Read Into the Rift Online

Authors: Cynthia Garner

Tags: #Romance, #Fantasy, #Fiction / Romance - Paranormal, #Paranormal, #Fiction

Into the Rift (3 page)

BOOK: Into the Rift
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She went over to her workstation and punched in the number to her brother’s unit. When she didn’t get a connection, she frowned and tried it again before she realized they’d cut off her communications. She couldn’t even warn Kester. And she knew if they hadn’t already been to see him, they soon would be.

Chapter Three

T
wo days passed with Sirina trapped inside her living quarters unable to communicate with anyone. On the second night, she shot awake at the sound of the door to her sleeping quarters sliding open. Before she could even try to figure out what was going on, a squad of security officers surged into her room.

Without a word she was dragged out of bed and thrown face-first onto the floor, her arms wrenched behind her back and wrists shackled together.

“Wait!” she yelled. “What’s going on?” As she was yanked to her feet and hustled out of the house, she asked, “Where are you taking me?”

“By the authority of the new Talisian Supreme Leader, former Vice Chancellor Djorkäjn,” one black-uniformed officer behind her replied in clipped tones, “you’re under arrest.”

Her blood iced within her veins. She’d warned Natchook that things could get worse because Djorkäjn was so hard-line. “Under arrest for what?” Sirina tried to twist around to look at her captor, but she was stuffed into a security vehicle and lost sight of him. Her stomach was in knots, and her heart thudded a dull, unsteady rhythm. She’d assumed she’d be questioned again, but being arrested so quickly had never entered her mind. “Under arrest for what?” she asked again, hoping someone would give her an answer.

“Sedition.”

Sedition?
“I’ve never spoken out against the government.” She tried to find a comfortable position on the seat, but with her arms behind her back it was difficult. “And—”

“Look, we just make the arrests. We don’t have any information other than the charge.”

“Can’t I at least get dressed?” She looked down at herself, seeing much too much skin since she was clad only in her thin sleep shift. “And put on some shoes?”

“No.” The officer glanced at her from the front seat. “It would be best if you sat quietly now. You’ll find out more when we get to the detention center.”

She frowned. They were taking her to the detention center instead of the local security office? Oh, dear gods. She was in worse trouble than she’d first thought.

Hours later, after spending time in a crowded cell with others who were newly detained, she was brought into the large courtroom. She sat down where she was told, on a chair in the middle of a row in front of a magistrate and two other judges. At least the shackles were off and she’d regained feeling in her upper arms. But sitting here nearly naked did not fill her with confidence. She felt more vulnerable than she ever had in her life.

“Colonist Sirina lan Maro,” the magistrate droned, “you have been brought before this tribunal to answer charges of sedition. How plead you?”

Wait… what? They wanted her to announce a plea? Here by herself? “Where’s my advocate?”

The magistrate exchanged glances with the other judges, then looked back at her. The overhead lighting in the room cast long shadows on his face, giving him a devilish appearance. “Your advocate will review the transcript. Give us your plea.”

“My advocate will…” She could only stare at him in shock. This proceeding was unlike any she’d ever heard of. Since when did an advocate not, well,
advocate
?

“I don’t understand. Why isn’t my advocate here?”

“Your plea, Colonist lan Maro.”

She swallowed hard. “Not guilty.”

“So noted.” The magistrate reached forward and activated a holovid screen. The men on either side of him leaned over and the three of them held a muted conversation. When they straightened, the magistrate stared at Sirina with intense, disdain-filled eyes. “It is the finding of this judiciary that you are guilty of sedition. You are hereby sentenced to be stripped from your body and placed in a holding cell to await the opening of the rift.”

“But—”

“Your cousin, the criminal Natchook ot Renz, assassinated Kai Vardan.” Hatred blazed from his eyes. “Looking at the footage of the crime in action, Officer Jarrad T’heone made a positive identification. Your cousin, however, has engineered his escape by somehow managing to go through the body-stripping process. He is now hiding somewhere in one of the holding cells, but because his entry was not input into the records, we have no way of knowing which area he’s in, and little time to search for him. Rest assured, those who helped him will be punished,” he added, his voice hard with determination. “Officer T’heone, realizing it is his duty to apprehend the killer, has volunteered to go through the rift as well. If they survive in some form, T’heone will see justice done.” He looked at the security officers behind her. “Take her away.”

