Her own stories? Lost.
Looking around the wide common area of the Place of Others, at the clusters of people bonded together by their pasts and their struggles, she realized that no matter how many scars she bore on her hand she would always be an outsider. This bleak land was more kin to her than any person here. She settled onto the dirt, drawing her finger in meaningless patterns as the wind began to blow.
Like Majed, she kept her face turned to where Yulin waited for the Storm. She stayed like that until an unfamiliar voice jarred her out of her thoughts.
“Undersiders, I see you all bathed for the occasion. Very civil of you.”
“And you came down from pleasuring yourselves on the hilltops to pretend you do useful things around here,” Gelsh said.
Ama looked up to see one of the Creepers. He was not much taller than Gelsh but his skin was darker than the Deathland sand and clear of the pocks and scars that marked so many of the Undersiders. His body was all cord, muscle, and sinew, as if someone had forgotten to put in the fat when he was born. Strangest of all though, was the shell atop his head. More than helmet, the dome was permanently imbedded in the man’s skull.
“What do you want, Chotke?” Gelsh said.
“We came to welcome your newest addition, we have not had an opportunity to do so,” Chotke said. The three other Creepers behind him smiled pleasantly. He looked down at Ama. “I am Chotke, leader of the Creepers.”
Gelsh shoved her shoulder. “He’s talking to you. Answer him.”
“I’m Ama,” she said, stood and brushed the dirt from her trousers.
“Ama is a lovely name,” Chotke said. “Tell me, Ama, have you had a chance to see beyond the home of the Undersiders?”
Her throat constricted. Did he know about her nighttime hunts with T’Cri?
“No,” she said, firmly.
“That is a shame. Would you like to? Would you like to see the view from—” He raised his hand and pointed to a spot high atop the cliffs surrounding the Place of Others. “—up there?”
“What’s the trick, Chotke?” Gelsh’s eyes narrowed.
“Trick?” Chotke smirked. “Look at her. She’s not one of yours, she belongs topside and you know this. I would merely offer Ama the chance to enjoy the air from on high for one small moment of what must be a deathly dreary existence below ground. Would you deny her that?”
“Please,” Ama whispered to Gelsh, eyes imploring. “Just once?”
Gelsh glared at Chotke. “If you try anything …”
“So untrusting,” Chotke chided. “Come along, Ama. The ceiling of the world beckons.”
Ama followed silently as her new guide and his small band led her across the amphitheater, between the high rock walls that surrounded the Place of Others, and then up a long sloping rock face with crude stairs carved into it.
“If you have difficulty, let me know,” Chotke said without turning around. “I know how unused to heights most are but you can trust that the view will be worth it. Once you are at the summit you may perhaps understand why we so seldom come to ground to mix among the Others.”
According to the Undersiders, the reason the Creepers didn’t mix with the Others is because they thought their shit was made of gold. Whether or not that was true, Ama was pleased to feel accepted.
The climb up was long, but relatively easy. She was in passable physical shape now, thanks to her hard work below and T’Cri’s training above. Her hosts kept a reasonable pace and were quick to point out hazards and dangers. Most of all, she enjoyed the fresh air and the light of day. The wind was building and far in the distance a black smudge against the sky foretold of the coming Storm.
Chotke slowed, then stopped and waited for Ama to catch up. “This part is slightly precarious.” He pointed to a wide chasm that separated the rock they stood on from the rock they were headed toward. A ladder—constructed from scrap parts of metal and wood—had been laid across the crevasse. “I will cross first, to demonstrate the safety of our equipment, then you follow me. Do not fear. One of ours will be directly behind you.”
“I’m not worried,” Ama said. The ladder looked sturdy enough, and if Chotke was willing to cross it, then she would, too.
Nimble as the fan-feathers who lived on rock faces, Chotke scrambled across the divide. Ama followed him, moving quickly on the ladder as it creaked under her weight.
“Well done!” her guide congratulated her, as she hopped back to solid rock. “You are a natural!”
“Thanks,” she said, returning his generous smile.
He walked her a short distance further, to the highest point, and gestured in a slow circle at the landscape around them. “Breathtaking, is it not?”
Ama had to agree, it was stunning up here. Below, the residents of the PO moved around like tiny insects. Most were looking up in her direction, many were pointing. She picked Gelsh out of the crowd and waved.
This was the first time she had seen the common area in its entirety. It was a perfect location, a pocket in the middle of a circle of high cliffs. Well hidden, well protected. As long as the inhabitants stuck together, they could hide in this place forever.
There was another sight that was not as reassuring. Yulin, out of sight from the Others but only a short distance from the gathering, was bound to a large rock jutting up from the ground. His arms and legs were spread wide and tied tightly. When the Storm came, he would have no protection.
