Warp World

by Kristene Perron

  “She was all over that flea Eraranat, though,” Gostin said, unmoved by his partner’s advance. “Person of the moment? Did you see him in there? So drunk he could barely read the film.”

  Ortis tightened his grip on Gostin’s groin and thrust the amba stick under his nose. Just as he was about to sniff, Gostin found Ortis’s mouth and nose against his own. They inhaled the smoke together; Gostin let his partner push him against the wall. Let his anger blend with his lust.

  “They invited me here to rub it in,” Gostin said. “The last of the Dercy line, humbled by a House of crooks and cheats. I was going to be part of their buyout. We should have taken this House to pieces. Soumer Haffset would have been lucky to dine on veg paste for the rest of his days.”

  “Quit simpering.” Ortis backed away, tossed the amba stick to the floor and ground it beneath his heel. “I’ve told you, everything will work out.”

  “But when? I can’t—”

  “Tonight.”

  “What?”

  “After tonight, things will be different in Cathind. As I’ve always promised.”

  Gostin stretched his hands out to his lover, snagging a lapel. “What do you know? Tell me?”

  Ortis laughed but to Gostin it sounded like an animal growling. “Those Outers I told you about that Eraranat brought through? The ungrafted ones he’s keeping in Old Town? We’re taking care of that tonight. I can’t tell you any more. But the warehouse they’re staying in will be empty by morning.”

  “Don’t tease me, Ortis.”

  “I think Eraranat’s balls nailed to your office wall would make a perfect conversation piece, don’t you? Perhaps I’ll get the honor of removing them myself?” Ortis smiled and Gostin found himself doing the same.

  “I can hardly wait to—” Gostin paused. “Did you hear that?”

  “If you say It’s the sound of victory, I swear I’ll smack you. By the Storm, I loathed that vis-ent and that line in particular. Psalit Finsh should be grafted and muted.”

  “No, I thought I heard a beep,” Gostin said.

  “Paranoia does not become you, Gos. Now, where were we? Oh yes, celebrating the impending fall of the—” Now it was Ortis’s turn to pause, as another beep sounded. He raised a finger to his lips.

  Ama’s heartbeat quickened at the second beep. The proximity alarm—she had been too far away from Seg for too long—the collar was sending out a warning. She had to get back upstairs but that meant exposing herself to the men in the corridor.

  Another beep.

  She had to risk it. But as soon as she took a step the two men she’d been listening to appeared in front of her exit.

  “Caj. Present yourself!”

  Ama recognized the voice of the one called Ortis—he was tall, dressed in black and silver. She looked to the stairs; the two men stood between her and escape. The beeps were getting louder, more insistent. She lowered her head and shuffled forward, desperately hoping the men wouldn’t recognize her. She was caj, after all, invisible.

  She bowed before the two, heart jackhammering in her chest. “This caj presents itself.”

  “That’s Eraranat’s creature, the one from the tank,” the one called Gostin said. He was much smaller and older than Ortis. In the light of the corridor, his face looked gray. “It was eavesdropping.”

  “On the floor, caj,” Ortis said.

  Ama darted a glance to the stairs. “Begging your forgiveness, I have to return to my master.” The collar beeped again.

  Ortis advanced toward her. “On the floor. Now.”

  “We have to silence it!” Gostin darted past him and grabbed for Ama.

  With a quick duck, Ama slipped his grasp and ran for the stairs. The pair launched after her in pursuit.

  “Stop! Stop, caj!” Gostin cried.

  “Stop yelling,” Ortis said.

  Ama reached the first step, felt a hand grab her by the collar and fling her to one side. She recovered her balance but now the two were right in her path. Her blood felt suddenly hot and fear gave way to anger. Her vision narrowed to the two targets in front of her. Jaw clenched, she thought of Fismar.

  Energy, what do we do with it?

  “Take theirs, make it ours,” Ama said.

  She lunged forward, Gostin raised a hand.

