This was going to be tricky but once again she was thankful she worked for third-rate, low-pay-grade simpletons.
“Just like docking a boat back home.” Ama gestured out the cockpit window to the scurrying crew that swarmed the rider. She turned her head sharply toward Shan. “There’s a lot of people out there. Are you sure no one will notice that I’m—”
“Just keep your helmet on and let me talk your way through. There’ll be some post-flight and—” She rapped her fist on the console. “Karg, they’re going to want to talk to you, too. This isn’t good.” Shan pressed a button to release the digifilm that held the collected data on the Keep. She tucked it into the inside pocket of her flight suit and hit the latch to raise the cockpit. “Just let me talk. Don’t say anything.”
The first face up the ladder was Force Commander Grefas Hatterin. Not a good sign.
“Power it down and get out, Welkin,” he ordered. “And whoever this is with you, too. Out.”
“I, uh, yes, Force Commander,” Shan said. She hurried through the power-down sequence, then unstrapped.
Hatterin glared directly at Ama. “Helmet off.”
Ama looked to Shan.
“Do it,” Shan said in a small voice.
Ama pulled off the helmet; Shan felt the heat of Hatterin’s stare.
“You brought the caj with you?” Hatterin’s jaw dropped slightly before it snapped closed. “You’re out, Welkin, even if Eraranat doesn’t have you killed. Out of my rider. NOW!”
He slid back down the ladder. Outside, security elements raised their weapons to cover the pair in the cockpit.
“Nen’s blood,” Ama cursed. “Shan? What’s happening?”
“Get out.” Shan pulled herself free and climbed down the ladder. Before she reached the last rung, one of the security troopers pulled her away and shoved her toward a pair of waiting wardens.
“Careful,” Hatterin said to the wardens as Ama descended. “That’s Theorist caj coming down. Eraranat’s.”
The weapons had shifted away from the rider to keep Shan covered. The wardens were a grizzled duo, dressed in the tan and gray of Cathind’s Civic Authority. “Shan Welkin, you have been reported for theft of property registered to the Cultural Theorist’s Guild. We are taking you for facilitation of this dispute.”
“Wait!” Ama shouted, as she touched down on the ground. “She didn’t steal me. I came here on my own.”
The wardens looked at each other, unsure how to deal with an unmuted caj speaking out of turn.
“Silence,” the older one ordered, a thin, balding man. “Mind your place.”
Shan ran her hands through her hair. “Who reported this? It wasn’t Eraranat.” She looked around and spotted Grenerk and his two partners.
“You kargers!” She charged toward them, only to be grasped by the younger Warden, who twisted her arm behind her.
“You’re dead, you little parentless bastards!”
The warden twisted her arm further and Shan staggered to her knees.
“Stop it! Let her go!” Ama tried to run to Shan before the older warden blocked her path. “She didn’t do anything. They’re the ones you want.” She stabbed a finger toward the trio. “They would have killed me if Shan hadn’t stopped them.”
“Silence or you will be immobilized until your return to your owner.”
“I don’t have an owner and Shan didn’t steal me.” Ama took a bold step forward.
“Ama, no—” Shan started to say.
The warden grabbed Ama’s arm. There was a faint crackle from the stunner and she crumpled in a heap, out cold on the tarmac, her gills and graftless neck exposed to all.
Shan sighed and ceased her struggle. It was all on Eraranat to get them out of this now.
Efectuary Akbas sat silent, contemplating. On the other end of the comm, she could hear Field Active Pegno breathing, waiting for her response, but she would not be rushed. This was delicate business. Eraranat’s star shone too brightly right now and he had the weight of the Guild behind him. Any move against him, even one as seemingly justified as clearing out a warehouse full of armed, wild Outers, could spark a response that would threaten not only her job but the credibility of the CWA. That, she would not risk.
If only Raider Fismar Korth had been smart enough to accept Pegno’s overly generous offer, the whole matter would have been much simpler. As long as the Outers had a handler, and an experienced Raider at that, any move she made against them would be scrutinized.
At least she had successfully lured that vapid newschatterer, Nallin Sastor, into her plans. It might amount to nothing, but any chance to gather damaging intel on Eraranat was worth the time invested.
“FA Pegno, I’m afraid we’re—” She paused as an amber flash on the screen indicated a priority message had arrived. “Stand by.” She tapped a button to access the message bank without waiting for the Field Active’s reply.
As she read, all her previous concerns lifted.
Eraranat’s name had come up in the Cathind warden database. Promising. She scrolled through the intercepted data and learned three People had reported that a pilot had stolen Eraranat’s caj. Better still, they claimed they had been attacked by the caj, who had been impersonating a Theorist.
Had she not known the source of the information, she would have suspected that someone was playing a prank on her. This news was almost too good to be believed.
“Field Active,” she said, returning to the comm. “Get your men to that warehouse and wait for our word. With any luck, we will have the vermin exterminated by the end of the day.”
“Understood, Efectuary,” Pegno said.
