Chapter 11
DHOMHES
The report Dhomhes had been waiting for arrived while he was trying to eat something he could no longer identify.
He moved the plate aside and opened the Kerde warehouse file.
The public report was short. A fire. Extensive damage.
An initial finding of fuel-system failure.
Nothing in it about deliberate charges or anyone flushing away what remained.
The broker's account had either come from someone who knew more than the investigators or someone who had enjoyed inventing a story for a paying listener.
Neither possibility pleased him.
He sent the report to the explosives investigators with the broker's account clearly marked as unverified. They would compare what could be compared. He could not make a missing detail appear by staring at the page.
He wanted to stare at it anyway.
Beyond the operations-room door, a guard spoke quietly to a replacement taking over the watch. Dhomhes checked the time. The fourth day had become the fifth while he was reading.
Khalzin was receiving medical care. The residence was secured. Ruthak's inspection unit had joined the search for Fiviel and Graecey, but the latest report still showed only mapped ground and equipment readings.
He rubbed the back of his neck and reopened the broker's reply. Beneath the warehouse report lay an index of local enforcement cases recovered under the wider Kerde inquiry, with a complaint about relay delays and a fee Dhomhes would argue about if he ever had a free afternoon again.
Dock theft. Fraud. A cargo dispute mislabeled as assault. Several closed homicides.
The supporting reports had not come through. No addresses, witness statements, or inventories. He sent the case numbers to the security commander with a request for the full records and any retained Alliance correspondence concerning the applicants.
Someone had brought explosives expertise to Kantenan. He wanted to know what else had arrived with the volunteers.
He asked the guard to send in his operations lead, then carried the cold plate to the sideboard.
Then he opened the new civil-record return. Loric Vandrel and Gilorn Rhysgarrd were brothers. Different public names; the same parents. Roemary's uncle belonged to the family his broker had warned him about before the platform burned.
Dhomhes didn't believe in coincidence.
His operations lead arrived carrying a hot drink and a display. He set both within reach, with the requests awaiting Dhomhes's authority marked at the top.
“Look at these.”
He gave him the warehouse report, the broker's account, and the list of missing case records. The guard read them without speaking.
“The explosives investigators have the first two,” Dhomhes said.
“Keep after the regional office for the rest. I want the source reports, including any material held separately by the Alliance. Ask the broker to follow the money as well. His cargo contacts know where hired weapons are advertised. Has anyone been offering paid work against the program?”
“I'll send the request.”
The guard made a note.
Dhomhes took a drink. It was hot enough to hurt and bitter enough that he took another mouthful.
“Now Roemary Vandrel.”
The guard looked up.
“She knew something about the sequence of the platform charges,” Dhomhes said.
“Now we know who her uncle is. I want the original enrollment correspondence, not another summary.
Who arranged her place, and when? Check her father's business interests against the freight accounts from Barnak's case as well.”
“Preserve her residence access records and comm traffic records,” he continued. “Don't disturb her device. I want to know where the connections go, and whether they coincide with changes to the program's movements. The same for any outside contact associated with the attack inquiry.”
“And her companion?”
Dhomhes's hand tightened around the cup.
The guard noticed. Of course he did.
“Sereya's safety is part of the residence watch,” Dhomhes said. “If she's being used to carry messages or run errands, we need to know. We do not assume she knows why.”
“Should we separate them?”
“Give all the volunteers the option of separate rooms in the secured wing. Quietly, through the housing staff. No one should need permission from another volunteer to move.”
It wasn't enough. Not if Roemary was what he feared. But dragging Sereya out of her room without an explanation she could trust would not make her feel safer, and warning Roemary exactly where he was looking might endanger more people than the woman beside her.
“For the immediate watch, put two of ours inside the existing residence detail,” he said. “Coordinate with the commander. No gap while the teams change. Any unscheduled visitor or movement gets checked before it's allowed through.”
“All volunteers?”
“All of them.”
The guard gathered his notes.
“I'll need authority for some of these requests.”
“You'll have it.”
After he left, Dhomhes contacted his father. Ruthak answered from his own office, still dressed, a crease between his heavy brows.
Dhomhes sent him the civil-record match and told him what he was doing about the residence watch.
“Off-world help,” Ruthak said.
“Someone has to be arranging it. We're looking for the payments and the people who can get instructions into the residence.”
“And Vandrel's daughter?”
“We are watching the situation.”
His father's eyes held his.
“Keep that distinction when you speak to the Coalition.”
“I intend to.”
“And don't wait for a finding to protect the females.”
“I've increased the residence watch. Stron and Khalzin get an updated threat notice: we may be dealing with off-world resources as well as local opposition. The security commander gets these records and the details still to be verified.”
“Good.” Ruthak shifted a document out of view. “Any report from the inspection unit?”
