"Corlane?" the woman said in surprise when she turned to look at him.
Birkran wanted to freeze. Better yet, he wanted to disappear. He knew neither was an option and he couldn't simply stand there, so he moved quickly toward the door that the woman partially blocked.
"I'm sorry, I must go inside, I am very ill," he said, brushing past her and fumbling to unlock the door with the access pass his medoc had provided.
"Why don't you just--" the woman spoke up, just as the door opened.
"Sorry," Birkran said again. "Must go."
As soon as he was inside with the door closed between him and the woman, the visitor announcement chime sounded. He ignored it. He knew she would give up eventually, and he couldn't answer her questions while struggling with so many of his own. He moved across the resunit, as familiar with it as the one where he started the day. Even though the woman was securely excluded from his personal space, he felt the need for even greater distance.
So close to the top of the building, the windows offered a commanding view of the city, and Birkran stood by one of them, hoping that the privacy technology embedded in the glass was doing its job of making it impossible for people in other buildings to see him. As he gazed out over the urban landscape, full of movement of people going about their daily business, he felt like his brain was moving even faster.
Why had the guard acted like he recognized Birkran? Why did the woman call him Corlane? Birkran recognized the name. He assumed she meant Rann Corlane Deryala, the owner of this home, but Birkran had never met the man. He only knew that Rann Deryala’s resunit was a safe place for him when he needed it. He wondered, could that Rann, by some strange coincidence, actually look like Birkran? And with such a close resemblance to fool people who apparently knew Deryala well? That would explain the encounters, but would demand its own explanation.
"I need to talk to Medoc Tsuran," Birkran said softly to himself. "He arranged all this, he must be able to explain, and tell me what to do." His shoulders slumped. "I will contact him after a nap. I must sleep. I... must sleep."
Chapter Six
Sleep walking. Sertea had teased Corlane about it, and about his unusual clothing choice, but it was clear she didn't seem to take it as seriously as he did. If word got out that he was not only having sleeping problems but that they included walking in his sleep, Corlane could expect his constituents to deeply question his fitness for office. That uncertainty would presumably lead to the end of his political career after just one term. That was as far as possible from his goals. Corlane aspired to one day be Kiprant. With things going as they had lately, though, he wondered if he could even gain seniority over another Rann, much less have a chance at becoming ol-Rann. The path to Kiprant looked impossibly long and obstructed.
"Rann Deryala," a female voice behind Corlane interrupted his thoughts. He turned away from his work to see Rann Julee Leinhar looking at him with obvious anger. She had seniority over Corlane, but not enough that he was particularly concerned about her power. "Could the voters have had any idea just how erratic you are when they chose you to represent them?"
"I have a medical condition, Rann Leinhar," he answered coolly, "which did not manifest until I was in office. It is being treated. I expect my attendance and productivity to improve substantially with further treatment."
Rann Leinhar snorted softly. "Medical condition? And does that explain your decision to sponsor CT-R-83905? I suspect your constituents won't take a 'medical condition' as an excuse to put their wants and needs below the political aspirations of Rann Trissan."
"Oh, that," Corlane said, giving a dismissive wave of his hand in answer to her raised eyebrows. "I could explain my rationale to you, it was not, as you imply, an erratic choice. But I have constituents who are waiting to hear from me, and I would rather allocate my time to serving them than answering to you."
"Well!" Rann Leinhar said, sounding shocked. "I'm not the only one who will be asking, Rann Deryala, and others will have even more seniority than me. I don't think they'll accept your excuses about hiding behind rote work that can obviously be delegated to your staff."
"Delegated?" Corlane asked, smirking. "I'm sorry, Rann Leinhar, but some of us still believe in directly serving our constituents. If you or others feel the need to question me further, you may approach me in the chamber. Otherwise, good day." He turned back to his work without waiting for a reply.
"Good day, indeed," she said to his back, her tone vaguely threatening.
She was only gone for a few moments when Corlane received a message alerting him to a general assembly in the Rann chamber. Although the notification did not say what the assembly was about, Corlane was sure it had something to do with Triple-A. Specifically, it would be about the fact that he had managed to pull off an attack within an incarceration facility. Corlane checked the time and saw that he only had a few minutes before he would need to leave if he wanted to arrive on time for the assembly. He was tempted to not go, considering how futile it seemed likely to be, but he knew that he had missed too many other assemblies. He was overdue for being seen in attendance.
He quickly wrapped up the response to the constituent complaint that he was composing and sent it. He wanted to stop by Sertea’s desk on the way to the chamber but decided that he did not have enough time. On his way there, he passed Rann Trissan. The two men gave each other cool nods of acknowledgment but said nothing. Once inside the chamber, Corlane made his way quickly to his chair and sat down without engaging in any of the casual conversations that were going on. The mood in the chamber was already dour and the murmur of conversations was much quieter than normal.
By taking his seat, Corlane triggered his displays to activate. Like everyone else, he had three small displays mounted in front of him. The middle one was for his use, while the other two were controlled from the dais at the front of the chamber. This allowed whoever was speaking from the dais to display up to two visual aids, while leaving each Rann with the ability to take notes, conduct ad hoc research, or otherwise take a more active role rather than merely sitting and listening. All activity on the center display was recorded as a matter of public record.