  Slow, feeble, clumsy, the backhand was easily sidestepped. Ama dropped into a two-part movement—one hand latched onto Gostin Dercy’s knee and forced his leg straight, as her other hand swept to his ankle. Off balance already, the man crashed onto his back.

  His co-conspirator was quicker on the attack but not quick enough. Ortis grabbed a handful of Ama’s hair from behind but instead of struggling or running away, she slapped both hands on top of his hand and pressed down, trapping it there. One fast step forward and an artful drop and twist of her upper body, and Ortis tumbled forward. He landed on top of his partner, who was howling in pain.

  With both men down, she turned back to the stairs, but was confronted by a wall of security, followed by a crowd of onlookers.

  “Security!” one of the Haffset attendants yelled. “Rogue caj!”

  “No. No!” Ama raised her hands and started to back away. The beeps were getting louder. She scanned the crowd but Seg was nowhere to be seen. Any moment now the pain would come. “SEG!” she yelled, heedless of the People or their rules.

  “Destroy it!” Gostin said. “It attacked us.”

  The crowd parted in a surge and Ama watched Manatu bull his way through. Confused Haffset security in their gilded livery had moved in to surround her. The insistent beep of her collar halted, signaling Seg’s arrival. He followed in Manatu’s wake, with Lissil trailing far behind. As Manatu cleared one guard away, Seg slipped up on another and seized the man’s chack, which was hanging over his shoulder.

  “I need to borrow this,” Seg said. Finally realizing what was happening, the guard tried to pull the weapon away. One look into Seg’s eyes, however, was sufficient to back the guard off.

  Seg marched toward Ama and the two men, but Ortis was already down the corridor, almost out of sight. Gostin had been left to face a Theorist’s wrath alone.

  “If you wish to contract the services of my caj, you had best consult me first,” Seg said.

  Gostin righted himself and straightened his wardrobe. “Your caj attacked us!”

  “That’s a lie,” Ama said.

  She caught her mistake too late, the crowd muttered at her disobedience.

  “Do not speak in the presence of People!” Seg delivered the order with the force of an offended slave owner, but Ama saw the concern in his eyes. She had just put everyone under his care at risk.

  Seg pivoted to face Gostin. “Now, you claim this caj assaulted you two Citizens?” He glanced in the direction Ortis had fled, and Ama could see the insult on Gostin’s face. “Did you fear for your life?”

  “Do not make light of this, Eraranat.” Gostin jabbed a finger at Ama. “It has a history of violence against People, as you know. Either you take care of this situation or I’ll—”

  “Or you’ll presume to give me another order?” Seg asked. “You’re curiously well-informed about the affairs of my property. Nevertheless …” He paused theatrically. “You’re correct. Discipline must be maintained.” He turned toward Ama. “You! Caj! Did you harm either of those fearful, cowering Citizens? SPEAK!”

  “I—” Ama looked from Gostin to Seg. “Not purposefully.”

  “There are no accidents, there is only obedience.” Seg turned back to Gostin. “If my caj has caused you any injury or discomfort, I apologize with heartfelt sincerity, and I will discipline her now.”

  He produced the controller from his pocket, held it up for the assembled audience and leveled a harsh glare on Ama.

  Her mouth twitched, she shook her head
, and mouthed a pleading No.

  He lowered his hand to chest level; the watching crowd went silent as they awaited the punishment. “Caj, you will conclude the evening with no meal. Now hold this for me, I’m tired of the weight.”

  He tossed the controller to Ama.

  Her shock was matched by that of the crowd. The gasps and mutterings of disapproval quickly changed to cries for more severe punishment, even death.

  Gostin looked as if someone had slapped him. “You … that … impertinent gutter crawling …” His mouth opened and closed like a fish on the dock.

  The crowd jeered. Guards kept them at bay but Ama could tell even the guards shared the spectators’ collective ire.

  “This is unacceptable,” Gostin said.

  Seg glared down at him. “Oh? A transgression was allegedly committed, punishment has been meted out. My property, my concern. If you find it unsatisfactory, there is the recourse of men of status.”

