Chapter One -- Vita's Vengeance

The first chapter to the newly finished book!

1

Alsandor ineffectually protested as the medtech held him down, his face pressed against the sofa's rough cushion.

"Problems?" someone asked.

"No sir, I can handle him," the woman said, her voice a harsh growl, and her hand pushing hard against the back of Alsandor's neck. "He's too drunk to be any real trouble."

She shoved an injector against Alsandor's neck with enough force to bruise. In the next heartbeat, something burnt through his body like fire rushing through blood -- and he went from dead drunk to so clear-headed sober it made him ill.

"Damn!" Alsandor growled as the stocky woman stepped quickly away.

He sat up, taking quick short breaths to fight away the queasiness. The small, private cabin of the shuttle stank of liquor. A bottle of something -- empty -- lay on the floor by his feet. He didn't see a glass. He hadn't drunk straight from the bottle had he?

Damn, damn. He hated this. Alsandor ran his hand through his long, snarled hair wondering how it could get so bad in the few short hours since he left the ship for the shuttle. This wasn't the first time he'd been forced back to the real world in such unpleasant haste. The experience never got better.

"Orders, sir," Captain Hanson said from the cabin's doorway. The man shifted from one foot to the other. "From Madame President herself."

Elisa's instructions. Of course. They wouldn't have dared treat him like this without a command from someone higher in authority than his own mere claim as co-owner of the ship line. Wealth, and the temporal power of the rich, meant nothing in the face of a dictate from his older sister, Madame President Elisa Vita Taren.

"Councilor Vita?"

Alsandor scowled at the title. It meant less here than it did in the council chambers in Kaiton, which was damned little enough.

"The shuttle lands in less than an hour," the Captain said when he looked up. "I trust that you will...be ready?"

"I've put enough Anticol in him that he can't get drunk again," the medtech said, an angry snarl of words as she went out the doorway.

"Ah, you see, Captain," Alsandor said, his voice soft and without rancor. He'd been trained all his life never to show his emotions, especially when it might be politically inappropriate. Always remember how it will reflect on Madame President. "I'll look quite presentable when we reach the capital."

The Captain nodded, and left the private VIP cabin with the frowning medtech a step behind him. "Such a damn waste," she said out in the hall. "Why does she bother --"

The door slid shut, saving Alsandor from listening to the familiar tirade: Why does President Elisa Vita Taren bother to keep him around, let alone appoint him as her advisor to the Kai Council?

Alsandor knew the answer, and it was a shame no one bothered to ask him. She kept Councilor Alsandor Vita because he did anything she asked -- Voted for what she wanted, researched what she needed, and said what she wanted said when it was ill-advised for her to do so. No other politicians in her cadre could be quite as well trusted, even among her most ardent followers. Elisa wasn't a fool. She knew the worth of a brother who had learned to let her run his life at a very early age.

People asked why she bothered to keep him around, but no one asked why he stayed. It was probably just as well. He had no blithe, easy answer.

A cleaning bot scurried out from the wall and grabbed the bottle and the glass wedged under the sofa. He found that a small salve for his pride.

A glance at the desk's comp display confirmed what the Captain had said. Dasan completely filled the screen with blue mountains, green and brown farmlands, and the rugged coastline lining the wide aqua sea. The Sofi Islands slipped over the edge of the screen as he watched.

He wished Elisa had given him a little more credit for not being stupid. Before he started drinking he'd taken a timed Anticol dosage. In fact, it kicked in even as he thought about it, redoubling the headache with a force that made him gasp and close his eyes, waiting for the drug's first wave to burn through. He would have been completely sober when he reached the port, even without her interference. This had been intended as his last -- and private -- binge, banished with Anticol before he stepped out in public.

He wondered if he would hold to his resolve this time. It had been easier, away from the pressures he faced here, not to drink.

The war is coming. His mission to ask aid of the Inner Worlds Council had been a total -- though not unexpected -- failure. The IWC hadn't helped the other Aquila Fringe worlds of Jade, Milanda or Enil, either. Nevertheless, Elisa sent him. It had been tedious, futile work, done only for the sake of propriety. They couldn't leave such an obvious stone unturned for her political enemies to exploit when she most needed everyone's cooperation.

General Jarak wouldn't have much trouble taking Dasan. The Kai and Anon Districts, still embroiled in their perpetual border dispute, prepared for the larger war but hadn't come to terms with each other -- dividing any strength they might have had. The Sofi Islands remained quiet and neutral, and the half dozen other, smaller districts couldn't have gathered enough military forces to fend off an invasion of cleaning bots.

Restless now, as well as sober, Alsandor watched a few minutes of the Vidline feed, grimacing at the sight of Jarak everywhere in the news. He'd grown tired of looking at the man. Besides, Jarak looked too much like his daughter, Idela. At the unwelcome thought of his wife, Alsandor reached toward the liquor case, and stopped with a curse, remembering why he had such a headache.