"Think you'll be able to stay awake during session, Rann Deryala?" a male voice asked from Corlane's left. He looked over at the speaker, keeping his face blank.
"I'm sure I will, Rann Kurschin," Corlane answered evenly. There was more that he could have said, much more that he wanted to say. However, the other man's inability to adequately hide certain indiscretions would have to wait until there was some political gain for Corlane. For now, he could tolerate the annoying comments sent his way by Rann Kurschin by reminding himself that the price to be paid might be very high and the other man didn't even know he had it coming.
"Order," a bored-sounding voice came from the dais. All of the remote controlled displays turned to a dark blue.
"Time for your nap, Rann Deryala," Rann Kurschin muttered, smirking as he took his own seat.
Corlane shrugged. "I'm not immune to sheer boredom," he replied softly.
As the chamber grew quiet and those still standing found their seats, Corlane made a few taps on his center display to bring up a list of the headlines about the Triple-A attack against the facility where Zyrlan Kottes had been held, as well as the political fallout after the attack was leaked to the public. There was a lot of speculation that Triple-A himself had helped get the story out, but there was no proof of this. Regardless, average citizens were aware of it and vocally unhappy about it.
Corlane looked past the displays in time to see ol-Rann Keanet step forward to the podium at the front of the dais, taking the place of the Rann who called the assembly to order. Even from a distance, the woman looked powerful in her posture and every move, despite her advanced age. Only a fool would associate her age with weakness.
"Honored Assembly of Ranns," ol-Rann Keanet said to formally begin the session, "direct your attention to your left screen. There you will see a rendered dep
iction of the man we believe may be Triple-A."
Corlane glanced at the screen on the left and considered the computer rendered image. Something bothered him about it, almost annoying him, but he couldn't place what it was or explain his reaction to it.
"I need not tell you," ol-Rann Keanet continued, "that the publicized story of him nearly killing Zyrlan Kottes and his cellmates has generated citizen unrest. Many, perhaps all, of you have heard from your constituents about the matter. There are some recurring patterns in the messages that are coming in, which we suspect is also the hand of Triple-A, although whether the senders know they are being manipulated by him is doubtful.
"What you may not know is that Triple-A has reached out individually to one of us who now sits in this chamber. That Rann will not be named at this time, but your constituents may wish to know that Triple-A is starting to tip his political hand and, in doing so, is giving us more evidence to work with. This increases our hope that he will be apprehended and brought to justice soon.
“Until that happens, we must alter the public's perception of how we are handling the crisis that Triple-A is working hard to create for us. Our past strategy of suppressing information about the extent of his capabilities is no longer useful. The public must now see that we are tackling the situation head-on, which shall include soliciting their increased vigilance and reporting of anything that may help. We will provide a specific channel for that, which will, among other things, sift input to see if Triple-A himself is attempting to seed misinformation. The rendered image that you are now seeing is being shared with news distributors as we speak."
Corlane listened as ol-Rann Keanet finished her presentation and others followed up with relatively minor input and attempts at bringing up other business. The session did not last much longer after ol-Rann Keanet was done, though, and he was soon on his way back to his cubicle. He congratulated himself for holding back the snide comment that came to mind as he waited with Rann Kurschin to file out of the chamber.
He was only at his desk for a short time when Sertea appeared. He noticed her grim expression and decided not to make the wisecrack that had been churning in his mind since the session. She surprised him by asking him to go with her to get something to drink. Despite the unusual nature of her request, he agreed without hesitation, realizing that there was something wrong and that she wanted to talk privately.
"Spill it," Corlane said as soon as they were alone. They both knew that whatever they said might be recorded automatically, but there was nobody on hand to unofficially listen in.
"It's me," she said simply.
"You're Triple-A?" Corlane said with a smirk. "No wonder they're having such a hard time--"
"Stop," she interrupted him. "What ol-Rann Keanet said, about Triple-A reaching out to a Rann. She was talking about me."
Corlane raised his eyebrows in surprise, but in the back of his mind he realized how it wasn't all that surprising after all. He couldn't explain why he felt that way, though, other than that her good looks made her stand out in a crowd.
"Triple-A contacted you directly," he stated. "And naturally you passed word up the chain, as you should, and the decision was made to keep it quiet for now."
"Yes."
"Well," he said slowly, "I appreciate your confidence in telling me this. I am glad that you trust me and our friendship. I am not sure what I can do for you, though, other than to offer a listening ear. Did he say... well, anything? Something that you feel we could act on beyond what seems to already be in progress?"
Sertea shook her head. "No, but I feel... I feel there is a reason he chose me. It was like... I got the feeling that he was confiding, yet not confiding, in me. Surely he knew I would not keep it to myself, yet there was almost an intimacy about it..."
Corlane nodded slowly in recognition. "You think he has a romantic interest in you." Her defeated grimace answered him succinctly. "Well, that is bad," he agreed, "but it could eventually be to your advantage. Plus, I don't think it's uncommon for crazy people to fixate on a face they see in the news. In other words, I wouldn't take it personally."
