Warp World

by Kristene Perron

  The smells hit her first: smoke, sweat, dust, garbage, tangy, acrid, sweet, savory. Alive. Finally, she had found life on this dead world.

  She turned in a slow circle, taking it all in. The dirt, the noise, the throngs of people, it was unruly and dangerous, just like being back in port. Now this she could get used to. She and Seg had passed through this area during the day and it had been calm, almost sleepy, compared to what she saw now. Pushing up the sleeves of the oversized coat, she gave up her attempt to stifle her smile.

  The Raider’s Quarter looked different in the dark but Ama’s internal compass never failed her. She set off in a direction she intuited was roughly west, weaving expertly through the crowd. Here she wasn’t worried about cultural infiltration, here she felt right at home.

  Building fronts were brightly lit. Some of their purposes she could guess—scantily clad male and female caj struck poses out front, urging passersby to “come in for a free sample”; ragged music drifted out of bars; displays of weapons with gaudy signs promising the Lowest price in the Quarter! Others were a mystery—likenesses of bizarre looking animals covered windows; the cryptic words black services here, we accept trade in small unassuming letters topped doorways.

  Ama was tempted to stop and look in all of them, but there was no need to court danger any more than she was already. Maybe one day she would come back, when she understood this world better. For now, she contented herself with glimpses as she walked by.

  A group of five children ran past and Ama turned to watch them go—laughing and conspiring, just as she and her brothers had once played. Nothing extraordinary, except she realized that these were the first children she had seen on Seg’s world.

  Further along, the crowd thinned a bit and the spaces between buildings widened. Once the flow of people no longer pushed her, she slowed down. A building front display caught her eye and she paused for just a second to look at the likenesses—what Seg called “holograms”—of several skyships. One she recognized as the type she and Seg had ridden in on her world, the one that had crashed.

  She reached out a finger, as if to touch it; a high scream ripped open the air.

  She jerked her finger away, whipped her head around, and scanned the street for the source of the scream. Nothing. She seemed to be the only person who had noticed the sound.

  There was a smaller squeal and this time she knew the direction from which it had come. With cautious steps, she inched toward the alley between the building with the skyship display and the one next to it. She edged up as close as she dared, then darted a look down.

  At the very end, half lit, she saw three figures, all men, huddled around a fourth figure. The fourth was a girl, by Ama’s estimation. She was tiny, dwarfed by the men—the difference in their statures rendered even more extreme by the fact that the girl was cowering on the ground, begging for mercy.

  Caj. Ama knew it at once, even if she had not yet seen the graft. She felt her back teeth clamp together.

  From her size and the sound of her voice, the girl couldn’t have been more than fifteen or sixteen years old. The men, grown men, laughed and the sound was guttural, mocking and full of bad intentions. Of the three, the smallest appeared to be the leader; he held out a meaty hand as the other two egged him on. A second later, the girl screamed again, her back arching in agony as her limbs stiffened.

  They were amping her, through her graft. Ama had seen it done to one of the serving caj at the planning meetings. That man had been muted, unable to scream aloud so he wouldn’t disturb the proceedings. This girl was not muted and that seemed to please the men even more, as they broke into long, bellowing fits of laughter.

  Ama turned her head back to the street.

  No one stopped. Not to help, not to see what was happening, nothing. The girl might as well have been muted; it was as if no one could hear her.

  Ama looked down the alley again, then looked west toward her next destination. This wasn’t her business; she should keep walking. She slipped into the alley, eyes on the hand of the short, stocky man who held the controller.

  “C’mon Grenerk,” the gangly man to left of the ringleader whined as the girl whipped around on the ground. “Stop hitting it so we can have some fun too.” He looked like a giant spider hovering over a squirming insect.

  “Shut it, Crat. We’ll have it when I’m done,” Grenerk, the leader of the trio, growled. “See, you leave a cheap graft hitting and it damages the brain. Caj? It ain’t dancing no more after this. That’ll teach that cheat caj agency to karg with us.”

  “Don’t have to get fancy to fry a brain,” the third man said. He had a high, feminine voice that reminded Ama of a hiss.

