Corizen Rising

by Heidi J. Leavitt

  “Why?” asked Kendra curiously.

  “It’s a long story. I’ll tell you some other time,” Casey evaded.

  Soon a nurse had arrived and he conducted Casey to the intensive care unit where Andie lay in a medical capsule. She was chalk white and her whole torso was wrapped in bandages. Her hair lay damp and lank on her forehead, and he wished he could smooth it away from her face. That stark blonde hair, so different from her natural chestnut color. That was one good thing about all of this coming out. She could quit dyeing her hair. He had loved her natural color. Grimly he laughed at himself. His wife had been nearly killed, and he was looking for the bright side in her hair color going back to normal.

  Casey studied her face for a moment. Her eyes were closed, and she was so still it seemed she wasn’t breathing at all. Only from the chirping of her capsule could he tell that her heart was indeed still beating. He pressed a hand to the protective shell, as if somehow he could reach her through the transparent barrier.

  “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to protect you, Andie,” he whispered. “But I am here now, and I will do all in my power to make sure you’re safe.”

  Casey spent the next two hours waking several important people in the International Complex and arranging matters according to his plan. Finally, at seven in the morning, he stood discussing some final arrangements with Andie’s surgeon when his aide Steven arrived looking exhausted and a bit irritable. The surgeon excused himself and strode from the room.

  “Everything is ready to go as you asked, sir.” Casey thanked his aide and studied him for a moment. Steven had dark circles under his eyes and his shoulders sagged wearily. It had been a long night for all of them.

  “It will be over in another hour or so and you can head off to bed,” he told him gently. “Why hasn’t Tiran arrived yet?”

  “I don’t know. Just a moment and I’ll check with the guards.” Steven disappeared. Casey woke Kendra who had fallen asleep once again. “It’s nearly time to go, Kendra honey.” He watched Kendra rub her eyes blearily.

  Abruptly the door swung open, and Steven hurried back in.

  “Ambassador, your daughter is missing! The security at the International Complex can’t find her anywhere. I don’t know if the Palace Guard even took her home last night.”

  “Tiran?” Casey said, dumbfounded. “How can Tiran be missing at a time like this? Where would she possibly go?”

  10. Tiran Alone

  Tiran sat at the shuttleport café, sipping her lemon tea while she watched an old comedy routine on the monitor. It was very late—or early, depending on the point of view—probably getting near sunrise in this part of the world; fortunately the café stayed open all night for travelers. It was empty except for two old men sitting at the bar and laughing occasionally at the show. Markus had left her here while he had gone to try and find somewhere for them to stay.

  Last night was already a blur. After leaving the Palace Grounds, Markus had hailed a taxi that had taken them to his little flat outside of the campus. Inside he had a change of clothes for her. Tiran laughed when she saw the simple skirt and blouse he handed her.

  “You were certainly confident that I would come with you tonight,” she giggled.

  “Not confident—hopeful. I did hope with all my might that you would say yes, and I knew you would need something besides a ball gown if you came with me.”

  “But who are we going to find to marry us tonight?” Tiran asked doubtfully.

  “No one here in Roma. However, I thought we could take the late shuttle to Kruundin City. I have an old friend who will do the honors for us there.”

  “Okay,” Tiran had agreed. It would be so exciting to finally get to see Urok!

  She was surprised to find that Markus had little or no personal things in his house, but he explained that he had already sent most of his things to Urok by freight. His flat was furnished with basic, drab rental furniture though, which fortunately included a standard terminal. While Markus was in the bathroom she quickly logged on and sent a message to her parents to tell them what she had done. She didn’t think they would be very happy, but she didn’t want them to worry. She was sure Kendra would reassure them that Markus was not a serial killer or anything. Still, Tiran was glad she wasn’t going to be around when they read the message. No doubt the sparks would fly!

