Corizen Rising

by Heidi J. Leavitt

  ♦

  As he walked off the ship he was greeted in person by Admiral Hernandez.

  “Hell, Ambassador, what timing you have! Where were you five months ago to help us stop this utter debacle?” he exclaimed angrily.

  “It’s nice to see you again, too, Admiral,” commented Casey wryly.

  “What is wrong with those stupid politicians anyway? They station me out here, order me to help keep the peace on Corizen and then let some psycho terrorists chase us out? Then after we have been ordered to leave everything to fall apart, only then they send the diplomat back to smooth things over?” He swore bitterly. “Do you have any idea what is happening out there?”

  “Well, I was briefed some on my trip here, but I imagine that the violence has gotten pretty bad,” Casey surmised somberly.

  “The mayor of Roma was assassinated today. There are gunfights going on in the streets as we speak between terrorists and the CPF. And I can’t do a single thing to help. I have to keep proceeding with the relocation of our base here.” Casey listened in horror, the color draining from his face. It was even worse than he thought.

  “That damn Oman is a demon straight from the dark side of the moon,” the Admiral muttered. “But look on the bright side, Morten. Today you get to meet with President Gulann and explain to him how the hell our weapons ended up in the hands of the Brotherhood. I don’t suppose you happened to solve that little mystery while you were off schmoozing with the Security` Council.”

  Casey finally flared. “You forced me onto that ship six months ago, Admiral. Don’t take this out on me! You know I would have stayed and tried to work things out.”

  “I don’t know what you could have possibly done,” the Admiral grudgingly admitted. “That Coraelle woman appeared out of nowhere, some former revolutionary hero who proceeds to tell the Corizen Congress exactly what we didn’t want them to hear. It was my worst nightmare.”

  “I don’t know who leaked that to Jerrapo, but if I had known about it I might have been able to persuade her to keep quiet.”

  “You know her?” The Admiral’s nostrils flared.

  “She’s one of my wife’s closest friends from the days of the Revolution.” The Admiral moved a step back from Casey, staring at him through narrowed eyes. “Your top secret investigation was leaked to one of your wife’s friends? Do you know how suspicious that sounds, Morten? I sure hope your nose is clean on this one or there will be hell to pay.”

  Casey shrugged it off. “Oh come on, Admiral. My wife has ties to several of the top government officials. That’s why they named me Ambassador. That’s hardly a case for treason.” The Admiral sighed, shaking his head. He waved Casey toward the door. “Well, let’s go. Your first meeting is in less than an hour, and I’m taking you to the Palace under heavy guard.”

  The Admiral’s heavily shielded escort delivered Casey to the Palace in just enough time to meet with President Gulann in a small, fortified room several stories beneath ground level. The President was already seated at his desk when Casey entered and was shown to a chair directly in front of him. The Admiral left them then, but two guards posted at either side of the President’s desk held their position.

  Casey studied the President’s face as he took his seat. Gulann’s face was lined and drawn, and dark purple smudges shadowed his eyes, visible even with his bluish pallor. He was impeccably groomed as always, but he slumped a little in his chair. He was no longer the supremely confident, almost arrogant politician that he had been at the start of his presidency.

  “So, Ambassador,” the President began, a bit wearily. “I hope you have come with the explanation I need. Why is the Armada supplying the Brotherhood with weapons? Have we not been true partners in the development of Corizen?”

  “President, you know as well as I do that the Armada does not support the Brotherhood . . .” Casey began earnestly.

  “Yes, I thought so anyway. I trusted Morek-Li, I trusted Admiral Hernandez, and I trusted you, and I believed that our partnership with the Union would finally help Corizen achieve greatness. Yet here we are in the midst of anarchy.” He frowned, playing with a sheet of paper on his desk. Casey paused for a moment, unsure of just what he should tell the president.

  “You are keeping something from me, Ambassador. It is time for all pretenses to come to an end,” Gulann continued grimly. Casey only hesitated for a moment before he decided to tell Gulann the truth.

