Warp World

by Kristene Perron

  “I brought them back with me.” He fought the urge to slide protectively in front of the pair.

  Surran focused on Lissil, taking in the forest ensemble with a nod. “Tasteful. Obviously not chosen by you. May I?” She gestured to Lissil with one slender finger.

  Seg nodded mutely, not trusting himself to speak.

  Surran positioned the finger under Lissil’s chin and raised her head. “Has my brother been horrid to you? Speak, caj.”

  Lissil lowered her gaze. “Theorist Eraranat has been a most gracious Master. It this caj’s pleasure and honor to serve him well.”

  Surran ran her eyes up and down the girl once more. “I bet it is his pleasure as well. You’re a lucky caj. Segkel was an absolute tyrant as a child. He adored teasing Kissiline, our home caj.”

  She spoke to Lissil, but Seg knew this was all for his benefit. She moved to Ama next, following the same routine, knife-like finger under her chin, until a glance down to the scarf stopped her. Somehow, the fabric had shifted, revealing a tiny section of Ama’s dathe. Hooking her claw in the fabric, Surran tugged down until both sets of dathe were completely exposed.

  She turned to Seg with a puzzled expression.

  “Gills,” Seg explained.

  “Are they functional?” Surran poked a nail into the folds of the dathe and drew a slight wince from Ama.

  At his nod, she untied the scarf in a fast sweep and dropped the fabric over the balcony. “So like you, Segkel. In possession of the most conversation-worthy caj in the room and you hide its sole redeeming feature. Or perhaps this is your idea of humor?”

  “When have I ever shown possession of a sense of humor? I am devoid of the quality.” Seg forced himself not to betray the flash of panic Ama’s exposed dathe elicited.

  “Oh, Segkel, always missing the joke.” Surran hovered near Ama for a moment, one arm crossed over her trim waist, opposite elbow resting on the hand as she tapped a finger to her lips. “Tell me, caj …” She spoke to Ama as she had to Lissil, but this time her voice was deeper, more contemplative. “What do you think of Master Eraranat?”

  Ama opened her mouth but no words escaped. She swallowed and finally mustered, “I am happy to serve.”

  As Ama spoke, Surran’s eyes moved between her and Seg. She raised a hand to Ama’s neck, once more, traced her fingernail down, around the edge of Ama’s dathe and stopped on the collar. “Intriguing. No graft?”

  “If you’re done, I believe there are many more people I am supposed to meet tonight. We can discuss old times at a later date, eldest sister,” Seg said.

  “Yes, hundreds of People vying for your attention, I am sure I can guess how much you love such meaningless attention and idle flattery.” She stepped closer to Seg and snaked her arm through his. “Brother, you may be a great Theorist, but this is not your domain, as we both well know. You need a guide. Unless, of course, you enjoy the prospect of spending your evening fending off sexual advances and pairmate proposals from all and sundry?”

  He leaned close to her ear. “I will not spend the evening parrying assaults from the front while waiting for your blade in my back, Surran. This is not our childhood home and these silly social games are beneath me.”

  Surran looked left to right, then turned to face her brother and dropped her voice so that only Seg could hear. When she spoke again, all the affectation was gone. “Look around you. We came from the gutter. I don’t know about you, but I don’t plan on going back there. Whatever feuds we had as children, it’s in my best interest to see you on good terms with Haffset, and it’s in your best interest to let me help you with these silly social games. You were always the scholar of the family, Seg, but politics? Social protocol? That’s where I excel, and that’s where I can help you.” She gave him a long stare. “If you’ll let me.”

  “So long as you know what side you’re on,” he whispered. “I’ve dealt with far worse than this crowd.”

  “Oh, I think you’d be surprised.” Surran stepped away, resumed her previous airs, and gestured to the stairway that led back down to the main entertaining chamber. “Shall we?”