“No contact with Fiviel or Graecey.”
His father's face changed very slightly. He had known Fiviel since he was young enough to be scolded for running through this same office.
Dhomhes looked down at his cup.
“I'll tell you the moment there's something.”
Ruthak nodded. For a few seconds, neither said anything.
After the call, Dhomhes sent the threat notices and supporting records to the security commander. Then he brought the plate back to the table and ate.
Sereya's message arrived when he was reviewing the new watch assignments.
Are you still awake?
He answered before he thought about whether he should.
Yes.
May I call?
He shut the case displays down.
Her face appeared a moment later, close to the screen. She was propped against pillows, her hair loose around her shoulders. The room behind her was dim.
“I thought you might be,” she said.
“I'm becoming predictable.”
“Only about this.”
He leaned back in his chair. The sight of her hurt in some unexpected, welcome way. For hours he had looked at damaged buildings and lists of people whose safety he could not confirm. Here was Sereya, alive in a room he knew, looking back at him.
“You should be asleep,” he said.
“So should you.”
“A formidable argument.”
“I had time to prepare it.”
He smiled. She watched him for a moment.
“Your friend?”
“Khalzin is receiving care.”
“I'm sorry.”
“So am I.”
She didn't ask him to make it less frightening. He appreciated that more than he could have explained.
“I was thinking about your hand,” she said.
He glanced down at it.
“The cut?”
“No. The rest of it.”
He looked back at her. A faint, self-conscious smile tugged at her mouth.
“I liked holding it,” she said. “I meant to tell you before everything happened.”
He could hear the work it took for her to say it plainly. He set his own caution aside long enough to give her an answer she wouldn't have to decipher.
“I wanted to keep holding yours.”
She pulled the blanket a little higher. “At the reception?”
“Yes.”
“In front of everyone?”
“Yes.”
Her smile grew. It was worth having been awake for far too long to see it.
“I didn't know where to look,” she admitted. “After you took it.”
“At me would have been acceptable.”
“That was the problem.”
He laughed quietly.
“Was it?”
“You must know what you look like.”
“I've been shown mirrors.”
“Then don't make me explain it.”
“I was rather hoping you would.”
“Good night, Dhomhes.”
“Wait.”
She stayed, smiling now. The burn spread through his chest. He shifted in the chair, then planted both feet beneath the desk. Getting up would do no good; she was still on a screen.
“I wish I were there,” he said.
The smile faded, but she didn't look away.
“So do I.”
He pictured her beside him, the weight of her hand in his. His breath roughened. He could almost feel her leaning close, lifting her face toward his. The empty chair across the room was suddenly intolerable.
She glanced toward her door. He saw the movement and the way she tried to disguise it afterward.
“How are things there?” he asked.
“Quiet.”
“With Roemary?”
A pause.
“She didn't enjoy the reception.”
“I gathered that.”
“She's feeling better about it now.”
The words were light. Her face wasn't.
“What changed?”
Sereya picked at the edge of the blanket. “She thinks you might tell me things. About what's happening.”
He kept his expression still.
“And she wants you to pass them on.”
“Yes.” Sereya looked at him directly. “I thought you should know.”
“Thank you.”
“I didn't call to ask you anything for her.”
“I know.”
Did he? The question came automatically, mean with fatigue. He had spent the night asking who had access to whom, who might have been put beside someone for a purpose. He could turn even this into an interrogation if he allowed himself.
But Sereya had just told him something that would make such an interrogation harder to conceal. She had warned him when silence would have been easier.
He would remember that too.
“I wanted to hear your voice,” she said.
The admission was very quiet.
Dhomhes looked at her until she began to fidget with the blanket again.
“Sereya.”
“Yes?”
“You can call me for that.”
“What if you're busy?”
“I'll answer when I can. And if I can't, I'll call you back.”
She nodded. Not quite trusting the promise yet, but wanting to.
He wanted to deserve it.
They talked for a few more minutes about nothing he could have included in a report.
The flowering branches at the reception.
The tea. How long it took to become accustomed to sleeping while the light outside remained unchanged.
She was halfway through explaining that she kept checking the time before she believed it when a yawn interrupted her.
“Bed,” he said.
“I'm in it.”
“Sleep, then.”
“You first.”
“I have a little more to do.”
She looked disappointed, though he wasn't certain whether it was for him or with him.
“Soon,” he said.
“All right. Soon.”
After she ended the call, he sat with his hand on the dark display.
He had just agreed to call back a woman whose safety might depend on what he found in the next few hours. He could not ask her to prove she was worth protecting. Nor could he let wanting her make him careless about the people around her.
The staff message confirmed the additional guards were in place. Roemary's enrollment record gave only a processing date; he sent it back with his outstanding request for the submission trail. Then he checked the watch assignments himself.