Before they could reach her, the double doors of the courtroom squeaked open and a woman’s voice rang out. “Just one minute!”

Sirina looked over her shoulder to see a woman dressed in a slim-cut suit walking toward her. Her boot heels clicked on the tiled floor, the noise echoing in the large chamber. Her nondescript black suit had a narrow skirt that reached her ankles. A shiny epaulette on one shoulder of the matching jacket marked her as a court officer.

The gray-haired woman walked the length of chairs and stopped next to Sirina. “I am barrister Trellan B’Leigh, Colonist lan Maro’s advocate.” Her gaze pinned each of the judges before finally settling on the magistrate. “You surely weren’t going to pronounce judgment without her advocate present, were you?”

“It’s already done, Madam Advocate.”

Sirina noticed he chose to address the barrister by her function rather than her position. She wondered if it was a chauvinistic thing or if he was trying to put Trellan B’Leigh in her place. Of course, it really didn’t make a difference. Sirina was doomed no matter what.

“With all due respect, esteemed magistrate,” the barrister said, “the law clearly states that even the most contemptible criminals are entitled to
a fair and impartial hearing
.” She glanced down at the electronic device in her hands, which no doubt held her case files, then looked at the magistrate again. “That includes Colonist lan Maro.”

His lips thinned and he checked the time display mounted at the end of the table. “The rift is open now, Madam Advocate.” His gaze came back to them. “It will remain open for only another fifteen minutes. We must act
now
.”

“And deny my client her rights as a colonist because it will be inconvenient to do the proper thing?” The barrister’s expression twisted with distaste. “If she’s found guilty, her life force will be detained for another seventy-three years, and that’s only on the basis that the rift will happen again. What if it doesn’t and she’s kept in the holding area indefinitely?” Her gaze went from one judge to another. “Tell me we haven’t thrown out our decency and morals for expediency. Please assure me that we aren’t ready to become as uncivilized as the criminal who assassinated Kai Vardan.”

The magistrate’s sigh carried clearly to where they stood. He and the other judges huddled together for a whispered discussion. Sirina glanced at her advocate and saw that her attention was riveted on the three men.

Finally the magistrate lifted one hand in surrender. “Say your piece, advocate.”

She inclined her head. “Thank you. There has been no evidence submitted that directly links my client to the assassination of Supreme Leader Vardan. An ambiguous conversation she and her brother had certainly does not support the egregious charge of sedition.”

“That’s because it’s unfounded,” Sirina muttered.

The advocate shot her a warning look.

The magistrate leaned forward, his elbows on the desk so that the sleeves of his white robes fell down his arms. “Natchook ot Renz was seen heading toward her house just one week prior to the assassination.”

“He’s her cousin.” Barrister B’Leigh lifted her eyebrows. “Why shouldn’t he visit her? That the visit occurred a week before someone killed Leader Vardan is coincidental.”

Before she could say more, a young man came into the room from a door behind the panel of judges. He leaned over and whispered into the magistrate’s ear. The older man’s nostrils flared and he gave an abrupt nod. As the younger man turned and left the room, the magistrate fixed a steely glare on the advocate. “The rift has closed.”

Relief, pure and heady, surged through Sirina. She slumped in her chair.

The magistrate leaned over and talked with the judge on his right, then the one on his left. When he looked up again, his expression held such resolution that her relief dissipated and she was once again filled with dread.

“We have heard your arguments, Advocate B’Leigh, and appreciate your service to your government.” His gaze went to Sirina. “On your feet, Colonist lan Maro.” As soon as Sirina stood, he said, “You are hereby found guilty of sedition. You will be reduced to your incorporeal life force and contained in the holding area until the next rift occurs.” His disgust was palpable. “Our only regret is that we missed the opportunity to send you through this one.” His disgruntled expression spoke of his displeasure.

Emotions churned in Sirina. Anger at Natchook, but also relief that he’d gotten away. Trepidation that Jarrad was so focused on vengeance that he would make this sacrifice.

The magistrate scowled. “You will have to wait in the holding cell for the next seventy-three years, at which time your sentence will be carried out—banishment to the other dimension.” He motioned to the security officers behind her. “Gentlemen, take the prisoner to the debarkation room.”