  “I like fancy,” Grenerk said. “You wanna do it your way, Ven? Then you shoulda used your scrip for the rental.”

  Crat crouched down and reached out one of his spider arms to the girl’s long white hair, letting the locks graze over his fingers as she flailed.

  “Long as I get my poke before it’s ruined, that’s all,” Ven said, in his girlish hiss. “Never had a Pure before.”

  “Won’t be a Pure anymore by your turn.” Grenerk coughed out a wet laugh.

  The men’s voices and the girl’s screams covered Ama’s approach. The man in the center, Grenerk, was the one holding the controller for the graft.

  With three quick steps, Ama lunged out of the shadows and yanked the controller away from him.

  “That’s enough!” She wrapped the small rectangle in her hand.

  The mismatched trio reacted quickly, turning to face the new threat. Ven started forward with a knife that had seemingly materialized in his hand, but Grenerk grabbed his arm. He squinted at Ama.

  “This ain’t Guild territory anymore, digi,” Grenerk said. His upper teeth poked out in several directions beneath his thick lips, with an expression that was more grotesque than menacing. Next to him, Ven’s spidery limbs stiffened, while Crat, the largest of the three, glared from eyes that were barely slits.

  Ama paused, her eyes flicking from the knife to the men’s faces. Digi? What did that mean? She had heard that term before, somewhere. Then it came to her: the raid planning meeting. That’s what Charter Commander Myrd had called Theorists. Theorists. The coat. She was wearing Seg’s coat, marked with the Guild insignia. They thought she was a Theorist. Perfect.

  What would Seg say to these men?

  “Do you decide Guild business now?” she asked.

  “All I’m saying is you’ve got your place and we’ve got ours, and this is ours. No disrespect,” Grenerk said. As he spoke, Ven and Crat flanked her.

  “I have matters, urgent matters, in this area. Official Guild directive regarding … uh, underpinnings of polytheistic interactions.” Ama blathered with pretend authority, though she had no idea what the words meant or what her powers as a Theorist might or might not be. She pointed to the girl. “You! Caj, come here!”

  “That’s our caj.” Grenerk puffed out his chest, though it could not compete with his bulging stomach. “We rented it out clean. You can’t just confiscate a Citizen’s property, I don’t care who you are.”

  Crat and Ven exchanged nervous glances.

  Despite Grenerk’s words, the girl crept forward. Her face was stained with tears and she cringed at every movement. She was no more than a child. Were Ama armed, she would have killed every one of these monsters where they stood.

  “You dare question the actions of a Guild Theorist?” she said. When the girl was close enough, Ama slid the controller into her hands and met her red and swollen eyes with a look of warning. “Run,” she said, quietly. “Go. Now!”

  The girl hesitated for just a heartbeat, then looked at the controller in her hands and sprinted away in a half-blind panic.

  Grenerk shifted tack. “So you gonna pay us for that? For what we lost there? Guild’s got m
oney, we want compensation.”

  “Yeah!” Crat joined in, practically squealing. “We want money!”

  Ama took two wary steps backward, nodding as if in contemplation. “I … I will contact the—my superiors, to arrange payment. If you’ll tell me your names—”

  She felt the drooping collar and the air against her exposed dathe a moment too late.

  “Hey!” Ven lunged forward and grabbed the coat.

  “Ven!” Grenerk yelled.

  “Let go!” Ama shouted and tugged against the pull. “I’ll report this! I’ll—”

  Ven yanked the coat and threw Ama toward the others. “Look at that. This ain’t a Theorist. It’s some kind of Outer!”

  As Grenerk’s hand reached out to grab her, Ama ducked beneath it. She drove her elbow into his ribs as hard as she could, then charged forward.

  Crat and Ven had closed off her exit. She feinted to one side, Ven followed and she zigged back. She rammed a boot into Crat’s groin. When he doubled over, she pushed him out of the way and slipped past Ven, out to the street.

  Ama fought for speed against the waves of pedestrians. A straight line was impossible, so she carved a winding path through the throng, shoving people aside as needed. A large utility trans blocked the street and she scrambled over it.

