Varken Rise by Tracy Cooper-Posey Page B

wraps. Nicia was a law-abiding world and there hadn’t been a murder here for decades. Once news broke, tourism would drop and the economy would suffer.
    Because the gendarmes were not used to processing a murder, things moved slowly. They were cautious even in the way they spoke to her, tiptoeing around her. Catherine knew they had drawn conclusions from the logs and from the interviews with Brant, Lilly and her. Of course they had—as Brant had said, the evidence was compelling.
    It took twenty-nine hours for the room to be processed. Catherine did not protest over the delay. She wanted them to take their time and get it right. It was the longest twenty-nine hours of her life.
    As the processing, testing and analysis wound to a conclusion, the gendarmes grew steadily more silent. They stopped looking at her sideways. They stopped looking at her at all. They began to whisper to each other and there were lots of conferences around the portable terminals as they consulted with others.
    Brant, Lilly and Catherine stayed in the common room and used the galley to generate food and drink as they needed it. None of them seem to have an appetite, so mostly they just sat.
    The common room featured cathedral ceilings and floor-to-ceiling armored steel glass that made up one wall, that provided a lot of the energy that ran the complex. Catherine watched the sun appear at the top of the window wall toward the late afternoon, then sink down into the sea in a spectacular display of purples and reds.
    Not long after, a man they had not seen before threaded his way through the furniture over to where they all sat in a silent group next to the window. He was wearing an old-fashioned business suit that looked freshly cleaned. He was drawing close to his next regeneration, for silver was showing at his temples and there were deep wrinkles around his eyes and mouth.
    He did not sit down. “Mr. Shahrazad,” he began. “I have a few questions, if you don’t mind?”
    “We are happy to cooperate,” Catherine said. She waved to the armchair sitting between the two sofas. The others who had questioned them this long day had all used that chair—usually uninvited.
    The man sat down. “My name is Done Rison. I am the president of Oceania Securities.”
    “You’re not with the gendarmerie?” Brant said.
    “The gendarmes are out of their depth,” Rison said. “I have had personal experience dealing with violent crimes, so they asked me to step in as a consultant.”
    “You’re not a native of Nicia?” Catherine asked.
    “Since the planet was established, Nicia has recorded only five murders. It must be the sea air. No, I am not a native of Nicia.” He gave her a small smile. “Have you tried to contact Mr.… er… Bedivere?”
    Catherine resisted the impulse to roll her eyes at the obvious question. “Constantly, throughout the day. I can’t reach him.”
    “Or perhaps he chooses not to respond?” Rison suggested.
    Catherine kept her mouth shut.
    “Would it surprise you to know that Mr.…that Bedivere left Nicia early this morning?”
    “You make it sound as though he was escaping,” Catherine said. “I’m sure by now you know exactly who Bedivere is. You must also know that for him, jumping to another planet is like you stepping over to the next complex. It is a barely significant shift in location.” She kept her voice casual as she asked her own question, making it sound as if the answer was of mild, passing interest to her. “Where did he jump to?”
    “We don’t know. No one seems to know. He hasn’t registered at any gate station that we know of.” Rison studied her. “It is almost as if he doesn’t want to be found.”
    Catherine decided she did not like Rison. “Or perhaps he simply forgot to register at the gate station. As he doesn’t use gates, it’s not as though his ship is automatically logged.”
    “We have finished analyzing the room and the body,” Rison said, abruptly changing subject.