The debarkation room, a euphemistic title for the laboratory where people’s souls were stripped out of their bodies. She didn’t know anyone to whom that had happened, but she’d heard rumors that it was agonizing beyond imagination. Any warmth that she’d retained in her skin fled, leaving her cold and trembling.

“I at least have a chance to appeal,” she said, her voice croaking with dryness. “That’s my right. Isn’t it?” she asked her advocate.

Before Barrister B’Leigh could respond, the magistrate rapped out, “Appeal denied.” He motioned to the officers.

Just like that, her future, her fate, was decided. Shackles were placed around her wrists again, though this time her hands were bound in front of her. As the guards escorted her out of the room, she walked along in numbed shock until she saw a prisoner coming toward her with his own set of matching black-clad officers.

“Kester!” Sirina struggled against her guards’ inflexible hold. “Please let me talk to him. Please,” she repeated when the men kept urging her along.

Her brother looked as traumatized as she felt, his face pale, his eyes wild. By the looks of his disheveled uniform he’d put up a struggle when they’d come for him.

Sirina jerked her arms, trying to dislodge her escorts. “I’ll confess,” she said, tears beginning to stream down her cheeks. “I’ll confess to whatever you want, just let him go. Kester had nothing to do with anything.”

“That decision isn’t ours to make,” one of the guards muttered, hatred hardening his voice. “Besides, you got what you deserved, Avasan.”

She gave a final glance over her shoulder in time to see her brother led into the room she’d just left. Then she looked at the guard who’d spoken to her. “What I deserve?”

“For being in collusion with the assassin.” His lips twisted, and for a moment she thought he was going to spit on her. But he didn’t. Relief lightened her dread, but only for the briefest of moments.

“I wasn’t involved. I’m innocent!”

“I thought you just said you’d confess.” His eyes glittered with antipathy.

The men stopped in front of a metal door before one of them breathed into a security lock. A blue light flashed three times and then remained lit, signaling that the unit accepted the minute traces of DNA in the moisture in his breath. The door snicked and slid open with a soft
whir
.

Her escorts walked her into the room. “Here’s another one,” the surly guard said to a technician. “Where do you want her?”

“Over there.”

The men walked her over to the shiny exam table the tech had pointed to. The shackles were taken off one of her wrists and attached to a metal ring on the side of the table. Without another word the security officers left the room.

Sirina stood there, feeling the cold tiles of the antiseptic lab floor seeping through the skin of her bare soles. She swiped drying tears from her cheeks and looked around, trying not to break into fresh sobs. She was scared, more scared than she’d ever been in her life. She knew the only reason she was here was because she was related to Natchook. His escape plan had worked, and the authorities were rounding up his relatives in retaliation for his crime. Otherwise the charge against her would have been co-conspirator instead of sedition.

One of the techs walked toward Sirina, a syringe in her gloved hand. Sirina backed away, only a step before she was stopped by the manacle around her wrist. “I… Please don’t do this,” she whispered, setting her imploring gaze on the tech. “Please. I’m not guilty.” Tears she’d been able to suppress trembled on her lashes.

“I’m sorry.” The woman seemed genuinely remorseful. “I have to, or I’ll be in dereliction of duty.”

“Let me guess. Punishment for that is being rifted?” In spite of Sirina’s best efforts, a tear plopped onto her cheek.

“Gods.” The woman glanced down and shook her head, then looked at Sirina again. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” She jabbed the needle into Sirina’s arm and pressed the plunger home. Pulling the syringe away, she motioned to a couple of security guards standing just inside the doorway. “Get her onto the table for me, please.”

The room spun as the two men lifted Sirina onto the metal gurney. The ceiling continued to whirl, and she realized she could no longer stand on her own.

“Let’s get the machines connected,” she heard the female tech say, and the exam table began to move. Sirina’s wrists and ankles were immobilized, and a heavy, thick strap went over her waist. She had little room to move even if she’d had her wits about her. Electrode patches were attached to her forehead and chest, and a central line ran into the back of her right hand. “We’ve found that if we draw blood from the subjects first, the transition goes a little more… smoothly,” the tech said.

BOOK: Into the Rift
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