  Behind her, shouts and loud footfalls of pursuers. Ahead, she spotted a side street and barreled toward it, lungs burning.

  She rounded the corner at a full run but it was a dead end. She turned back but the first man was already there. She looked left to right, up and down, backing up. No doors, no windows, no escape.

  Against a wall she found a thin pole; in desperation she picked it up.

  Ven pulled up and grinned as he waited for the others to catch up. “Who’s your owner?” he panted, in his high, hissing voice. “A digi? You steal the coat?”

  “I don’t have an owner,” Ama said, gasping.

  “Well, if that’s true,” Grenerk said as he arrived, “you’re free claim.”

  “Pull the knife,” Grenerk warned Ven, wiping sweat from his upper lip. “Live capture. We’ll put the graft on this one.”

  Crat made his way up, completing the barrier to the dead-end alley. Ven cracked his knuckles as they all advanced.

  Shan rubbed her jaw, wincing as she moved the lower half from side to side. She had first thought the massive hand of the bar’s enforcer had slapped the chin right off her face, the pain was so intense.

  In retrospect, questioning the man’s sexual prowess and stamina wasn’t the best idea, especially since he had topped her by nearly half again her height. She hadn’t set out to offend the enforcer but he had been in her way and, as always seemed to happen with her, one thing led to another.

  She sat upright and was relieved to find all her other parts were still attached. There was a lump on her head from the wall she had bounced off when she had been less-than-gently ejected from the premises. Arms, legs—bruised somewhat and sore but nothing was broken or required emergency medical care. Shaking her head, she rose unsteadily to her feet, brushed off the dust from her clothes and waved a fist at the bar.

  “Your watered-down swill isn’t fit for huchack slop!” The enforcer stuck his head out the door, giving her an unmistakable look, and she was suddenly inspired to be somewhere else.

  Muttering to herself, she stuck her fists in the pockets of her flight jacket and stumbled away.

  The scene outside on the street was the kind of chaos she usually enjoyed. Under different circumstances, she would have been happy to wander the RQ looking for trouble, but tonight there seemed to be no cure for her restlessness. It didn’t help that she was down to her last two scrip.

  Maybe I should just go home, she thought, and turned back in the direction of her residence.

  At the same moment, a woman ran past, long overcoat flapping behind her. Ordinarily, nothing that would warrant a second look but, as crazy as it seemed, this woman looked familiar.

  Close behind the woman were three men she definitely recognized. Ground crew from her unit, the lowest ranks in the lowest rider rental unit in Cathind. Grenerk and his two creche-gang members were always up to their elbows in one shady scheme or another, but vigorous foot pursuit was not their usual style.

  She followed the path of the fleeing woman, and shook her head as she disappeared into an alley. “Dead end.”

  The last thing she wanted this night was to deal with the three goons that entered the alley behind their prey but, if she was right, if the woman they were chasing was Eraranat’s caj, well, this situation might have some potential.

  As she rounded the corner, she saw the caj backed against the wall, waving a shutter pole at her attackers. The gills, yep, it was her alright. Ama, the Theorist called her. Sauntering forward, Shan slid her hand to her waist and unlatched the clasp on her pistol.

  What was with this caj? First the temple, now this. Did she have a thing for idiotic last stands or something?

  “Grenerk,” Shan called to get the goon’s attention. “What in the name of the Storm do you think you’re doing?”

  Grenerk whirled, Ven and Crat also looked back at Shan.

  “This Outer attacked us,” Grenerk said. “Says it doesn’t have an owner, so we’re taking it. Must’ve managed to slip out before getting grafted. Ours now, so back off.”

  “Yeah,” Shan cocked her head and squinted, “and you just believe whatever an Outer tells you? Figures. You have any idea who this caj really belongs to, veg-paste-for-brains?”

  “It’s not grafted, it’s fair game,” Grenerk said. “So, no, I don’t care. Don’t you have a Stormwatch to fly?”

  Crat and Ven snickered at what, to them, must have seemed the height of wit.