  The trip to the shuttleport had been uneventful, and they had been one of only a few on the last flight of the night. They had landed in Kruundin City just as the sun was peeping over the horizon. After leaving the shuttle they had chosen to eat breakfast in the café. Finally, Markus had decided it would be best if Tiran stayed in the café where it would be warm while he made some inquiries at the nearby lodging houses. “You will be able to rest some, my darling, while I arrange matters with my friend for our wedding. I should not be gone long. Give me an hour. You should be safe and comfortable here in the meantime.”

  So Tiran had waited, ordering cup after cup of tea. It had been nearly an hour and a half. She was truly hoping that Markus would come back soon. She had just begun to wonder if she should look around a bit when the morning news came on.

  The headline piece of news riveted her attention. She had missed the beginning when she suddenly realized that they were talking of the Inaugural Ball. A reporter was standing in front of the Royal Palace, the sun shining brightly on her face.

  “Last night’s Inaugural Ball to welcome President Gulann was abruptly disrupted by a shooting shortly before midnight. Despite the tight security, an assassin managed to sneak onto the Palace Grounds and attack Andrea Morten, wife of the Union Ambassador. The victim was rushed from the Palace to Roma Central Hospital last night, where she died after undergoing surgery for severe laser damage.”

  Tiran dropped her teacup, and it shattered on the floor. The other patrons turned in surprise but Tiran didn’t even notice.

  “This morning we can exclusively reveal from a confidential source that Madam Morten was also the mysterious Sirra Bruche, the idolized revolutionary hero. Bruche disappeared eleven years ago, shortly after the fall of Kruundin City. A year later she returned, this time as the wife of Ambassador Casey Morten. A representative from Ambassador Morten’s office refused to comment on these claims.”

  Tiran’s chest tightened, and she could barely breathe. The woman from behind the counter was cleaning up the broken teacup and asked Tiran if she was okay. Tiran heard her voice like it was coming from a distance and nodded her head slowly. It just can’t be real, she told herself bracingly. There is some mistake. I was there last night and nothing happened. But how did they find out that Mom is Sirra Bruche?

  “We have also learned that the Mortens’ daughter Tiran is now missing. She disappeared from the Inaugural Ball last night, and CPF investigators fear the worst. Although we cannot confirm it at this time, it is suspected that the Brotherhood is responsible for both the murder of Sirra Bruche and the disappearance of her daughter.”

  Tiran rose from the table in a panic. She had to find a terminal. She had to get in touch with her father right now. Oh, why had she ever left last night? Where was Markus?

  She did remember to take out a couple of coins to pay the lady at the café. Suddenly it occurred to her that she had no more than a couple of joyas in her small dress purse. She hoped Markus had something he could lend her. He would surely understand that she had to go home. Her dad would tell her everything was all right. Her mother would be at home, ready to ground her forever for running off last night, but Tiran could live with that. Everything would be okay.

  After an hour of wandering the shuttleport she still had no sign of Markus. Something must have happened to him; she couldn’t deny it any longer. In fear she took to the streets. She started walking up and down the streets near the port, looking every direction and straining her eyes for a glimpse of Markus. After awhile, the shock started to settle in, her pace
slowed and she sank onto a dirty box on a street corner. What was she going to do? Where was she going to go? How was she going to contact her father? The questions ran through her mind as she stared at the street unseeingly. Over it all, a pounding insistent voice was repeating, My mother can’t be dead. She just can’t.

  Tiran was still sitting there when the sun slipped below the tops of the buildings and cast the streets into shadow. Hardly any thoughts crossed her mind now and she was completely numb, unaware of the pedestrians that hurried past her without giving her a glance. When dusk finally settled in, a brisk wind started up that sliced through Tiran’s thin blouse. Half blind, she stumbled from her box with the vague idea that she had to find somewhere warmer, somewhere she could sleep. A block later she discovered an alley with a pile of fairly clean cardboard boxes. She straggled into the pile and collapsed from sheer exhaustion. The night was cold and windy, but Tiran never noticed. She lay unconscious of all around her for the next fourteen hours.

  What finally roused her was an insistent poke in her back. She groaned and rolled over.

  “Get up, I say! Get up and get out! This isn’t an inn, missy!” Tiran finally pulled herself into a sitting position, blinking against the bright sun streaming into her face.

