Warp World

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Warp World Page 14

by Kristene Perron


  Ama yanked her hand away and locked her eyes on his. “If you won’t take me to the warehouse, I’ll go on my own.”

  “No. You can’t be out there unescorted. It’s too dangerous.”

  “I can take care of myself!”

  “I said no!” Seg shouted. Then, in a measured tone: “I forbid it. This discussion is over.”

  There was only an inch or two between them. Seg could feel the resentment rolling off her, as her chest rose and fell and her dathe flared. Neither dared to speak.

  He stepped forward, Ama didn’t move but she didn’t try to stop him, either. The door hissed open and their bodies connected briefly as he bumped her aside.

  The door slid closed behind him; Manatu, back to the wall, waited to follow.

  “At least someone here understands patience.”

  Seg watched the glowing numbers of the lift change colors as he and Manatu descended. The Acquired Technology and Research division of the Theorist’s Guild was as deep as it was tall. The ten levels above ground were primarily for administration, sales and development. Below ground, ten more levels housed the real work—the science of deciphering Outer technology.

  Where most Guild Selectees reveled in their top floor offices, the Selectee for Acquired Technology and Research, Theorist Shyl Vana, had chosen the third subterranean level for her headquarters. Apparently, she was more interested in getting things done than in parading her status. A point in her favor, though that alone was not sufficient to lower Seg’s guard. Since he had been ambushed at the Question, he had ceased regarding any Guild members as allies.

  When the –3 icon glowed blue, the lift doors opened and he and Manatu stepped into a small waiting area that was, for the Guild, uncharacteristically cluttered. A young woman took Seg’s information, then went to inform Theorist Vana of his arrival.

  Why doesn’t she simply use the comm? Seg wondered. Strange behavior for any Person, let alone an employee of the ATR.

  A few minutes later, the assistant returned and beckoned Seg inside the door to Theorist Shyl Vana’s office.

  The room was even more disorganized than the waiting area. There was a desk and chair, though the former was buried in tools, bits and pieces of machinery, and stacks of digifilms. There were four wallscreens and two holo-projectors, each displaying notes and diagrams far beyond Seg’s limited knowledge of the technological arts. Theorist Vana was not dressed in the well-groomed manner of a Selectee. A plain shirt hung carelessly over the waistband of work trousers, and both were covered by a heavy apron. There were goggles pushed up on Vana’s head that sent her short, dark blonde hair up in uneven tufts. Her hands were gloved and, in one, she carried a small, triangular piece of metal that held her complete attention.

  Seg paused and waited for her to speak. When she didn’t, he cleared his throat and said, “You wanted to see me, Theorist Vana?”

  “Mmm,” she said. “Fascinating.”

  “If now isn’t the time, I can return later. After the Question, perhaps.”

  Shyl turned to him, her face guileless and open. “It’s never a good time to interrupt work, I’m sure you would agree, but I have learned to make exceptions. Life has a bad habit of intruding; we either accept that fact or break ourselves against it.” She smiled. “Come tell me what you think of this.”

  She held out the triangle for him. It was light, possibly a metal alloy, and had a small ridge at each tip.

  “What is the function?” he asked, turning it over.

  “Accelerated biodegradation. It could be used to convert waste into useable base materials or, well, I’m sure there are more lethal uses. Impressive, much like your raid.”

  His grip loosened and he handled the piece more gingerly. “Is it deactivated?”

  “I believe so,” Shyl said, taking it back. “I know how to activate and deactivate it. As for the rest …” She sighed and placed the triangle on a long table covered in bits and pieces of her many projects. “As always, progress is hindered by the voluminous quantity of reports I am expected to file as I work.”

  “Bureaucracy,” he grunted, “the bane of progress and our major product as a culture these days. While this is—” He studied his hand, forcing it to steady as he searched for the word. “—

  gracious, do you have a specific topic or purpose for our meeting? I shouldn’t think there was anything novel enough in the tech recovery from my raid to merit the ATR’s attention.”

  “Discovery,” Shyl said. “I am a student of science, Theorist. Learning is the goal. The most noble goal, some would say. I’ve seen the newsfeeds celebrating your superhuman victory and I’ve heard the grumbles of Questioners who think you are a firebrand leading us all to ruin. All evidence tells me that you are an important individual, someone who will play a vital role in the future of the Guild and the World. My future, you see. I wanted to meet you, discover for myself who Segkel Eraranat is. Do you understand?”

  He leaned against the table.

  “Segkel Eraranat is busy,” he said, with a long exhalation. “Tired. Irritable. Doing what has to be done. You’d have to meet me at a less hectic time for me to give you a more detailed assessment.”

  She smiled. “No, I think I prefer to see you this way. It’s easier to imagine the young man who broke away from his recon squad and ventured out onto open water.” She leaned in closer and lowered her voice. “Tell me, what was it like? Really, not the official report version. Was it terrifying being so cut off from solid ground?” As she spoke, her studious mask fell away to reveal a face full of childlike wonder.

  He looked at her for a moment, suspecting a ruse—but the naked curiosity in her face warmed him. His shoulders relaxed.