Maybe he'd get lucky and Idela had finally gone home to Verdi during his long trip to the Inner Worlds. He didn't know why she'd held on for the last two years despite her obvious dislike for Dason, and her hatred for him.

And why hadn't he let go? Ah, he easily answered that one: because Elisa, who had suggested he marry Idela, had not yet bothered to suggest he divorce her.

Damn bitter thoughts, and he shook his head, welcoming the bite of pain from the headache that chased away the words. He grudgingly turned to the work of looking presentable for the people who would judge Elisa by his behavior.



When the shuttle disembarked at the Kaiton Port, Alsandor Vita passed the Captain at the airlock with a friendly, parting smile. Hanson looked surprised and then pleased. Vita charm -- it was one of the few things Alsandor could honestly say he had in common with Madame President. Well, that and so much of the same facial features that he'd taken to wearing a short beard and longer hair just in attempt to end the constant comments about how much he looked like his sister.

The short walk down the well-lit corridor took him to the port's entry gate. A group of second-string local reporters had turned out to meet him. Obviously, it was a slow news day.

Alsandor straightened his jacket and hurried to the semi-opaque glass of the scanning arch where the computer verified his identity. Scan lights blinked, held, and blinked again, showing the machine had been set for the highest priority, even though the full genescan took several seconds longer to complete. People would complain, of course. For Alsandor, though, this proved the first real indication of serious trouble on Dasan. Something had changed since he left ten months before.

He started to step out of the scan booth when a small screen came on, and he found himself unexpectedly looking at his sister. She sat at her desk, shuffling through some papers. The words recorded message flashed in small red letters at the bottom left.

She looked up at him. "San, I checked the schedule and see that the shuttle you're on will be down in time for today's council meeting. Try not to be late."

The picture faded. No words of welcome. No hint that she was glad to see him back. A please would have been nice.

"Scan and messages are completed. Please move on."

The computer was more polite than his sister. He looked over his shoulder to gauge the distance back to the shuttle. He owned the damned craft. The crew couldn't turn him away.

The computer chimed on again. "Please state the nature of your problem so that we may summon proper aid."

A half dozen answers sprang to mind, of which I hate my life seemed the most appropriate. However, he moved forward into the lobby's main room, with the redstone floor and the pristine white walls. The chairs where people waited for flights were mostly empty but the place still seemed busy. Guards stood in a few locations -- more than had been on duty when he left Kaiton.

Alsandor stepped into view of the reporters with a smile set on his face. He buried the anger at Elisa's message along with any feeling of despair, before the reporters could see it in his eyes.

They asked a flurry of the usual questions, to which he gave the equally usual, meaningless answers. Excellent trip, no problems. No sign of trouble. I am not at liberty to discuss the mission before I report to Madame President.

He started to turn away, preparing to go to Council. He had wisely written his report before the ship even slipped into the system, and had even spent an hour on the shuttle going over it before he opened the liquor cabinet.

His head pounded still.

"I suppose you're anxious to get home to your pretty wife," Bela from Kai Times said as the others started to pack up their equipment.

"She's still here, then?" he asked absently.

That brought a startled chorus of laughter from both the reporters and the few people gathered nearby. Idela would have his head for that one.

"Yes, Idela Jarak Vita is still at the estate," Bela said. Alsandor could see her delight with the sound bite. "You're not anxious to get home?"

"Oh, I can't wait to get home," he quickly answered, and it was even true. He loved the estate. "But, alas, I've already had a message from Elisa to come to the Council Meeting. I had better get there before it's called to order. Thank you."

He gave a polite nod, ignoring her frown. He'd already given her more than enough to get him in trouble. He walked away, a quick but polite parting.

"What a surprise. Sober," Bela said loudly behind him.

He didn't allow his step to falter or even the smile on his face to waver while the others watched. Elisa wouldn't like a scene within the hour of his return home. Which was why he wasn't drunk, of course.

Someone patted his arm. Alsandor smiled (always be polite, never bring disgrace to Elisa's name), but the man had already turned away. At least it had been a little show of kindness.

Alsandor walked another half dozen steps before he realized his arm hurt, and in the next breath the pain spread through his body. He paused in midstep and his legs gave out. As he went to his knees he inanely thought the reporters would believe him drunk after all.

It hurt even to breathe, and his sight blurred with each gasp. Guards arrived at a run, and a view of the familiar black uniforms reassured him. Safe....

When he started to fall forward a guard quickly knelt and caught his shoulders. The touch brought a fire-like pain through his arm, and it radiated through the rest of his body. He looked down to see his right hand already covered with tiny blisters.

Trine poison.

"Call Madame President!" the man shouted.