  “Go on. I’ll call the constable!” the harsh voice demanded.

  She rubbed her bleary eyes and saw a stout woman in an apron brandishing a broom. Behind her stood an open door that seemed to lead into a shop of some kind. “Oh, madam, I’m sorry!” Tiran cried, getting to her feet. “But I’m stranded a long way from home, and I really need to get in contact with my father. Could you possibly . . .”

  “Get out of our alley! We don’t need gutter trash using it for a home,” the woman ordered, clearly not listening to Tiran at all.

  “But madam . . .” The woman jabbed at Tiran with her broom again, and Tiran backed away. So far she didn’t think much of Urok. She wished she had never left home. It seemed like she had suddenly been thrust into some kind of harsh alternate reality where the ground was constantly shifting under her feet. She couldn’t seem to get her bearings at all.

  The one idea she clung to was that she had to get home somehow. Her first idea was to return to the shuttleport. What if Markus had just been delayed and she had left too soon? He would have no idea by now where to look for her. It was the only thing she could think of. It wasn’t too difficult to trace her way back to the shuttleport, but once she arrived, the security refused to let her in. Like the storekeeper, they took her for a penniless street urchin and wouldn’t even listen to her story. For the first time she looked down at her clothes. They were spattered with mud and somehow she had managed to tear a slit in one arm of her blouse. She touched her tangled hair and realized how she must look to the guards. Her cheeks glowed crimson, and she retreated from the port chewing her bottom lip. There had to be someone who would believe her. They had reported her disappearance on the news and said the CPF was looking for her. Unfortunately there didn’t seem to be any CPF guys anywhere around Kruundin City.

  Loud grumbling from her stomach reminded her that she hadn’t eaten since her breakfast with Markus in the shuttleport at least a lifetime ago. That was when she realized she no longer had her purse. Either she had left it back in the boxes or someone had stolen it from her while she slept. For a moment the debate went back and forth. She wasn’t anxious to run into the shopkeeper again, but she needed that money. If there was even a chance it was there she had to look. So she retraced her steps, trying to find the alley she had slept in.

  In only fifteen minutes she was hopelessly lost. All the shops and corners looked the same, and she just couldn’t find anything that looked familiar at all. Granted, she hadn’t been paying much attention before, but it seemed like she was in a far shabbier part of town than she had spent the night in. She sank down on the steps in front of a boarded-up shop. Why couldn’t this all just be a dream? What was she doing here? She should be home, curled up on her bed, talking about her first ball with her cousin. This was wrong, all wrong. Her eyes filled with tears, and she valiantly tried to hold them back. But the thoughts of home, and Markus, her father and above all, her mother crowded her mind. Soon the tears were trickling down her cheeks.

  “There, there, dearie. What e’re it is, just go an’ haff a cry.”

  Tiran looked over in surprise to see a tiny old woman patting her shoulder. She was gaunt and hollow-eyed, with thin straggles of iron gray hair. Her ragged dress covered a pitifully bony frame.

  “Go ahead an’ tell Matti ‘bout it. It’ll make ya feel better, sure an’ it will.”

  Tiran just shook her head, but the first kind words from anyone all day seemed to break down the last of her self-control. Soon she was sobbing into her arms. The old lady continued to pat her shoulder.

  “I always knowed life can be hard, can’t it. But yer such a pretty young grill, ya shouldna haff such sorrah.” The old woman’s accent was so thick Tiran could barely understand her, but her tone of concern was comforting.

  Eventually the torrent of sobs seemed to ease, and Tiran looked around for something to wipe her face with. Unfortunately, she couldn’t find anything and had to settle for wiping her face and nose with her sleeve, making the state of her filthy clothes even worse.

  “I know what ya need, dearie. Ya need some hot soup in yer stummick. Don’ we all, though. Come wi’ me.” With that she stood and started to pull on Tiran’s arm. Tiran almost protested, but the thought of something to eat won out. She rose and let Matti take her arm.

  “Ya just trust ol’ Matti, dearie. I know just where t’go. Don’ worry ‘bout a thing.”