She tapped the screen of the comm with a feverish smile. The first order of business would be to arrange for a proper facilitator for the accusers, to find out what had happened. Without question, the Guild would provide one of their best facilitators to shelter Eraranat. She needed someone who could out-maneuver any obstacles a Guild facilitator could devise. Thankfully, she had filtered funds from her department into a separate account, just for this kind of situation, and she knew just the man for the job.
Now it was only a matter of manipulating the situation to cause maximum harm to Eraranat.
“The determination on the so-called grovel pits was made by utilization of local intelligence,” Seg explained. “As noted in my report. Had the raid been pared to a single strike window, I would have localized the strike over a concentration of these sites in order to maximize return.”
Another day spent before the dais of the Questioners. The Question had gone more than three times as long as any within recent memory, and was more adversarial than any Seg had studied. Maryel and her lackeys forced Seg to prove his methodology at every step; the smallest detail did not escape their scrutiny. His body ached for sleep—nights were spent studying, planning, and preparing for the next day’s onslaught. He had already doubled his stim doses, and if this went on much longer he would have to add even more.
The sleepless hours were not all that wore on him. To cover for his actions on Ama’s world, he had constructed an elaborate web of lies. More than once, a Questioner had come within a word or two of exposing his deception. Should his alliance with Brin and the Kenda be revealed, the end of his career would be the least of his punishments.
One of the assisting Questioners raised her stylus to question a point. “It says here that you took the time to direct-assess one of these structures, while you were running at the edge of your rendezvous with the recon squad. Were you not concerned with the closing of your mission window?”
“I preferred to be thorough,” he said.
“Risky,” the woman said.
“The entire business is risky.”
“Risk must be calibrated and calculated, not blindly accepted,” Lead Questioner Aimaz
said. “If there is nothing further to that question, we will take the afternoon meal break now. One hour, Theorist Eraranat.”
“One hour, Lead Questioner.” Seg rose to his feet, his joints popping as he did.
His meal would be consumed over the top of reports. Again. When would the arduous process end? He needed to focus on his future, not his past. As he gathered his films a Guild ministrate trotted up to him.
“Theorist Eraranat, you are needed at the Warden Facilitation Center,” the ministrate said.
Seg’s mind leapt to Fismar and the Kenda; sweat pricked in the small of his back. “What does the detention center want?”
“Apologies, but the wardens will speak only to you,” the ministrate said.
Seg pulled out his comm, powered it up, and stabbed the button for his message archive. The warden’s message flashed an insistent amber. He glanced up to make sure the chamber was empty before he accepted the message.
“Theorist Eraranat, this is Warden Talj Goten, we have collected stolen property registered to the Guild and associated with you,” the voice informed him. An image of Ama flashed on the screen. “As well as the accused perpetrator.” Shan Welkin’s image flashed on the screen. Seg gaped at the display as the voice droned on. “Your presence is requested at the Cathind Warden Facilitation Center immediately, to recover your property and begin the facilitation process.”
The message paused for a few seconds before it played again. Seg was already out the door.
The moment the hired trans reached the Facilitation Center, Seg sprang out and headed for the entrance. People scattered from his path; any too slow to move, he shouldered aside. Muttered curses and grumbles followed in his wake, but the Guild insignia on his collar bought him a certain degree of grace for his lack of manners.
“Theorist Erarant.” A woman stepped in his path. She was his equal in height, her silver hair pulled back in a severe braid. “I’m Ley Agudo, your facilitator.”
He skidded to a stop just short of a full collision. “I don’t have a facilitator.”
“You do now. Guild appointed.” She slipped him a mini-film, for confirmation. “Satisfied?”
He studied the film briefly, then resumed his course. “Very well. Let’s settle this.”
“Theorist,” she said, on his heels. “If you go through those doors before you listen to me, your caj will be destroyed by the end of the day.”
He halted, pivoted to face her. “The message I received said she had been taken and recovered; that is all.”
“Matters have been complicated. The pilot, Shan Welkin, is accused of theft of property. She denies this, of course. As I am not her appointed facilitator, I am unable to question her at this time. However, she was adamant about speaking to me, and to you.”
From the weight of the facilitator’s stare, Seg began to understand the gravity of the situation.
“Those charges are serious enough, but they are even more so for your caj,” Facilitator Agudo continued. “According to the three raiders who levied the charges, your caj physically attacked them, which is enough to warrant destruction. Along with that are charges that she impersonated a Theorist. They claim to have evidence, a coat, which I assume belongs to you. And, finally, she is charged with illegal participation in MRRC activities. When your caj was apprehended, she was in the cockpit of Pilot Welkin’s rider.”
Seg reeled back a step. “That’s …” He struggled to find a word. “Insane. We need to find out what’s happening.”
“What’s happening is someone has sent in Artus Certine, one of the World’s most infamous facilitators, to represent three common raiders who would otherwise have been written off as a joke. What’s happening is that someone wants to punish you. Facilitator Certine has demanded financial compensation, a rather large sum, and immediate destruction of your caj. The pilot will likely end up grafted and sent on to somewhere unpleasant. You may also face charges, if negligence can be proven.”