  Shan forced a smile. “Good one. Here’s another funny one for you. You ever hear the one about the fuel-humpers who stole Theorist Eraranat’s ungrafted caj? Hilarious. Think they went straight to the ponds for that one, soon as the Guild got wind. Real knee slapper.”

  Crat goggled. “Eraranat? The one that you were with at—”

  “You just want it for yourself,” Grenerk said.

  Shan rolled her eyes. “Don’t believe me? Here …” She reached into the pocket of her flight jacket and pulled out her comm. “I got his contact; you can ask him yourself.” She scrolled through the screen until Eraranat’s icon appeared, then held the comm out toward Grenerk.

  Behind the men, Ama’s eyes widened.

  “Is there a reward for finding it?” Grenerk asked.

  “Karg that, it hit me!” Crat said.

  “He can pay for that too,” Grenerk said.

  “Sure, why not?” Shan shrugged. She caught Ama’s eye; the caj was staring at the comm as if it were a live grenade. Did Eraranat even know she was here? “Tell him to throw in a bit extra for my troubles.”

  “Guess we can get you some, too,” Grenerk said, and smashed a thick finger against the icon to connect. “Yeah, Theorist Eraranat? Raider Grenerk Yiel, associate of Pilot Welkin’s. Found your caj out here in the RQ, we’re holding it for you. You can connect to me on the redelt grid, pan seven, freq four. We’ll keep the caj safe while we wait for your word.” He closed the connection and tossed the comm back to Shan. “Went straight to message.”

  Crat turned back toward the caj. “Digi-prop or not, it still hit me. It’s my right to payback.”

  He lunged, Ama side-stepped and brought the pole down across his forearm with a meaty smack. Crat howled, shook out his arm, then latched onto the pole and yanked it away. “I’m gonna tear your—”

  “You touch that caj and they’ll be pulling spines out of your head for a month,” Shan said as she raised her pistol. “Now, all of you back away, nice and slow.”

  “Hey! Crat’ll back off,” Grenerk said, with a wince. “No j
umping on our reward here, Welkin.”

  “You’ll get what’s coming, Grenerk, count on it. But if you think I’m leaving Eraranat’s caj in your hands, you’re as stupid as you are ugly.” She waved the pistol to direct the men away. “Now move it! You know my rep, you know I won’t think twice about de-pop’ing every last one of you.”

  “I’m gonna lodge on you, Welkin.” Grenerk wagged a stubby, threatening finger, spittle sprayed from between his protruding teeth. “I’ll get you bounced. You won’t ever fly again. And I’ll make sure that Eraranat knows who it was found his caj.” His cheeks puffed out as he looked up at Shan, then his mouth opened and closed in obvious frustration. “Well, he knows already, ’cause I left the message, see? So you won’t get no reward neither.”

  In spite of Grenerk’s bluster, the trio backed away warily.

  “I’m shaking. Think I might have pissed myself a little.” Shan kept the pistol aimed on the men as they backed out of the alley.

  She watched them go, then lowered the pistol but didn’t holster it. “I’m guessing he doesn’t know you’re out here,” she said to Ama. “Yet.”

  “No.” Ama flipped up the collar on her coat to hide her gills. “I guess he will now, though.”

  “Soon as he checks his comm messages, yep,” Shan said.

  “Thanks, for that.” Ama nodded in the direction Grenerk and his crew had retreated.

  “Didn’t do it for you.” Shan looked away, holstered her pistol, and rubbed her aching jaw. “Figured saving you might actually get Eraranat’s attention.”

  Ama let out one sharp laugh. “Good luck.”

  Curious, Shan looked back at her. The caj looked as peeved as she felt.

  “He promised me a job over two weeks ago and I haven’t heard a word,” Shan said.

  “Don’t feel bad. I threw an auto-med at him and couldn’t get his attention.”

  Shan saw the Outer was serious and turned her head to hide her smile.

  “Well, so much for that plan, then. C’mon, let’s get out of here.” She jerked her shoulder to indicate that Ama should follow her. Ama kept pace, one hand at her collar to make sure it stayed up.