Ama bowed her head and turned away to look behind her. In the opposite direction, she could just make out the top of a formation too precise and angular to be natural rock. It looked like a manmade structure.
“What’s that?” she asked Chotke.
He squinted and frowned. “That was the home of the Stone Tribe. That is where the Slavers now live.”
“It’s so close.” Icy fingers played up and down her spine.
“Too close,” Chotke said. He stared for another minute, then turned away sharply. When he looked back at Ama, the gracious smile had returned. “Have you enjoyed the view?”
“It’s amazing. Thank you for this. I don’t deserve it.’
“Oh,” Chotke said, his smile creeping further up his face, “but you do deserve it.” He waved over the other Creepers. “Well then, it is time to rejoin the party.”
“Okay, I—” Ama’s mouth fell open as the three men scurried over the edge of the cliff.
Three men? There had been four.
She turned to walk back to the ladder but it was gone. Not exactly gone, though. The fourth Creeper, on the far side of the crevasse, had it under his arm and was walking back down the slope.
There was no way to cross back over the crevasse. Ama stepped to the edge of the cliff and watched Chotke and the other two expertly scuttling down the steep rock face.
“Hey!” Ama yelled. “What about me?”
Chotke looked up at her with a grin. “Good luck, Undersider’s pet,” he said, laughing as he descended.
Gelsh watched the Creepers scurry down the cliff, abandoning Ama at a height that made him dizzy. “Sump-chugging skyrat! Shouldn’t have let her go up there. I’m gonna gut him, I swear.”
At his elbow, Payt laughed so hard he started to choke. “C’mon. Good trick, gotta admit that, ay. ’Sides, just a tanskin, not any of ours.”
Gelsh looked around for a weapon and scooped up a sharp-edged rock. “Good trick, ’til she gets killed up there.”
“And if she does get killed?” Payt asked. He was no longer smiling. “Means we don’t have to fill her belly anymore, far as I can see. ’Course, you could be feelin’ different from the rest of us, being all sweet on the tanskin as you are. Taken her for your sleep-ease yet?”
Gelsh turned slowly, his grip on the rock tight enough that it cut into his skin. “You can sh
ut up now or I’ll take your other leg.”
“Turning on your own kind?” Payt spat in the dirt near Gelsh’s feet.
“If I was, we would’ve left you to starve weeks ago like the useless, crippled mouth-off that you are.”
“You gear-licking ass—” Payt launched forward but a gasp from the crowd stopped him just before his hand reached Gelsh. He turned his head and saw everyone looking up. “What in the name …”
Gelsh looked up to see Ama hanging precariously from the cliff, one foot kicking in mid-air. “No,” he said, stepping forward.
She found a place for her foot, steadied herself, and resumed her climb down, but his heartbeat refused to settle.
“Come on,” he said softly. His stomach lurched as he watched her slow, perilous progress.
Fact was, Payt was right. He did have a feeling for the girl. He wasn’t sure where or when it had started, but there it was.
“No way she makes it,” Payt said. The gathered Undersiders muttered in agreement. “Tanskin ain’t right in the brain bucket.”
Every eye was fixed on Ama now. Even Mother’s, which gave Gelsh one more reason to worry. The wind ahead of the Storm was getting stronger and, exposed on the open face, Ama had to pause for minutes at a time to keep from being pulled off the rock. As she took a cautious step down, a small slide of rocks let go, bouncing over her, eliciting another gasp from the watching Others.
A shadow fell over Gelsh. He turned to see Majed hovering just behind him, unnaturally still, her eyes turned away from her doomed mate for the first time since Yulin had been taken away by the As Dead.
“Your pet is insane,” Majed said.
“Doing what she has to do to survive,” Gelsh said, not bothering to look back. “Same as all of us here.”
“No,” Majed said. “Not all of us,”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Joshua
Here we are again, at the end of another odyssey. Wasteland Renegades was largely re-conceived after we’d finished the rough-roughs for the succeeding volumes in the series, so it was very much a journey of discovery for the writers, something that I hope it will also be for the readers.
So, a few words for the folks who help make this all happen. My parents Kenneth and Linda, once again, for their support in both my crazy business ventures, for being sources of endless conversation and thought as well as excellent home cooking when I come by to visit. My aunt and uncle, Barbara and Don, for being wonderful neighbors and good relations (and a source of great burritos and pizzas to fuel my day-in-day-out writing sessions with Kris.)
Tom and James, best friends, brothers.
Friends, I’ve got great people around me. I think I left Chelsea off the last list—sorry! Love my Blond Critter. Hi Max!
