The shuttle from Comorro Station arcs for its final descent over the sprawling Opodian capital city of Ope'mot. The ruddy glow of the star known to the locals as Opodi's Eye bathing the majestic spires of the skyline in a rusty hue. A glittering greenish-blue field of energy shimmers around the arches, columns, and circular domes of the Great Temple. Several city blocks around the temple are still blocked off by emergency crews and vehicles. Rapid-response defense fighters fall into flanking positions alongside the shuttle to make sure it goes to the spaceport as planned.
Zabyra looks out of the window as the fighters show up, "So NOW they increase security? A little bit late, isn't it?" She says aloud, not adressing anyone in particular. Her voice sounds a bit bitter.
The shuttle settles on the landing pad of the spaceport. Satisfied that it's not about to explode, the fighter pilots break off to resume a patrol pattern around the Great Temple's airspace. Soon after, the ground crew arrives with a departure stairway for passengers to descend out of the airlock.
Zabyra departs alongside the other passengers, giving a friendly nod to the crew. She doesn't seem terribly interested in the proceedings, and just follows their directions.
Outside the spaceport, Zabyra finds rows of sleek gray-blue hovercabs waiting to whisk her off to a destination. However, on elevated platforms hovering about twenty feet above the street - across the highway from the spaceport with a backdrop of the still-smoldering wreckage of the blocks ruined in the attempted destruction of the Great Temple - protesters shout beneath holographically projected slogans. The slogans show such messages as: "Put the people first!" "Opodi loves her children more than her monuments!" and "Never again!"
Zabyra smiles at the protests, but doesn't speak to the protestors, it's now why she's here, maybe later. As such, she continues to one of the hovercabs, "Ope'mot police department, please." She asks the nearest cab pilot.
The pilot, a squat Gankri with bulbous eyes and a limp, tugs open the passenger compartment door. "Always pleased to serve," he says.
Zabyra enters the passenger compartment, waiting for the cab to leave, and arrive.
Closing the door after Zabyra, the pilot takes his seat and taps in a sequence on the navcomp. The hovercab lifts from its position in the middle of one row and arcs away toward the government district. The curve takes the vehicle many-windowed vehicle close to the blasted city blocks nearest the spaceport - but not so close as to draw the attention of the picket fighters. "You offworld when it happened?" the cabbie inquires.
Zabyra nods, "Yeah. Haven't seen my parents in a long time, might not ever see them again, as it looks like now."
"Heard that story a few hundred times now," the Gankri grumbles. "All you hear about on the babblecasts. No offense, but the paw-wringing gets old." He grunts. "Anyway, police station, huh? You a cop?"
Zabyra shakes her head, "No, need to know if they have any news on my missing parents, or anything at all that could serve as a clue."
The hovercab begins its descent toward their destination: A blocky building marked CENTRAL PRECINCT, with a queue that's packed around the block with citizens, mostly Opodians, holding vigil and waiting for word. Makeshift walls of plastic and wood have been thrown up, braced with concrete blocks, and affixed with images of people who were killed or simply remain unaccounted for in the wake of the bombing. "Get in line," the pilot says. The hovercab settles about one hundred yards from the precinct building. "Sixty hekkers. Don't get weepy on me, either. I'm cutting you a tenner for the whole lost parents bit."
Zabyra pays the money, and goes to stand in line, seemingly annoyed. "I already bloody know my parents are missing, the news went bloody everywhere."
A pudgy Opodian community service cop, his fur gone frazzled and eyes yellowed with old age, moves along the queue, clutching a PDA and shouting, "Survivor check-in? Anyone checking in? Survivors? Relatives of victims? I have a list, you see. Must compare and confirm. Identification preferable."
Zabyra looks at the cop, and hands over her identification papers. "Zabyra, daughter of Chel and Issia. I'd like to talk with an officer."
The community services patroller looks the papers over, bunches his brows, and then persuses the list on his PDA. "Still listed as missing. Sorry about that. Lost my son and two nephews, myself. They'd gone to the Temple District to catch that new Brunnika sensevid. Haven't seen it, myself. Maybe never will. Not now. Anyway." He hands the papers back to Zabyra. "Officers are busy investigating. Hundreds of people missing, plus there's the whole conspiracy to blow up the temple that needs looking into, yes?"