  “I have known for two years now that the Brotherhood was obtaining Armada technology,” admitted Casey. The President stiffened in his chair, his slump quickly disappearing. “We recognized traces in the attacks of weapons and other signs of technology that we thought that only the Armada possessed. At first the Admiral wasn’t sure, and under the Security Council I was directed to head a small investigation trying to determine if we had a leak.”

  Casey paused for a moment. The president was watching him, his lips pressed tight and his eyes grave. “It was possible, we thought, that the Brotherhood was developing these things on their own. The Admiral offered his services in investigating terrorist attacks to the CPF, and so I officially joined the CPF whenever there was a major terrorist attack, trying to determine what was going on.” Casey halted for a moment. Now was the time for the President to rant because the Armada had not come to him with their suspicions, but the President continued to listen in silence, intent on hearing the rest of Casey’s story.

  “It didn’t take me long to confirm that there were actual Armada weapons in the hands of the terrorists. Our only real lead came during the Bastalt Prison break. We captured one of the Brotherhood, who essentially defected to us. From him we learned two vitally important things.”

  “You learned of the so-called mark,” Gulann interposed with ill-disguised anger. “The implant that each new convert to the Brotherhood has imbedded in the back of his neck.” Casey nodded slowly. The implant allowed each member of the Brotherhood to be constantly tracked by the Oman—as well as detected by Armada scanners configured to screen for it.

  “I wanted to share that information with you,” Casey defended himself. “I knew you needed it to protect yourselves, but my superiors on the Council overruled me.”

  “And why would they do that? They denied us the knowledge that possibly could have kept many of our people alive! Morek-Li himself might be alive today if you had shared that small bit of information,” thundered Gulann, rising partway from his chair. “You had no right to conceal something like that. Your precious Security Council cares nothing for the survival of the Corizen government, it is plain to me!”

  “They thought we couldn’t risk you knowing about the Armada weapons the Brotherhood had. They were afraid you would expel the Armada,” Casey explained quietly. He leaned forward in his seat, his calm blue eyes boring into the President’s blazing ones. “That is what did happen, after all. It was not an unreasonable fear.” The President held Casey’s eyes for only a moment before they dropped to his desk. He fiddled with the paper again.

  “What was the other thing you learned?” he finally asked in a much calmer voice, looking back up at Casey.

  “That we have a traitor in the Armada. Someone in the Armada is supplying the Brotherhood with this technology, including the implants the Oman uses to track his recruits.”

  The President sighed heavily. “That is what Councilman Ka has been telling me ever since Jerrapo Coraelle came before Congress. Yet it doesn’t solve the problem, does it? If I announce that to Congress they will still want the Armada out, to cut the tie between the Armada traitor and the Brotherhood. You will be even less likely to apprehend him too, if he knows you are looking for him. And when out of all this bloodshed will we finally have peace? When will Corizen finally be at rest?” he murmured, more to himself. Then he faced Casey directly, his eyes hard.

  “Well, Ambassador, I still see that we are at a stalemate. Until you can fin
d this traitor and cut him off, Congress will never allow the Armada back. Yet our own CPF is woefully inadequate to keep peace against the terrorists,” he admitted, a hint of despair in his voice.

  “I just need more time, President,” Casey appealed. “Let me continue my investigation. Let me figure out who the leak is and stop it.”

  “Very well. I’ll put what resources I can at your disposal. For all our sakes I hope you succeed quickly. I truly hope so.”

  Casey rose from his seat. Once again he was going to have to put aside his own life for his career. Yet as he took leave of the President, he was already running over the possibilities in his mind. He could still do both. However, he knew the quicker he found the traitor in the Armada, the sooner he could concentrate on bringing his family back together again.