Seg’s shoulders lifted defiantly, certain of who was behind this punishment. “Are you prepared to fight this?”
“I already have, but I need your agreement. I’ve been briefed on your circumstances. You won’t like the deal I’ve facilitated, but you must understand it is the very best you can hope for.” Agudo’s small lips came together as if to suggest they would not open for any negotiation.
Seg looked around, conscious of the stares and the press of the crowd. “We should discuss this somewhere more private.”
Agudo nodded and then, without a word, led him through the crowd to a quiet alcove around the side of the stone building.
“You will have to pay compensation. However, they will concede to a five-day grace period to get your finances in order. They are in order, I assume?”
“I will have sufficient finances within that timeframe,” he said. Fismar would have to wait for his supplies a little longer.
“They also want your caj grafted.”
His mouth fell open, the bottom lip dropping in slow motion. “No. Secure her release with a promise of grafting, if necessary. I will handle matters from there.”
Facilitator Agudo smiled and raised a hand. “Their official document only specifies a control device.” When Seg stared, uncomprehending, she added, “An amp collar, such as the one the wardens issued upon capture, would qualify as a control device.”
He put his hand against the wall and leaned forward to rub his eyes with his other hand. “All that has to be done is to put the collar on her long enough to get her home. Good work.”
“No, Theorist, that is not all,” Facilitator Agudo said, and paused. When she spoke again, her tone was softer. “She will be taken for processing, immediately. After that, the collar must remain on permanently; there will be an alarm connected to the Warden Monitoring Board to ensure this. You must demonstrate that she is firmly under control at all times. One transgression and—”
“Processing? That’s at the discretion of the owner. Their facilitator specifically insisted on this?”
“Specifically,” Agudo said. “As they have also specified who is to carry out the processing: Merz Gressam.”
“Who?”
“A specialist. Gressam deals almost exclusively with the Houses Major, top tier corporations, CWA Directorates, People of status. He offers one-on-one processing, complete behavioral modification, results guaranteed. Whatever the reasons for sending your caj to Gressam, they are apparently worth the exorbitant cost of his services. All these terms are non-negotiable. It is this or destruction. You have no other options here. Now, as regards the pilot—”
“Shan’s one of my people.” His voice was as hollow as the rest of him in that moment. “Whatever her circumstances, extract her from them.”
“I believe that is her intention. She practically started a riot in there demanding to speak to you. Quite the handful, that one.”
“Take me to her. Let’s get this sorted out before any more damage is done.”
Agudo stepped closer to Seg and glanced briefly over her shoulder before she spoke in a near-whisper, “Remember, once we step inside, you will be monitored. Voice and vis. Everywhere. Stay quiet, stay calm. Speak to the pilot, by all means, but guard your words. After that, until the deal is signed, I do the talking. Do not give them any reason to withdraw this agreement. You will be allowed to see your caj.” She held up a hand to stop any questions. “Briefly. Before she is taken to processing, and only to confirm that there has been no damage. Standard procedure. But you must treat her as caj, I cannot stress the importance of this strongly enough. If Certine has reason to believe you are a negligent owner and your caj poses a threat, he will seek to revoke the agreement and destroy her. She is caj. Property. She will assume the retyel, she will obey you. You cannot deviate from this. Do you understand?”
He gritted his teeth hard
enough to hear them grinding, felt them click against each other. “I understand. Let’s do what we have to do.”
Fismar surveyed the area surrounding the warehouse, at ground level. During his quick trip to the roof, he had eyeballed over seventy raiders, set in a perimeter around the building, waiting for—what? They had arrived, aimed their guns at the warehouse, and then done nothing.
Inside, his people were dispersed throughout the building, armed with their sefts. If the raiders came in, the Kenda might cut up a few, but there was no doubt it would be a one-sided slaughter.
In lieu of better options, he was going to talk. There was only one man who could be running this show. He stepped out onto the street, into the fields of fire, and felt the hairs on his arms prickle up. One part of his mind ran a continuous feed of the situation in analysis, while another plotted what he was going to say. He put a slight swagger into his walk, contempt for the weapons trained on him.
When he neared the raiders’ perimeter, he put his hands on his hips. “PEGNO! Quit hiding and get out here!”
There was a lull, punctuated only by the ever-present wind blowing through the streets of the Old Town. Then, a head appeared, clad in a helmet, ready for battle.
“Should have taken the deal, Korth,” Pegno called out.
“Seeing how you lead your troops doesn’t inspire a man to sign up, I guess. Why the wait? Got a caj shield you like to skulk behind that hasn’t showed up?” Fismar crossed his arms.
“Some stones you got there.” Pegno laughed. “Sorry we couldn’t talk sense into you. Just waiting on orders, that’s all. Go on back in and give your caj a kiss goodbye. Soon as the signal’s blue, my troopers are going to clean house. Eraranat’s crossed the line this time.”
Fismar cracked his knuckles and swung his arms to loosen them up. “Please, just promise you’ll come in with your teams. That’s all I’m asking, Pegno. I really want to see you in there.” With that, he turned and walked back toward the building.
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