"Easy for you to say," she said, shaking her head. "And I fail to see how any connection to an infamous person like Triple-A could ever be to my benefit."
Corlane shrugged. "I don't think the connection itself will be, but your handling of it could win you political points. You've already done the right thing to win points internally, and when you're up for re-election you may be able to spin up your involvement in his capture. If he's captured, that is. What do you think of that rendering of what he looks like?"
It was Sertea's turn to shrug. "I didn't put much thought into it, he just looks like an average citizen."
"Yes, that's a good way to put it," he mused, half to himself. "It's almost like they took a blended average of people and used the result as their image of Triple-A."
She shook her head. "I don't think they would waste their time or so much political capital on such a meaningless move. I expect they believe that's really what he looks like."
"Well, I don't," he answered flatly. "It's like looking at a blank canvas and saying it's art. There's nothing there, it's just... a face of nothing."
Sertea gave him a curious look. "You seem particularly annoyed by it," she observed. "Even if it's not a good representation of what he looks like, what does it matter, other than further delay catching him?"
"I don't know. I just don't like it."
Sertea sighed. "Okay, well, you can dislike it if you want. Anyway, we need to get back before anyone starts asking questions about us. Please don't tell anyone what I said about being the Rann who Triple-A contacted. I don't want it being used against me, and if there is some gain for me in it, I'd like to collect on that under my own control."
Corlane nodded. "Your non-secret secret is safe with me."
"Corlane..."
"No, really, I'm serious. I won't tell anyone. I'm sure it will be made known later, but you're right, it's better if you have some control over things. I'll keep it to myself."
A faint smile of relief eased her expression. "Thanks, Corlane. Oh, I almost forgot to tell you, I have a referral for you from my father. I'll forward that as soon as I get back to my work area."
Corlane nodded thoughtfully. "Thanks, Sertea. I hope a new medoc will have some new and better answers for me."
The two Ranns went their separate ways and headed back to their own cubicles. As promised, Sertea forwarded the medoc referral, and Corlane wasted no time submitting a request for an appointment. He was tempted to send a note to his existing medoc asking to have his files closed, but he knew it was premature. If all went well, though, he would relish terminating his relationship with his medoc.
Chapter Seven
Corlane stood in the medoc's waiting room. Some things never seemed to change. Although he was only 27 years old, he had seen many changes and developments in technology during his life. The waiting rooms for medocs, though, were essentially the same as he remembered them from youth. There were small clusters of basic chairs, separated by low partitions that used built in air ducts to minimize the spread of airborne bacteria. On the walls were various programmed digital displays designed to inform patients about countless health conditions, medications, and preventative measures. Despite ample technology that would allow precise scheduling, medocs never seem to be on time, and Corlane realized that this was probably due to patients frequently taking more time than what was allocated to them.
"Corlane?"
He looked over to the patient service window where one of the clerks was looking at him. He crossed the room promptly. "Yes?"
"I'm sorry, Rann Deryala," the clerk said softly, "but due to unexpected circumstances, Medoc Sumartok will not be able to see you this evening after all."
Corlane raised his eyebrows. "Really? And this just came up now, so that you could not have told me earlier?"
"Yes," the clerk answered. "I'm sorry. I can look for his next openi
ng, which I believe will be next week, or I can refer you to someone if you have a more urgent need."
"My needs would not be urgent if they had been resolved the first time, or the second time, or the third time," Corlane said. "I was specifically referred to Medoc Sumartok because my regular medoc has failed to adequately address my needs. I know this is not your responsibility, you just have the unpleasant job of dealing with disappointed patients. However, surely you can understand my position and how this ongoing problem is affecting my work."
"Yes, I'm sorry," the clerk said again. "Would you like a referral, Rann Deryala?"
Corlane sighed irritably. "Sure, go ahead and give me a referral."
"Very well," the clerk said, "it will be on screen three. Please try to have a nice day."
"Not likely," Corlane grumbled as he moved away from the patient service window and walked over to the indicated screen. He took note of the information on the screen and directed it into his personal data store, but he did not commit to an appointment right away. When Sertea got him the referral to Medoc Sumartok to begin with, the point was to go to someone that she and her father trusted. Going to yet another referred medoc would defeat that purpose. The sudden unavailability of Medoc Sumartok annoyed him, and he wondered if Sertea and her father had any idea that he might face this sudden change or if they were simple unaware of the Medoc Sumartok’s unreliability.
Corlane left the medoc’s office and found a lift to take him down to a transport connection level. As he descended through the building he scolded himself for not being more decisive about whether to actually use the referral that he had just been given. When he reached the transport connection level, he stepped out of the lift and made his way toward the building’s exit.
He only had to wait a few moments before a three car hover transport stopped to pick up passengers. He entered the transport and moved to take a seat, noticing that it was mostly empty other than a sketchy looking man sitting near the back. As he was about to take his seat, he suddenly had the urge to move to a different seat, and he followed that urge.
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