  “Lead on,” he said, composing himself. The evening got more surreal by the minute. He glanced back at the two women. Lissil followed, her eyes cast down in picture-perfect deference. Ama was similarly comported, but her expression spoke of a deep wound just beneath the surface. He winced as he turned back to wherever Surran was leading him.

  To Ama, it felt as if the collar around her neck was tightening and her dathe were glowing red. Aside from a brief mention about his father and his dead mother, Seg had never spoken of family. She could guess why.

  Surran led them down the stairs and into the grandest room Ama had ever seen on this world. Her earlier visits to the Haffset estate had been restricted to the entrance and the planning room, nowhere else. What she saw spread before her now made the most luxurious Damiar homes look like hovels.

  Multi-colored orbs of light hovered, seemingly magically, in the air, floating up and down. An army of serving caj wandered the room, with trays of drinks and small offerings of food. Music droned from a stage, where a group of caj musicians played strange-looking instruments. There were easily two hundred guests, each with at least one personal caj, though some had many more. Lissil had not lied, these caj were adorned in outrageous costumes, symbols of their owners’ status.

  There was a line of glass boxes along one wall, each containing some treasure brought back from her world. Seg’s people milled around these, gasping and chattering in awe at items as mundane as lanterns, books, and baskets. Only one of the boxes held anything of interest to Ama, though the sight made her even more miserable, if that was possible.

  Inside a large box, a volp paced. Its coat, usually lustrous and thick, was mangy. She could see where it had been chewing at its own skin. Its mouth hung open in a pant, and thick strings of drool trickled out. It let out long whines as it circled, which delighted onlookers. One or two tapped on the glass; others kept a cautious distance.

  Fools. Even if it were free, the volp wouldn’t have attacked them. Especially this one, which was half-dead and terrified.

  But the displays, the music, the servants, magic lights and outrageous caj were just the trimmings. The main attraction was in the middle of the room, and Seg’s people were captivated.

  On a raised platform, Haffset had constructed a model of the docks at Alisir. Miniature shops and cottages, tiny cobblestone streets, holographic people walked or rode down the fairway but, most significantly, there was water. Real water. A transparent tank held what on this world was a decadent amount of the liquid. Solid model boats bobbed on the surface, holographic creatures—the likes of which Ama had never seen in her life—swam below.

  Her world had been reduced to a party decoration.

  “Do you feel as if you are back on that world?” Ama heard Surran ask Seg, as they passed the centerpiece of the party.

  “Not at all. The water, the soil, the—” He waved his hand, trying to find the words. “You have to experience it. This is a sham.”

  “Should anyone else ask that of you, the proper answer is: Yes, completely.” Surran said.

  However childish, it made Ama glad to hear Seg defend her world against this cheap imitation. Not that Surran cared; her attention was consumed by the People in the room. With a wave, Surran grasped Seg by the elbow and steered him toward a cluster of guests.

  “The three young women are from House Brennan. They were the only Major House to support Haffset prior to this raid and, rest assured, Soumer will make a very public display of rewarding them for it. Poliz is the eldest, and directly in line for Mastership. Unfortunately, she’s also on the verge of a pairing. Though it’s no secret she’s been following your rise with great zeal.”

  “I have no interest in pairing,” Seg said.

  “
Well, when you are interested, consult me first. It would be a shame to waste the political advantage of your status.” She directed his attention back to the guests. “Those two, the twins, are Haffsets—Theorist cadets, dreadful bores but Soumer dotes on them—and the others are of no great social consequence but I’ll introduce them anyway.” Surran wove through the throng to present Seg.

  The introductions were made swiftly. Surran knew all the names and ranks; she also knew how to make each person feel special for the few seconds her attention shone on them. As each spoke, she made sure to jump in and redirect the conversation if Seg’s replies were too cold or brief.

  Surran’s ability to read the people around her and shift her personality as needed amazed Ama. She’d only met one other who possessed that talent; she wondered how Seg’s sister would feel about being compared to Lissil.

