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Authors: Tyler Chase
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team. The metallic skeletal structures pranced lightly around the transport with sensors on high alert to detect even the most miniscule scrap of evidence.
Within the hour, the Forensic Director was ready to deliver his preliminary report. The conference lines were opened, the director’s face appeared on the screen in the main window, Larrs Bastionli’s in a smaller one.
Crausin gritted his teeth as his anger broiled. A quick wave of his hand over the controls wiped Larrs’ dark, brooding face from his screen.
“We found substantial traces of blood and tissue specimens in the vessel indicating severe trauma and loss,” said the fair-haired, middle-aged man. “The weapon used was a deuterium based bomb, commonly used in guerrilla warfare scenarios. The initial attack targeted the navigation system, but when the pilots quickly circumvented the problem, the attackers chose to detonate the bomb. It seems the initial blast from the bomb ripped away the cockpit exposing the rest of the transport—”
“Enough with the science lesson,” it was Larrs’ rumbling bass voice interrupting the director. “Where in the blazes is my daughter?”
From the brief glimpse of him, Larrs was just as Crausin had remembered – a tall, barrel-chested man with dark curly hair rapidly graying at the temples and sideburns. But his reddish-brown skin remained free of the wrinkles that should accompany a man of his age.
Under the weight of Larrs’ aristocratic tone, the forensic specialist became flustered.
“Y-Yes, Your Grace. I was just getting to that.” He looked down at his comp-pad, tabbing the pages, seeming to have lost his place. “Here we are. We did find small traces of her blood, indicating that while she was aboard at the time of the attack, she was not mortally wounded as a direct result of the explosion. However,” his eyes fixed upon Crausin. “We found substantial amounts of Prince Comron’s blood on the floor of the transport, indicating that he sustained severe injuries in the attack.”
Crausin suddenly couldn’t breathe and the room began to spin. “But his body, my son’s body isn’t among the wreckage, is it?”
“No, my lord. It’s not, which is the mysterious part. The blood that flowed from his wound had been exposed for about thirty hours, yet twenty hours ago he was able to leave you this message.” The specialist showed Crausin the metal serving tray. Written in blood were the words, “Crausin, going to the coast. Find me there. 1250hrs 3143.”
Crausin’s eyes glistened with unimaginable joy and relief.
Comron, I’m here! Just as you knew I would be.
Already, he could feel the specter of his father, Edred, shrinking back, cursing in the darkness as he withdrew into the mental abyss.
He took a slow deep breath. His tone was even, restrained. “So, he survived the crash and is making his way toward the shore. Excellent.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” the specialist said. “But the evidence also clearly indicates there must be at least one other survivor.” He seemed to be offering Larrs some hope, however small it might be. “My guess is, Prince Comron was severely injured and one of the other passengers administered medical aid to save him. Look.” He fed more data into the com-link, a three dimensional model appeared. “There are shoe prints in his blood, far too small to belong to the prince, so we can assume they belong to the person who tended to him. But we only see one set of shoe prints outside of the transport. They’re larger. I think they belong to the prince.”
“What happened to the smaller prints?”
Crausin could hear the scowl in Larrs’ voice.
“I don’t know. But given that there is no one inside the transport, I would say the smaller passenger left as well. There are no signs of a struggle or trauma beyond the immediate wreckage. It rained about twenty-five hours ago in this area. It’s very possible the smaller passenger helped Prince Comron and then
Within the hour, the Forensic Director was ready to deliver his preliminary report. The conference lines were opened, the director’s face appeared on the screen in the main window, Larrs Bastionli’s in a smaller one.
Crausin gritted his teeth as his anger broiled. A quick wave of his hand over the controls wiped Larrs’ dark, brooding face from his screen.
“We found substantial traces of blood and tissue specimens in the vessel indicating severe trauma and loss,” said the fair-haired, middle-aged man. “The weapon used was a deuterium based bomb, commonly used in guerrilla warfare scenarios. The initial attack targeted the navigation system, but when the pilots quickly circumvented the problem, the attackers chose to detonate the bomb. It seems the initial blast from the bomb ripped away the cockpit exposing the rest of the transport—”
“Enough with the science lesson,” it was Larrs’ rumbling bass voice interrupting the director. “Where in the blazes is my daughter?”
From the brief glimpse of him, Larrs was just as Crausin had remembered – a tall, barrel-chested man with dark curly hair rapidly graying at the temples and sideburns. But his reddish-brown skin remained free of the wrinkles that should accompany a man of his age.
Under the weight of Larrs’ aristocratic tone, the forensic specialist became flustered.
“Y-Yes, Your Grace. I was just getting to that.” He looked down at his comp-pad, tabbing the pages, seeming to have lost his place. “Here we are. We did find small traces of her blood, indicating that while she was aboard at the time of the attack, she was not mortally wounded as a direct result of the explosion. However,” his eyes fixed upon Crausin. “We found substantial amounts of Prince Comron’s blood on the floor of the transport, indicating that he sustained severe injuries in the attack.”
Crausin suddenly couldn’t breathe and the room began to spin. “But his body, my son’s body isn’t among the wreckage, is it?”
“No, my lord. It’s not, which is the mysterious part. The blood that flowed from his wound had been exposed for about thirty hours, yet twenty hours ago he was able to leave you this message.” The specialist showed Crausin the metal serving tray. Written in blood were the words, “Crausin, going to the coast. Find me there. 1250hrs 3143.”
Crausin’s eyes glistened with unimaginable joy and relief.
Comron, I’m here! Just as you knew I would be.
Already, he could feel the specter of his father, Edred, shrinking back, cursing in the darkness as he withdrew into the mental abyss.
He took a slow deep breath. His tone was even, restrained. “So, he survived the crash and is making his way toward the shore. Excellent.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” the specialist said. “But the evidence also clearly indicates there must be at least one other survivor.” He seemed to be offering Larrs some hope, however small it might be. “My guess is, Prince Comron was severely injured and one of the other passengers administered medical aid to save him. Look.” He fed more data into the com-link, a three dimensional model appeared. “There are shoe prints in his blood, far too small to belong to the prince, so we can assume they belong to the person who tended to him. But we only see one set of shoe prints outside of the transport. They’re larger. I think they belong to the prince.”
“What happened to the smaller prints?”
Crausin could hear the scowl in Larrs’ voice.
“I don’t know. But given that there is no one inside the transport, I would say the smaller passenger left as well. There are no signs of a struggle or trauma beyond the immediate wreckage. It rained about twenty-five hours ago in this area. It’s very possible the smaller passenger helped Prince Comron and then
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