  The little old lady led Tiran through a bewildering maze of side streets and alleys. She was quickly lost, and soon she didn’t care. She just trudged alongside her guide, staring at the ground. Matti chattered to her, but Tiran was no longer listening. It felt like she was slowly detaching from the world. Nothing seemed to matter anymore; even the cramping hunger pains seemed to fade away.

  They stopped at a door on an alley that looked like it might be a warehouse of sorts. A line of people issued from the door, mostly ragged and dirty like Tiran and Matti. Matti waved and smiled at everyone, but Tiran simply gazed apathetically at the other people. Matti herded her into the line and then proceeded to move up and down the line, stopping to talk to almost everyone. The fog surrounding Tiran’s mind only seemed to thicken, and finally the woman behind her in line began to nudge her forward every time she needed to move up. When they finally reached the door, Tiran managed only one step into the building before she collapsed into a crumpled heap on the concrete floor.

  11. Embassy Explosion

  Outside the International Complex the streets were filled with hundreds of people who wanted to pay their respects to Sirra Bruche. Casey stood at the window of his office and watched the guards turn everyone away from the gate. The memorial service for Andie had finished an hour ago and people were still showing up at the Complex. He wasn’t surprised at the mass turnout for the memorial service. Since it was now public knowledge that Andie was really Sirra Bruche, people all over Roma had been sending messages of condolence, leaving flowers at the gate to the Complex, and trying to get in to see him. He felt a tiny twinge of guilt but quickly dismissed it. This was the only way he could guarantee his wife would be safe. He sighed inwardly. It had been the hardest thing he had ever done in his life. Only four days ago he had stood and watched as Andie’s medical capsule was loaded onto a ship bound for Zenith, accompanied only by Kendra. The pilot was an old friend of Andie’s, Kelly Cordova, who Casey knew could be trusted. Outside of Admiral Hernandez, Doctor Murille, and Steven, no one else on Corizen knew that Andie was still alive.

  Casey had contacted Andie’s father on Zenith and let him know what was happening. Admiral Donnell was retired now, but he still had his own circle of influence and he had sprung into action, preparing ever
ything for Andie’s arrival. He had assured Casey that she would have the best medical care the minute they landed on Zenith.

  Rubbing his temples he sat down at his desk. He felt torn in two. He needed to be with Andie, but he had to find Tiran. Tiran had been missing for six days now. A lot could have happened in six days. He was terrified that time was running out.

  A knock at the door announced the arrival of his aide Steven. Pulling on his gloves and some dark glasses he opened the door.

  “Your escort is here, Ambassador,” Steven notified him. He nodded once and followed Steven out of the office. His escort was a trio of Armada soldiers assigned to accompany him even in the International Complex after the Palace security had been breached. They accompanied Steven, Casey, and Casey’s personal secretary, Martin, out of the Union embassy offices where they were joined by a larger group of bodyguards who were responsible for clearing a path through the throng that choked the sidewalk in front of the embassy.

  A handful of reporters were standing in the group of mourners outside and they shouted questions at Casey. “Ambassador Morten, did you know that your wife was Sirra Bruche?”

  “How will this affect your relationship with the people of Corizen?”

  “Has the assassin who killed your wife been identified yet?”

  He ignored all the questions and followed his escort to the small electric cart on the sidewalk. He sat heavily on the bench seat, followed by Steven and Martin. His escort trio sat in front and they drove over to the small conference center used primarily for small receptions or occasional meetings by Citizen businesspeople. Once in the conference center Steven and Martin entered the main lift with Casey while the guards stayed at the top.

  They descended a few stories below ground and exited the lift into the conference room that Union dignitaries had dubbed “The Hole.” It was a relatively safe place to hold meetings that weren’t “official” or didn’t need to be held in the embassy. Casey had been using the room for the last few days as his command center in the search for Tiran. A large oval table stood in the middle of the room, surrounded by fifteen chairs. Two people already sat in the chairs at the end of the table, conferring quietly with several maps on the table in front of them. They both looked up as Casey, Steven, and Martin entered the room.