both women simply pulled their cloaks tighter and walked quickly.
“All right, Andie, now tell me why you wanted to meet me for lunch on the other end of the city from the safest place in Roma,” Jerrapo began. “You said you would explain later.”
“I have been anxious to get out more. You know that.”
“Oh, I do. I know you well enough for that, but you have managed to curb that instinct more than once in the past when your survival demanded it. You have something to tell me that you did not want any Citizens to overhear, I assume. Your International Complex may be safe but nearly all of it is under surveillance.”
Andie laughed ruefully. “Who would have guessed that one day I would be wary of my own people?” She stopped. “Or of my own husband?” she continued bleakly.
“Is it something the Union is doing? Or the Armada?” Jerrapo observed.
“The Armada, probably on behalf of the Union. Or someone in that mess of the Interplanetary Security Council. I don’t really know.” The tears welled up in Andie’s eyes. She hastily brushed them away.
Corizen Rising Page 3