"No!" Alsandor caught the ankle of another who had started to pull his commlink. The touch hurt like hell, sending pain radiating in waves through his body, but he didn't let go. He had to fight to speak. "No! She'll come here. Don't tell her! Someone -- Trine -- "

"Get the port's medtech!" another ordered. That seemed a wiser decision. He heard shouted orders about sealing off the building, but Alsandor knew they were already too late to catch the man. He'd been good, quick, professional....

Soldiers swiftly moved Alsandor into a small, cluttered office. The movement made him ill. By now color and even sounds began to blur. Someone brought the medic. A quick scan and he pushed an injection into San's neck, followed by another scan before he started to look less worried.

"Damned lucky," the man said. Alsandor could already hear better, and the room color shad sopped melting into each other. "You've already taken Anticol recently, didn't you?"

"Y-yes," he said in a gasp for breath and words. "Two doses, earlier."

"You'd be dead without them. Trine has a chemical make-up that's very close to alcohol. With the proper flavoring added, most people can't tell the difference, and if there's alcohol already in the blood stream, it even acts as a catalyst and speeds up the reaction. Anticol, praise God, is the best antidote we have. You were just hit with an extremely strong, concentrated dose of Trine."

Alsandor barely nodded, the world still too bright and painful.

"Here, this will help deaden the nerve fire." The med carefully pulled off Alsandor's jacket, and gently pushed up the shirt sleeve. He placed an injector against Alsandor's wrist, just below an ugly red and brown spot where the stranger had touched him.

Someone had tried to kill him?

The door slid open, startling Alsandor, though he nodded with relief at the sight of Micah -- and then worried again when he saw his brother-in-law's frantic appearance. Nothing ruffled General Micah Taren, but there he stood without his uniform cap, brown hair looking wind-blown, and his jacket unbuttoned.

"They called me as I was getting ready for Council," Micah breathlessly reported. "--and said you'd taken Trine Poison --"

"Not taken," the medtech corrected so brusquely that Alsandor felt chagrined. Alsandor didn't realize he needed defending on a charge of suicidal tendencies. The doctor indicated the discolored spot on Alsandor's bare right arm. "Someone tried to kill him. He's lucky he survived."

"Oh damn." Micah abruptly sat down on a chair. He put a hand to his mouth and away again, a gesture San knew reflected agitation. "Why didn't someone call Elisa?"

"Told them not to," Alsandor said, taking short breaths, hoping to ease both the pain and the panic. "Didn't know where the assassin went. He might have tried to kill me just to lure Elisa here."

"That makes sense. You aren't important enough --" Micah stopped, and looked horrified. "I'm sorry, San. That was a damned impolite, and thoughtless, thing to say!"

Alsandor managed to lift a shaking hand and wave away the apology. "It's all right. I was thinking the same thing."

"That's not fair to you. You are important. Why do you think Ranifyn spends so much of his energy trying to convince people that you should be removed from Council?"

"Because he likes easy targets."

"Then why do you make it easy for him? No, never mind. I'm being unfair again. You're obviously not in condition to be badgered."

"He will be better as soon as the poison works its way through his system. Probably by tomorrow -- though it may take longer. It's hard to say." The medtech started packing up his equipment, glancing at Alsandor and then at Micha. "That amount of Trine would have killed him within the hour if he hadn't already had the Anticol, which immediately neutralized the worst of the poison. There would have been damage that no amount of regen could have fixed in time." He stopped and looked at Alsandor. "Be careful. It doesn't matter why this person tried to kill you. He wasn't playing games."

"Thank you," San said, and carefully shook the man's hand, though his fingers still tingled with a latent hint of fiery pain. He had to fight to keep the panic from showing as he watched the man leave.

"Tell me what happened," Micah said drawing his attention. The General looked more himself again, at least.

Alsandor related the incident as best he could. Micah listened and nodded. The vidcams, both in port authority and from the reporters, would probably reveal more.

With the tale done, San carefully pulled the shirt sleeve back down over his arm. The skin looked discolored and puffy from wrist to elbow. By the time he finished he realized that Micah had been quiet for far too long. Alsandor looked up to find his older brother-in-law staring at him again.

"This is a hell of a way for you to come home, isn't it?" Micah finally asked.

"I --" He stopped short of telling Micah that he'd considered not coming back. "I'm rattled. I'm sorry."

"You needn't apologize to me. What you do need is to see the family medic and have an escort home --"

"No, no. I'm going to Council. I received a message from Elisa to get there as soon as I came in."

"Don't be ridiculous, San. You're pale as a ghost, and shaking. I don't think you really want to sit through a meeting, do you? And just for a little extra incentive to go home instead, Ranifyn has already announced that he will make an important speech today."

San winced at the thought of listening to one of the senior Councilor's special important speeches. Council Ranifyn loved to hear himself speak. San didn't want to sit through it -- but then considered the alternatives.

