Echoes of the Storm

Chapter 8

Financial Executor Rabi Gamble endured the ride from the MedCenter silently. The guards wouldn't speak to him. Neither would the transport driver. He didn't waste time wondering why he'd been kept in isolation and denied access to the streams and to his aides. Corona's caution was understandable. He was curious about who was in charge. He hoped they'd taken the same precautions with Jack. He was desperate for news of his only nephew.

Protocol dictated that the FE and his family were whisked to a safehouse in time of attack. Jack's apartment in the city center was three blocks from Corona Headquarters where the Riga attacks had concentrated. The devastation here chilled him to the bone. Buildings smoldered, civilian and military vehicles destroyed. Lives...how many lost? Blessed Colonists, let Jack be safe.

Gamble dreaded learning who amongst his associates worked for Riga. He had no doubt the traitorous rebels had friends in high places. The Riga invasion smacked of insider knowledge. Grand Emperor Surda's justice would be swift and merciless. The thought brought him grim satisfaction.

But if Jack had come to any harm...

The transport stopped in front of Corona Headquarters and an honor guard awaited him at the bottom of the massive stone stairs. It was always Surda's insistence that power and preeminence were on display. He hated the spectacle himself, but endured it, always remembering his father's humility. His older sister had been the same. But Jack... He'd done his best with his sister's boy after her untimely death, but Jack had been entirely too caught up in the pageantry. Gamble wondered if it was a cover for Jack's insecurities. They could talk hours on end about politics, military operations, flight training, university. But his personal life? Jack would draw into himself.

A guard opened the door and he climbed out of the vehicle. The very young captain in charge saluted him. "Welcome back, sir. If you would, please, follow me."

The foyer of the HQ reeked of smoke and ash, every wall scarred by blaster burns. It pained him to see the building services bots sifting through the burnt and splintered remains of the hand-carved desk that graced the entryway. Just beyond the foyer, a grand atrium rose five stories above the marbled floor. A makeshift checkpoint had been set up at its base. The atrium had not fared well during the takeover attempt either. Once lush vegetation lay wilted and scorched. Damaged balconies dangled menacingly like limbs of a weeping scarlet tree.

The honor guard filed off as the captain guided him to the south corridor, one of six spokes radiating from the atrium. At the end of the hall, Gamble reached for the touchpad to call for his private lift to the sixth floor office suite, but the captain intervened. "The codes have been changed, sir," he explained, stepping between Gamble and the pad to enter new access numbers.

"And?" Gamble said.

"Your permissions haven't been authorized by command...sir." The captain cleared his throat. "I'm sure it's just a matter of protocol, extra security. We can't take chances until the resistance is crushed."

Gamble exhaled slowly. The captain wasn't to blame, but he'd certainly have a word with command.

He stepped into the lift with the captain at his side. When the door opened on the sixth floor, he half-whispered, "Incredible." Not a scratch or blaster burn marred the area.

"The Riga vermin never occupied this floor," the captain said.

A very tall man stepped into the corridor from the executive suite, his face in shadows. "Well, that may not be entirely true," the vaguely familiar voice added. "We discovered an aide brutally murdered in his office in the early hours of the invasion. Someone must have gotten through."