Zabyra frowns more, "Look, they were important enough to broadcast that they're missing to the entire bloody universe, least ya could do is let their bloody daughter have a bit of a chat with an officer."
Grumbling, the community services officer taps a clawed finger on the PDA's plastic shell. "I don't know. The officers are particular. It's exceedingly busy right now and if I send a civvy running in, well, it's liable to cause a bit of a stampede, yes? So..." He clips the PDA on his belt and then takes out a commlink. Activating the commlink, he speaks into the transmitter: "Officer Rutteg? Got that epidemiologist's daughter out here. She's pretty insistent. Wants to talk." He turns, listening to the response coming from the other end - a male voice, but what he says precisely is obscured by the sound of traffic and the crowd. Eventually, the old Opodian swivels back around, shuts off the commlink, and smiles at Zabyra. "Not sending you inside. But, apparently, your father treated Rutteg's creeping fur burn a few years ago. Didn't charge him for it, either. So, the officer figures he owes your family a favor. He'll meet you at the lectropub down the street. Get a booth."
Zabyra nods at the copper, "Thanks for the help, will do." She gives him a friendly nod as she departs to the aforementioned lectropub.
The glittery metal and plastic interior of the lectropub, identified by a bright red holographic sign as Fazgom's, is pretty slow at the moment. Many empty booths. It's in the heart of the city, so gets jumping during the mornings and lunch hour, but trickling to a crawl as the day ends and the denizens of the city settle into their homes. A Gankri waiter shows Zabyra to a booth in the back corner. Not long after that, an Opodian in loose-fitting brown civilian garments - a monk-like robe and a battered hat - wanders in and makes his way to the booth. "You wanted to see me?"
Zabyra nods, "Well, not any officer in particular, but I'd like to ask some questions. I have to find me parents."
Rutteg settles into the booth across from Zabyra. "It's an open investigation. I understand you're worried about your parents. Lots of people are worried about loved ones who are missing. I'll answer what questions I can. However, you must understand that I am bound by oath to maintain secrecy about certain elements of this investigation."
Zabyra nods, "I understand. Anyway, questions. Are you guys sure that me parents did not leave Ope'mot?"
The officer tilts his snout, eyes flicking. "If we were sure, one way or another, we could mark them off the missing list. We have reasons to believe they *were* in the city at the time of the blast but they were not constantly monitored."
Zabyra nods, "Do you know when they were last seen?"
"Hovercab pilot dropped them off outside the war museum," Rutteg replies. "Your father was due to give a speech on chemical warfare effects. I know he treated a lot of wounded Opodians during the gassings. You're probably too young to remember those attacks."
Zabyra frowns, "Was the war museum in the blast's range, or did he just not show up?"
The officer is silent for a long few moments. Then: "You must understand that I mean no offense when I say this but - we have now ventured into territory that involves information that I am forbidden to divulge. You see, your parents named you as beneficiary in a significant life insurance policy. You stand to gain from their demise. So..." he reaches into a pocket of his robe and takes out a PDA. "I've got some questions for you, as well."
Zabyra looks down, possibly somewhat insulted, "Okay, feel free to ask them, though I have to say, there's no money in the world that can make up for the loss of my parents."
"An impressive attitude," Rutteg replies, although his tone suggests impassiveness at best. "How long have you been aboard Comorro Station? Describe your relationship with the Llivori revolutionary Ribas Salek. And why might someone claim that you hired them to blow up a huge chunk of this city to get your hands on a fortune?"
Zabyra looks genuinely shocked, "I have nothing but disdain for him, the racist bastard. I would never, ever, consider something like that." She frowns, "As for why? Well, he seems to enjoy nothing more than to torture me."
"Salek didn't make the claim," the officer says. "The bomber on the freighter left a recording in his apartment in the Llivori city of Asbryr. The details of the recording are classified."
Zabyra frowns, "I never knew about the existence of this person before I heard it in the news." She seems shocked, "Either someone has been impersonating me, or Salek was working together with this bomber, and they decided to frame me."
The investigator bobs his snout. His eyes glitter in the glow of the colorful lights that give the lectropub its name. "I have told you all that I can at the moment. If I have further questions, where will I find you?"
Zabyra frowns, "As it stands now, I have no reason to stay at Kamsho. You will most likely be able to find me at my store on Comorro." She stands up to leave.