  Seg lifted his chack, flipped the abler over to safe the weapon, and offered it to Gostin. “I have a weapon for you, and we can utilize the roof of this home for the challenge. I am sure our host will procure another weapon for me so we can settle this matter as People of honor.”

  He leaned closer to Gostin as he held out the weapon, his eyes blazing. “Do it,” he whispered. “Please.”

  Gostin looked at the weapon, considering, then up to Seg’s eyes. “I do not settle matters like a barbarian.” His sour face failed to mask his fear.

  “You declare the honored tradition of redress to be the work of barbarians?” Seg studied the colors emblazoned on Gostin’s lapel. “No wonder House Dercy is nothing more than a CWA lickspittle these days. You’ve refused redress, Lesser. Our grievance is concluded.”

  Ama watched in awe. From what she knew of the rules, Seg had, technically, adhered to protocol. At the same time, however, he had delivered a grave insult to Gostin Dercy, and to every Person present.

  Seg slung the chack over his shoulder and turned to face the stunned crowd.

  “I will take my leave now. Caj, attend me!”

  He nodded to Manatu, who forced his way into the crowd once more, creating a path that Seg, Lissil, and Ama could follow.

  Controller clutched in her hand, Ama jogged to catch up with Seg.

  “I have to get you out of here,” he said.

  Ama spoke in Kenda. “I didn’t attack those men, they were trying to stop me from getting to you. Fismar and the Kenda are in danger. I heard them say they’ll have your warehouse cleared out by morning.”

  Seg whipped around to face her, then stuffed his hand into his inside pocket and withdrew his comm. His expression darkened and his steps quickened.

  “What’s wrong?” Ama asked.

  He shook his head as he moved even faster, almost at a run. “No signal.”

  “No signal?”

  “I can’t contact Fismar.” Seg’s face hardened. “They’ve cut us off.”

  Jarin examined his useless comm once more, then slid it back into his pocket and turned his attention to the wallscreen. Outside, the viscams were trained on his protégé. After a brief conference with his small party, Segkel seized one of the voice amps at the staging platform and spoke directly to the crowd. The House display was muted but whatever Seg said worked the gathered mass into a frenzy. A gasp ran through the audience in the room as, on screen, Manatu lunged at one of the House Guards. Just then, a knot of guests stepped in front of Jarin, blocking his view of the screen.

  By the time he could see the screen again, the onscreen crowd was spilling into the plaza. Off-duty raiders locked arms and battered their way through, toward Segkel’s group.

  What was the boy up to now?

  The corners of his mouth pulled downward. Of all the times to give his aide and agent, Gelad, a night off. He glanced over at Fi Costk, who was speaking intently into his comm. Fi Costk had service? Somehow, Jarin doubted that was coincidence. Their eyes met, and in that moment Jarin knew that something deeper was afoot. Efectuary Akbas was led forward by one of Fi Costk’s functionaries and he gestured for her to come to his side.

  Their eyes locked one more time, then both Jarin and Fi Costk exploded into motion, pushing through the crowd toward the exit.

  Efectuary Akbas quickened her pace to keep up with the Director. He had yet to acknowledge her, which she could only hope was a good sign. If not, at least she’d had the pleasure of witnessing Eraranat with Gressam, just as planned. Even from a distance, she had seen his suffering as he was forced to stand and behave before the man who had tortured his beloved pet caj. A minor triumph, but a triumph nonetheless.

  The Director’s comm was to his ear; his eyes were directed across the room, to Theorist Svestil. “… act is authorized,” she heard him say into the comm.

  Those words signaled an operation being put into action. Something was happening here. Something big.

  Fi Costk tossed his head for her to follow. His retinue shoved their way through the crowd, cries of annoyance and outrage following them. “I know why you’re here, Efectuary.”

  Of course he knew; she should have realized that. “We have been monitoring Eraranat closely, Director. We felt it was valuable to—”

  “Where in your current task description is monitoring Eraranat? Aren’t you responsible for ent analysis now?”

  “Yes, and the department is running at peak efficiency. Eraranat was a special project, conducted on my own time.”

  The path cleared and they entered the lift to take them to Fi Costk’s rider on the roof.