  “At first, it was insanely terrifying. Surrounded by the liquid, in this rickety wooden boat, at the mercy of the water’s motion.” He gestured with his hand, mimicking the rock of the boat. “But, after a time, it was as if I were alone and completely in control of my life. I could take the boat where I wanted, do what I wanted to do, be whatever I wanted to be. Free, I suppose. Freer.”

  The answer took years off Shyl’s face. “Oh, I envy you. I love my work here but I do miss extrans missions. Free, yes, that was the feeling.” For a moment she was lost in memory; then she made a fist and thumped it lightly against the table. “But … work. I won’t keep you any longer, Theorist, but I am thankful that you accepted my invitation. I do hope we will have more cause to meet in the future. I would like to hear more about this rickety wooden boat. Fascinating.”

  “I believe I would be glad to tell you about it.” He crouched down to lift his pack. “Let me know how the device turns out. And if anything useful can be extracted.”

  “I will, I will.” She retrieved the triangle form its resting place. “It’s a matter of testing.” She walked to Seg’s side and fixed him with a significant look. “You see, when we believe something shows great promise, we put it through a number of tests. Not every object passes, but that doesn’t mean we don’t hope they will.” She smiled again. “Have courage, Theorist, some of us are hoping for your success.”

  “I—” He stopped there, unprepared for words of support. “Thank you. That is meaningful.”

  At Shyl’s nod, he headed for the door.

  “Oh, Theorist,” Shyl called after him.

  “Yes?”

  “You’re wondering why an assistant of the Selectee for Acquired Technology and Research did not use the comm to alert me of your arrival.” She looked up at him, with a playful smile. “I value the opinion of my assistant. There are many who have never made it through my door solely because of Jinev’s first impression.”

  “Another test?”

  “They never end.” Shyl pushed her goggles back down on her face and went back to work.

  Seg’s comm beeped yet again, the sound amplified in
his small office at the Guild headquarters. His message backlog had climbed to two thousand, six hundred and two. The latest crisis concerned his finances—specifically, that he had none. As the payoff from the raid had not yet processed, he had handled everything on the basis of the generous advance paid out by House Haffset—triple the original negotiated advance of his contract.

  Unfortunately, that advance had run out a week ago.

  Were it only himself and Ama depending on his income, he could make do with his small Guild stipend. But he had men in need of food, supplies, and ongoing medical repairs. They needed real equipment, and weapons, too—as Fismar kept reminding him. Which was why he had spent almost five hours he didn’t have to spare wading through forms, answering questions, and biting his tongue while financiaries lorded their petty, temporary power over him to secure interim loans. One more complication he didn’t need.

  He could have sought assistance from the Guild but that would have come with questions. He was weary of their questions.

  At least there was a bright side—the Storm would not likely subside until after the loans were cleared, making travel to the warehouse impossible. Thus, he would be spared more requests for supplies from Fismar until he was actually able to afford them. One complication postponed.

  In all likelihood, by tomorrow evening he would not have to hide from the various agencies seeking payment for ordered goods. Tonight, however, he had only one option.

  He shut off the comm, severing all contact with the outside World, and dimmed the lights. It was better here than in his residence. He had lived in more crowded conditions as a child, and as an early cadet, but somehow the conditions had never bothered him then as they did now. Perhaps traveling to Ama’s world, with its obscene quantities of open space, had something to do with the feelings of suffocation he was experiencing. Or, more likely, it was the fact that two of the people who now shared his space had no familiarity with the protocols of living in such confined quarters.

  Then again, Ama was not trying very hard to adapt.

  He filed away the frustration. In five more hours he would face the Question again, and he needed to be prepared. He smirked at the film in front of him. As Shyl had essentially said, adversity revealed character. At this point, all he had left to show were his innards.

  “I’ll show you,” he muttered.

  In the sleeping quarters, the map of Cathind glowed as Ama reviewed it once more. She might not have been able to decipher the lessons on Seg’s digifilms, but she had paid close attention whenever he had used the map functions on the wallscreen. Distances, street names and icons for the autotrans stations—she could bring them all up with ease.

  “How hard can it be?” she asked aloud, eyes on her destination.

  But, even as she spoke, the small muscles in her stomach tensed at the memory of the black wall that had pounded against the shield near the warehouse. I’m safe from the Storm inside the shield, she reminded herself.

  If Seg wouldn’t take her to the warehouse, she would take herself. Gods beneath the waves, she wasn’t going to spend the rest of her life being led helplessly around his world.

  Grafted caj, as she understood, could not travel freely. There was something in the graft that would set off alarms if they tried to move outside of their home. With no graft, there was nothing to stop her from walking the streets of this world as freely as any other citizen.

  She raised a hand to her dathe. Well, almost nothing.

  If she wanted to pass as a Person, her dathe would be a problem. With a quick tug, she opened the recessed cupboard where Seg’s clothes were stored. She pulled out a long coat and slipped it on. When flipped up, the collar hid her neck, and she would keep her hair down just in case. She rolled up the sleeves, which were too long, and fastened the clasps.

  “System reflective.” The wallscreen shimmered into a mirror.