"Better Rani then Idela. I'll go to Council. I don't want anyone to make points on this one, Micah."

"You weren't listening to the medtech. This isn't a game."

"Did you tell Elisa what happened when you left? What you thought happened?"

"No," he said with a grimace. "I didn't really think you had done it on purpose, San. You wouldn't do that to Elisa. I was just so rattled and scared when I saw you -- you looked like you were going to fall over dead at any moment when I opened that door."

He hadn't expected Micah to sound so emotional about it. "Elisa will know you were called away. She'll probably know you went to the port, and suspect it has to do with me. She's going to be worried," San said. "I'll go to Council, sit through Rani's speech -- what is it on this time?"

"A statement of vast importance is all we've gotten. Elisa and I think he heard that you were on the shuttle, and --"

"He has a spy on the ship," San suddenly surmised.

"That's what Elisa thought, too. Amazing how much alike you two think. And it's why Elisa ordered the ship's captain to make certain you were stone-cold sober when you reached landfall."

"And saved my life." He rubbed at his sore arm, and winced. "So, I have Rani to thank for being alive."

"Unless he's the one who sent the assassin." Micah shook his head even before San could protest. "No, the last thing Rani wants is for you to look like a martyr."

"Exactly. Let's go to Council. It doesn't matter that I'm not drunk, Micah, if I'm not there anyway. And I really don't want to go home to Idela just yet. Yes, I'd much rather face the entire Council and a speech from Councilor Ranifyn instead."

"You should divorce her."

"Not until Elisa says so."

Micah's head came up with a start. Amazing to see General Taren startled twice in the same hour. "Is that what you've been waiting on? Good God, Alsandor Vita! 'Lis and I have spent months trying to figure out what the hell was stopping you!"

"Well you could have mentioned that to me," he said and knew he sounded cross this time. Micah paid that no attention. "Elisa is the one who suggested I marry her, you know."

"Oh, damn. I'm sorry, Alsandor. That's been a stupid mistake from the beginning! She hoped to bribe Jarak with the promise of a claim to the Vita Fortune until outside protests against his other aggressions finally slowed him down. Unfortunately, no one outside really gives a damn."

"I know. I just came back from a very graphic exercise in learning how little they cared." He carefully pulled his jacket into place.

"And you went along with the marriage," Micah said.

"Absolutely. I don't want Jarak to take Dasan, either. A shame it didn't work. I think all Jarak really wanted was an heir to the Vita fortune."

Micah tilted his head as he looked at Alsandor. "And you've been damned careful he doesn't get that heir, haven't you?"

"This something else you and Elisa talk about?" San asked, feeling unexpectedly amused by the thought.

"Oh yes. Your sex life is such a nice diversion from the threat of war."

San laughed and Micah grinned. "I've done my best to make certain Idela didn't get a Vita heir, either naturally or through an implant. I like being alive, and I like my sister and you. Once Jarak and Idela had the child, they certainly wouldn't need any of us."

"Right again. I don't know why Elisa never talked about this with you."

Alsandor finally took a step forward, catching hold of Micah's chair for a long moment before he even dared nod. "There, that's all right. I can handle this. You know the real unanswered question in my marriage? Why has Idela stayed all this time? Wish I could get an answer out of her for that one. But at least we know that as long as she's in Kaiton, we're all safe. Jarak wouldn't jeopardize her safety."

Micah nodded as he stood, and didn't look much steadier than Alsandor.

"San?" Micah asked, a hand gently touching his shoulder. "You look like hell. You don't have to go to this meeting, and you don't have to go home either. I trust the medtech, but I'd feel better if you went to the hospital instead. I'll make certain you aren't disturbed there by anyone, and Idela and Jarak be damned."

"No, I need the distraction, Micah. Really. I don't want to be alone right now."

Micah finally nodded, brushed down his own hair and straightened his jacket. He stood a head and a half taller than Alsandor, and he had always felt somehow younger when he walked with the General.

"Let's go, then, before Elisa does come looking for us," Micah said.

They walked out through the lobby. The reporters, unexpectedly finding that they had a story after all, shouted questions until General Taren ordered them away. Alsandor said nothing as they crossed the redstone floor and out into the too bright light of early morning. His head pounded at the assault of noise and sun, and his step finally faltered. Micah put a hand on his shoulder and steered him to the right. The General had his large, official aircar on the walkway right outside the Port Tower's front door, another sign of how frantic he really must have been. It embarrassed and touched Alsandor.

They hadn't far to go to the Capitol Building. Once the pilot took them up Micah again tried to talk him out of going in, and then insisted on accompanying him. Alsandor didn't argue with that last decision.

Alsandor touched his arm, purposely probing at the burn mark, reminding himself that someone had tried to kill him.

Yes, things had changed at home.