  “You were pursuing a vendetta, Efectuary, which included diverting funds from your division to purchase facilitation services.”

  “We, that is, I—” Akbas pressed her lips into a hard line. He would show no mercy and give no quarter until she assented. And, in a rare moment of crystalline understanding, she saw that she would assent. She would roll over and take every accusation and punishment—deserved or not—that Director Fi Costk threw at her. Not because she was weak—just the opposite. Because one day she would replace him. One day, she would sit in his chair and loom, equally mercilessly, over her department, over Orhalze, over the World. Until then, she would glue herself to this powerful man and learn all she needed to know to usurp him.

  She tilted her head slightly and took a breath though her nose to regain composure. “Yes, Director. And I will accept the consequences. But Eraranat is a threat to the World and its Citizens, as he has proved this evening.”

  Fi Costk nodded. “So he is. Initiative is a dangerous quality, Efectuary. In the future, clear your operations with me. I’d hate to see you grafted for disrupting an operation the way you nearly did this evening.”

  On the roof, Fi Costk’s rider was ready, the engines swirling the air around them. “Come on. It will be best for us to be out of the city before the Storm comes down and cuts passage to Orhalze.”

  Akbas darted a glance up to the shield, as if expecting the reliable copper to suddenly vanish at Fi Costk’s command. Then she stepped up into the rider. “Thank you Director. We won’t disappoint you again.”

  Manatu shoved his way through the flock of indecisive Haffset House Guards at the doorway, barely pausing to let the portal slide open before he marched outside. Behind him, Seg followed, with Ama close behind. Lissil, in her elaborate frock, scrambled to keep up.

  “What exactly did those men say?” Seg asked Ama, with a glance over his shoulder to ensure they weren’t followed.

  “Ortis said they would be taking care of your ungrafted Outers in Old Town tonight, that the warehouse would be empty by morning.”

  “They,” Seg repeated. It could only be one they. “Hold!” he ordered Manatu, and raised a hand to stop the group before they stepped out into the open plaza.

  “Theorist?” Manatu asked
.

  “Extrans conditions. CWA.” His eyes shifted suddenly—to the rooftop, to the line of smaller residences along the road in front of the estate, to the alleys and other dark places.

  Extrans conditions: hostile ground, surrounded by potential enemies. Manatu understood the code and reached for his weapon.

  “No,” Seg said, still searching. “Not yet.”

  “They wouldn’t kill you here, in front of all these people,” Ama said, though her voice rose questioningly.

  “Wouldn’t put it past Wellies to do it,” Manatu said.

  “Kill him?” Lissil asked.

  “We have to get to the warehouse,” Seg said.

  “The slideway’s our only way in, and it’s in the Raider’s Quarter; Haffset trans won’t travel there. And if they’re aiming to de-pop you, that …” Manatu stepped in front of Seg and gestured with his eyes to the pathway designated for guests, “… is where they’ll do it.”

  “Cover and transportation.” Seg broke away from the huddle and strode toward the crowd. “Manatu, you’re in charge of transportation.”

  “Where are you going?” Manatu asked, running ahead of Seg.

  “To get us cover,” Seg said. “Stick close,” he called to Ama and Lissil.

  The crowd roared as Seg approached the interview platform. Nallin Sastor waved over her viscam crew as, with quick little steps, she moved to greet him.

  “Theorist Eraranat! What an unexpected—”

  Her polished professionalism disappeared as Seg yanked the voice amp from her hand and turned to the crowd.

  “My People!” His amplified voice echoed.

  Around the plaza, the large screens projected his magnified image to the hundreds gathered behind the barriers. The crowd reacted instantly to his acknowledgement, a booming cheer that subsided with equal speed, as they waited for more.

  “Citizens of the World. Workers. Raiders. Tonight is your night. Tonight is your celebration. In there,” he said and pointed to the main house, “they praise my victory. Where is the praise and gratitude for you? It was your labor and your blood that brought us here tonight. Where are your trophies and your tributes? Where are your rewards? WHERE?”