  16. Two Fugitives

  The sun shimmered on the cracked concrete pavement and the bricks of the surrounding building pulsed with heat. Tiran shaded her eyes for a moment and looked into the sky. Palest blue today, as if the sky was just as parched as the earth was. Kruundin City was not a rainy place by any means, but even so it had now been four months since a drop of rain had fallen on the sun-scorched city. Once again the sky was completely clear; there didn’t seem to be any hope of rain today. Tiran returned to sweeping the sidewalk in front of the soup kitchen. She was dressed in the lightweight gray dress that was characteristic of the Order with a wide-brimmed hat that shaded her face, but she still had to periodically stop to wipe the sweat from her eyes. Every few feet she stopped to pick up a larger piece of paper or refuse and toss it into a bag near the front door to the soup kitchen. The soup kitchen was located in a run down and dirty part of town, but the Women of the Tender Heart did their best to make the area near their building as clean as possible. Every Sister took turns with all of the different chores, and this hot summer day the task had fallen to Tiran.

  Normally she didn’t mind sweeping outside. She would watch the people hurrying past and occasionally assist some poor soul into the soup kitchen. Lately she had spent a lot of time staring at the sky hoping to see clouds. The farmlands to the south of Kruundin City were just as dry, and if they didn’t get rain they would be looking at a long, hard winter with a diminished food supply. It was hard enough for the soup kitchen to feed people as it was. The Sisters prayed fervently for rain every day, but so far Veshti had not responded. Of course, the Oman had publicly declared that rain was not falling because people were not following him. Tiran sighed heavily as she swept a large pile of dust into her bag. Even some normally sane people that came to the soup kitchen were now fearfully asking if they should join the Brotherhood so the rain would come.

  “Sister Maia!” a voice called from down the street. She looked up, saw Zaq Ven and waved cheerfully. She propped her broom against the building as he reached her side. She started to pick up her trash bag, but he beat her to it. “All done?” he asked. “Can I dump this for you?”

  “Sure, I just finished,” she answered. She walked with him down the alleyway to the trash bin. “So what brings you here today, Zaq?” she asked curiously. “It’s not your usual delivery day.”

  “Oh, well, I came to have a little chat with Sister Marna. I’m going to be going away for awhile, and I wanted to say good-bye,” Zaq explained, his face grim. Tiran’s face fell just a little. She hated to see him leave. Zaq was one of the nicest men she knew, always helping the Sisters get supplies that they needed.

  “Where are you going?” she asked inquisitively.

  “Oh, just on a trip,” Zaq answered without enthusiasm.

  “You don’t sound very excited,” Tiran observed.

  “It wasn’t really in my plans, but something came up. Still, I haven’t had a break in a long time,” he said broodingly. He gazed blankly at the street beyond them.

  “They must keep your nose to the grindstone over there,” Tiran replied sympathetically. Zaq shrugged and smiled at her, though his eyes stayed somber.

  “Who’s going to be our food collector from the factory while you’re gone? You guys are one of our biggest donors,” Tiran wanted to know, a bit anxiously. Zaq’s smile faded.

  “I’m not really sure yet,” he confessed, “but I’m planning to talk to Sister Marna about it. Don’t worry; I’m sure people will still be donating food.”

  “I hope so,” Tiran responded seriously with a glance at the sky. Zaq followed her gaze. “We’ve had dry spells before,” he reminded. “We’ve always weathered it.”

  “But if the crops fail?” she worried.

  “Hey, what’s this? A Sister losing her faith in Veshti?” he teased. Tiran blushed. She forgot sometimes that she was pretending to be a member of this group of highly devoted and faith-filled women, and she needed to act like one of the true Sisters. She had learned a lot during the past several months, but even still, faith wasn’t something you could easily manufacture.

  “I’m just teasing you,” Zaq explained smiling crookedly. “You’re supposed to laugh.” Tiran relaxed and forced a small smile.

  “Come on, Zaq. I’ll take you to Sister Marna,” she said, swiftly changing subjects. She ushered him into the building and led him through the hallways to Sister Marna’s office. He was quickly admitted, and Tiran made her way to the kitchens to help prepare lunch.