  She admired herself just long enough to ensure there was nothing about her appearance that could be seen as suspicious. “Perfect,” she said, with a smug grin.

  She turned to the sleeping quarters door and paused for a minute. Was she really going to do this?

  I’m an explorer; I’m going to explore.

  With both Seg and Manatu gone, Lissil was in the common room, happily watching one of her inane vis-ents. Ama cast one look over her shoulder and then pressed her palm against the glowing pad to the main door.

  She took a deep breath as she stepped outside on her own for the first time. She smiled, looked left, right, and then crossed the short distance to the curb. Even though it was night, there was ample light to navigate by.

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  Ama lurched at the sound of Lissil’s voice. She turned to see the Welf, arms crossed, lounging in the doorway.

  “None of your business.”

  “We’re not allowed outside, you know that.”

  “I’m not caj, I can go where I want.”

  “If that’s true,” Lissil said, “then fold down the collar of his coat. Show your gills.”

  Ama’s gaze fell as she scrambled to think of a reply.

  “That’s what I thought,” Lissil said. “Well, I did my part. I tried to stop you. He can’t fault me for that.” She examined her nails. “Enjoy your walk. Take all the time you want.”

  “I will,” Ama said, but Lissil had already stepped back inside.

  Ama didn’t move right away. She stared at the door, thought about the stifling closeness and solitude of those rooms, then turned to face the street, the open space, the unexplored possibilities. Seg thought she was behaving like a child? He thought she was incapable of looking after herself out here?

  “I’ll show you.”

  Shan kicked at a stray bottle someone had forgotten to deposit in a recycler chute. Or, more likely, the bottle’s owner had been too intoxicated to pay much mind to the First Virtue of a Citizen. The bottle skittered across the alley, startling a weg. The small, spiny-haired scavenger let out a hissing screech as it backed into a crack in a wall. “Karg you, too!” Shan fired back.

  She pulled out her scrip-stick and clicked it on again. Perhaps in the ten minutes since she had left her new residence some financiary had accidentally deposited enough scrip in her account to pay for a respectable night out. She frowned as the display bar still showed orange. Barely enough for a low grade amba stick or a couple of glasses of rotgut at one of the Scar bars.

  She could take the autotrans, at least, since it was free after hours, but right now walking was the only means she had to burn off her frustrations.

  “Kargin’ Eraranat.” She stuffed the scrip-stick back in the pocket of her flight jacket.

  The Storm-crazy bastard still hadn’t hired her. And Fis? He no longer answered her comms or returned her messages. She was good enough for them when the shit was hot and they needed someone to move their precious Outers back and forth in the middle of a raid, but now? When she needed help? So much for that whole leave no one behind crap the sand stompers liked to babble about.

  “Left me behind, didn’t you?” she muttered as she exited the alley onto a street filled with off-duty revelers. And what about that plan Fis had told her about while not telling her anything. He didn’t honestly expect her to fly over Julewa Keep, did he? That was his brilliant plan to get her onboard—survey an armed fortress full of raving fanatics, while recording data and avoiding a shootdown? Solo?

  “Kargin’ Fis.”

  Worst of all, he had been right about her new home. If she wanted a hot meal, she had to fight for space in the communal food prep area, which was a filthy, claustrophobic prison. So much for the Civic Authority’s many promises to bring the undercity up to the same condition as above-ground residences. The privacy she’d longed for was no treat, either. Sure, she didn’t have to deal with the nasty looks and chea
p comments from the rider crews and other pilots, but it got awfully quiet and lonely with only the wallscreen for company.

  Well, to the Storm with Eraranat, Fis, the MRRC, and her dwindling scrip account; she was going out to have some fun if it killed her.

  Ama grasped the bar running along the wall of the autotrans as the machine zoomed toward her first stop. It was all she could do to contain her grin. After two weeks locked in that box Seg called a home, the sensation was thrilling.

  She had ridden in a private trans during her forays with Jarin and Gelad to the planning sessions for Seg’s raid. But those trips had been relatively sedate—once the shock of riding in a cartul that moved without a beast to pull it had worn off.

  This autotrans moved at incredible speeds. Outside the window, all she could see was a blur of lights and she was glad that her stop was the last one on the route. Once she was in the Raider’s Quarter, it was a short walk to the tube where the slideway ran to Old Town. From there, she would have to walk a longer distance to the warehouse but she was confident she could find her way.

  She glanced quickly at the other passengers and ran her free hand over the raised coat collar to ensure her dathe were well-covered. Thankfully, most of the other travelers had departed at other stops. Even though no one seemed to be paying any attention to her, she couldn’t shake the feeling that at any moment someone would see through her disguise.

  What would happen then? She realized, for the first time, she didn’t really know. But before she could think about it any further, the autotrans slowed to a stop with a chhhhhh and her heart leapt up in anticipation.

  She exited with the few remaining passengers, filing out of the machine and into the station. There were armed soldiers waiting and Ama hesitated for a moment before she noticed they weren’t interested in the departing passengers, only those boarding the machine. The crowd emptied onto the street, Ama mixing among them, hoping to blend.

 

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