  Poliz, the handsome woman from House Brennan, was now flanked by a young man. She kept a respectful distance from Seg, but flashed him a sly smile whenever opportunity allowed. The twins waited patiently but as soon as they were able to speak, they jockeyed for Seg’s attention.

  The boy started. “Theorist Eraranat, we understand that you actually calculated a plus-margin on the—”

  “Grovel pits,” his sister finished.

  “Yes, those,” the boy said. “But you only extrapolated from a single dynamic sample?”

  Seg perked up; this was the first conversation in which he had taken any real interest. He launched into a long, detailed explanation, which the rest of the crowd struggled to follow

  The twins nodded enthusiastically, in unison, when he was done. “Brilliant!”

  Ama repressed a smirk. How excited would they have been to learn their hero had spent the night in that grovel pit curled around an Outer, his lips and hands caressing her, not as a trophy but as a woman?

  “A facet of the job,” Seg said. “When you do this yourselves, remember to be as thorough as possible. Ideally—”

  “Enthralling!” Surran exclaimed before Seg could finish or one of the twins could ask another question. “But that hardly compares to his other acquisition. It’s quite a story and one that has not yet been shared. Until now.” Surran smiled and gestured to where Ama and Lissil stood.

  The small crowd went quiet as they turned their gazes to the women. Lissil, head bowed, swayed slightly, the leaves of her dress appearing to ripple as she did. There was an appreciative murmur from the crowd, but Surran shook her head.

  “No, not that one. This one.” She grasped Ama by the elbow. “This caj was, on its world, a princess.”

  Seg coughed and nearly dropped his drink. Ama almost broke protocol, only remembering to keep her eyes down at the last moment.

  “Do not let the appearance fool you,” Surran said. “The caj has only just finished training. With Processor Gressam.”

  Mutterings of approval ran through the crowd.

  She waved at Ama’s outfit and collar. “This is just part of the necessary humbling. You can imagine how difficult it would be to tame an Outer who was used to having a thousand servants at its beck and call.” Louder murmurs now. Surran seized on the moment. “A thousand or more. Impossible to say, as the race lived both above and below the water.” Now she pointed to Ama’s dathe. The reaction was instant.

  “Below the water?” the middle Brennan sister exclaimed.

  “Unbelievable, I know, but true. My brother braved the element to capture it. He doesn’t like to boast about it but I, for one, am not surprised. He always was the bold one of the family.” She nodded to Seg, face glowing with sisterly pride. “Aquatic dwelling royalty, never let it be said Segkel Eraranat lacks ambition.”

  “Weren’t you terrified? Of the water?” Poliz asked.

  Seg took a deep breath. “You learn to deal with adversity. Surran, I believe we should be moving on now, correct?”

  Surran clucked her tongue at him. “So modest. Look at him. How could we be so rude as to leave without a performance?” The crowd’s expressions turned instantly expectant and Surran drew the moment out.

  Ama’s chest tightened. Performance?

  “Yes, her highness—” The crowd tittered as Surran went on. “—should sing us one of her native songs. Go on caj, perform something for us.”

  Surran fixed a smiled on Ama that was pure malice. Now Ama understood. Somehow Surran had seen—however well disguised and, at this moment, tenuous—the connection between her and Seg. This was her means of drawing the line between Person and Outer, master and slave, and clearly enough that Seg would see his folly.

  Well, if Surran wanted a performance, she would get one.

  There was a long moment of heavy silence; Ama raised her eyes briefly, then cleared her throat. “This is a song my father taught me,” she said. “A love song.”

  Through all their childhood, every insult and every petty internecine war they had fought, Seg had never had so strong an urge to strangle his sister as he did now. Furthermore, he could not express that urge because, promises or not, she would use any hints of weakness against him.

  At least there had been no visible reaction to Ama’s break in protocol, referring to herself in the first person. Surran’s web of mystery, which had ensnared the crowd completely, had given Ama that much protection.

  He fought to maintain his air of composure as Ama started her song. She was no virtuoso, her tones would not bring any crowds to tears of joy and appreciation. But the Kenda loved their music and she had an earnest quality to her performance that affected the gathered crowd.