  As she scrubbed and peeled potatoes her thoughts wandered. She had hidden here for months, waiting for some word that her father had returned to Corizen. So far as she knew, he still hadn’t come home. Tiran couldn’t be sure because along with the other Women of the Tender Heart, she had no access to the news. Even still, she managed to hear the whispered rumors of the growing strength of the Brotherhood, of the power of the Oman. Some people were terrified of him, while others wondered if he wasn’t really a prophet. After all, he had managed to get the Armada expelled. Even the secluded Sisters had learned of that. It was scary to Tiran. She had lived almost her whole life in the shadow and protection of the Armada. What was the International Complex like now? Did they let just anyone in? Was her home still there or had they given it away to someone else? With a pang, she thought of the times she had spent playing games in the living room, or curled up on her mother’s bed watching terminal streams with her mother while they waited for her father to get home from work. She swallowed a bit as she thought of her mother. It had been a long six months without her mother, and the searing pain that had accompanied any memories of her had finally dulled to a constant ache. For a moment she allowed herself a bitter regret that she had ever agreed to elope with Markus. Who knew what might have been different? She might have been able to see her mother one last time before she died. At the very least she would probably be off-planet with her father, not stuck alone in Kruundin City. How did my mother bear it? she wondered. All the years she spent out here away from her family?

  Tiran emptied her potatoes into a pot and carried it to one of the other Sisters. Then she grabbed a bag of carrots to prepare for the midday stew. She tried to be grateful. The Sisters of this little order had been so kind, but it was still lonely. They were all much older than her, and she was afraid to get too close to any of them. Sister Marna had explained that Tiran had been recently orphaned and would be staying with the Order for awhile as an initiate to see if she would like to join. Tiran had been given the name Sister Maia, and she had faithfully joined the other Sisters in their devotions and service. It had been a busy, though quiet, life. She spent much of her day attending to chores or preparing the large meals that would be served to the city’s homeless. In some ways it had been a great relief. Serving the homeless of Kruundin City had helped her not to brood as much on her own difficult situation. Probably it had helped her heal a little from her mother’s death.

  As she was finishing chopping the last of the carrots, Sister Marna stepped into the kitchen. She gestured to Tiran from the doorway, unable to make herself heard over the kitchen din. Tiran finished chop
ping her last carrot and carried them to the Sister who was stirring two large pots of broth. She wiped her hands on her apron and removed it, hanging it on the hook by the door. Then she followed Sister Marna from the kitchen.

  “Is everything all right, Sister Marna?” she asked, puzzled.

  “I need to see you in my office for a moment,” she answered, her voice strained. Tiran glanced at her in alarm. Sister Marna’s brow was creased and her lips were pursed together. Clearly something had gone wrong. Immediately Tiran thought of her father. Had something happened to him as well? She followed Sister Marna fearfully into her office.

  To her surprise, Zaq was still seated in one of the two chairs before Sister Marna’s desk.

  “Close the door, please,” Sister Marna instructed. Tiran quickly shut the door and sat in the other chair. She peeked sideways at Zaq, trying to be unobtrusive. What could this possibly be about? Zaq twisted her way, and she saw his face drain of color. Alarmed, she turned back to Sister Marna for an explanation. Obviously something was really wrong.

  Sister Marna took a deep breath, glanced at Zaq, and started to speak to Tiran.

  “My dear, Zaq has come today with some terrible news. He has learned that the Brotherhood now suspect that you are here living with us. They are planning to move against the entire Order if they confirm you are here.” Her voice was strained with worry. Tiran was so surprised she barely noted that Sister Marna must have shared her secret with Zaq.

  “What?” exclaimed Tiran. “But it’s been months, how could they possibly have found out?”

  “One of the regular visitors to the soup kitchen tipped off the Brotherhood.” Zaq spoke quietly without looking at Tiran. “The Oman knew that Tiran Bruche had come to Kruundin City—that you had come here, I mean,” his voice caught for a moment. “Surely you must have seen all the wanted posters?” he asked in disbelief, finally looking up at Tiran.

  “Posters?” gasped Tiran.