  The tones were sweet, longing, loving. But the words—sung in Kenda to hide their meaning—told a very different story. It was a song of rebellion and slaughter, the downfall of wicked foes, and the fruits of hard-earned liberty. He had heard snippets of it once before, sung by his troops at the warehouse. Then, it had been rendered with a more lusty violence than Ama’s romantic version.

  His face softened as he listened. This was deliberate. Despite everything, she was still rebelling. Good for her. He was starting to feel much the same for these People as the Kenda had felt for their Shasir and Damiar overlords.

  Parasites, subsisting off the blood and labor of those beneath them. Subsisting off the sacrifices from worker, raider, and caj alike. Envisioning their destruction, as so strongly worded in the song, brought a faint smile to his face.

  As Ama sang, he could see the tensions of the evening flowing out of her. Around her, all conversation stopped, as the crowd listened with rapt attention to her native love song. More People gathered.

  She raised her eyes to his and, in that moment, he sensed she understood. He was as much a prisoner on this world as she was. Perhaps all was not lost between them? Color rose to her cheeks as she smiled in return and finished with a long held note.

  When the song was done, the crowd remained silent and awed. “Blood for water,” Ama said, in Kenda, and bowed her head.

  He could have kissed her, swept her up in his arms, and carried her out of this museum. Instead, he contented himself with the crowd’s applause. Of course, the cheer was not directed at her, but at him. People couldn’t appreciate a caj, only its owner.

  Invigorated by their shared secret, Seg bowed with a flourish. Let the idiots think that they had been entertained by their pet celebrity and his slave. Those who had been there knew the truth.

  Surran moved to Seg’s side, beaming. “Brother, will you ever cease to amaze me? You must let me borrow your caj for just a few moments!”

  All eyes were on him, awaiting his answer. Which his sister had counted on. Typical Surran. For him to disagree to such a benign request would be suspicious. Well, if she wanted to trot Ama around the party singing secretly about carving out the hearts of her foes, so be it.

  “Bring her back intact,” he said. When Surran nodded dismissively he p
unctuated the words with a warning glare.

  “I wouldn’t dream of harming your prize,” Surran said. Seg passed her the controller for Ama’s collar. She turned to the Brennan sisters. “Poliz, will you be a good Citizen and look after my brother?”

  Poliz agreed, readily, and Surran patted a hand against Seg’s lapel. “And promise me you’ll talk the House Master into saving a bottle of that praffa wine for your sister.”

  Surran called for Ama to follow before he could answer. Ama looked over her shoulder and cast a quick look at Seg.

  “Oh, look at that!” the middle Brennan squealed to her youngest sibling. “It doesn’t want to leave its owner.”

  “Go,” Seg ordered. Poliz wrapped herself around his arm. “Now.”

  Ama turned away and followed Surran into the crowd.

  “Have you seen the look of this crop?” House Marshal Rethelt said to Seg.

  Moments after Surran and Ama’s departure, the House Marshal had latched onto Seg. For at least twenty minutes he had rambled on about the haul from the raid, tongue loosened by a good dose of alcohol, Seg guessed. Manatu, for all his firepower, was no help, and Lissil could only stand mutely to one side.

  “The Welf?” the House Marshal said. “Good workers, I’ll bet even the ones sent to the ponds will outlast most stock. And the priests? We made copies of their native gear, all the lights and nonsense. Every House is going to want one for a trophy.”

  “Fascinating,” Seg said.

  Poliz was still hooked onto him, as well. She turned a smile to the House Marshal. “My father’s already put in an order, and he topped up my scrip account for the auction.”

  Seg squirmed slightly to extricate himself from Poliz’s grip on his arm. “If you’ll excuse me, there’s someone I need to see.”

  “So soon, I haven’t even—”

  Poliz was interrupted by a bellow from the crowd in the center of the room, followed by a round of applause.