Then there’s somebody who sort of wandered into the picture over the past year, a fellow author as well as a scholar and a gentleman. Take a bow, Robert Hollmann, I look forward to many more years of quality conversation and I’ll definitely be there when you hit the stage for Too Tough to Die.
Sherrie, what can I say? You’re awesome? Doesn’t seem quite appreciative enough, but it’s the best the English language will come up with.
Henry Hernandez is possibly the greatest human being to ever live. Seriously, he’s that good.
The board crew (y’all know who you are), quality folks, brilliant minds, good conversations. Especially the sawed-off … fellow. You really know who you are.
Special mention from above for Tyson and Vegard, I want to see you writing pages like this in the very near future.
Blood for water, Scottie. I won’t send my chemistry homework this time. HUF #1 in my heart forever.
Dave, you’re the bartender of my soul and always will be. Thanks for being the guy that I can ramble at for god knows how many hours over the years. Also thanks for going easy on my tab.
I’d like to thank my clients for keeping me and kitty in food and roof. Y’all are great folks who make my days pleasant and my chosen profession a great and pleasant thing.
Then there’s the production staff—Miguel Kilantang, the endlessly patient graphics and formatting guy who never seems to sleep—timely work and excellent customer service. We’ve got his contact info in the credits and if you’re looking to put a book out Miguel is the man to go to. Steve the editor helps us avoid site/sight errors and provides entertaining feedback, a blissful mercy. Kris’ writing group, whom I’ve never met, have given a lot of great contributions over the years.
Now. What’s it like working with Kris Perron? Well …
Remember the Energizer Bunny? It’s not at all like that. The Energizer Bunny is slow. It’s more like working with the offspring of the Energizer Bunny and a very well-organized Tasmanian Devil. We’re coming up on four years in the business together and it’s as fun as the day we started. Over the years our personal language has developed into a Writer’s Cant that eventually will be only vaguely related to our native tongue. After teh bing, breka so I can eatate, eh?
Finally, the readers. What’s been so gratifying is the feedback and enthusiasm we’ve received with the release of Warpworld, and the many, many times we’ve been asked about the sequel. Well here we are at that moment where the rubber meets the road, it’s in your hands and I sincerely hope that it exceeds all your expectations. Feel free to drop us a line and let us know what you think about it- I love hearing from y’all and talking story with you. Once a creation is released into the wild, it becomes part-owned by anybody who takes up with it, and it’s fascinating to see what different takes there are on the setting, characters, and cultures involved. Thanks for coming, enjoy the ride.
Josh Simpson, July 2013.
Kristene
As I said in the first round of acknowledgments, in Warpworld, there are not enough pages to thank all the people who helped make this book come to life. I’ll do my best to note those most directly involved. To everyone else, thank you!
Enormous thanks are owed to Deborah O’Keefe, who should have a black belt in both editing and enthusiasm. You would think an editor/friend combo might be a recipe for disaster but Deb fills both roles with grace, style, and unflinching honesty.
The members of my writing group continue to amaze me with their patience, generosity, and ability to find excuses to drink champagne. Rita Moir, Anne DeGrace, Jennifer Craig, Vangie Bergum, Verna Relkoff, and Sarah Butler are, collectively, my literary compass. Thank you all.
New to Team Warpworld is copy and line editor, Steve Thornton. Despite threats to spank both Josh and I with a ping pong paddle, he was an excellent addition and we’re lucky to have him.
Darcey Lutz once more offered his medical expertise for our frequently-injured cast of characters, for which I am immensely grateful.
Pilots and friends Dave and Bobbi Powers came to our rescue when we needed some extra realism for our flight scenes. They also connected us with aerobatics pilot, Larry Mayer, who offered even more helpful input. Gracias amigos.
Miguel S. Kilantang Jr. created another stunning cover, as well as typesetting and formatting for Wasteland Renegades. It’s a pleasure to work with someone who is talented, professional, and apparently never sleeps.
My husband, Fred, deserves some kind of an award for putting up with me over the last four years. He may be Warpworld’s single biggest fan and promoter, not to mention a thousand other distinctly non-glamorous roles he takes on every day to support this project. I could not do this without him. He is my crazy drexla.
Also cheering from the sidelines has been my family. I love you all.
Josh and I may be morphing into a single human entity, which should make everyone on this planet nervous. I had my doubts about writing in a partnership, but they have all been put soundly to rest. Somehow, our inner ten-year-olds found a way to make the Best Game Ever into a serious crea
tive endeavor, even with three thousand miles and two time zones between us. Josh is more than my writing and business partner, he is one of my best friends. If he was here right now, I’d pinch his cheeks!
Last of all, but most importantly, I want to thank you, our readers. There are thousands upon thousands of books out there for you to choose from … and you chose ours. Thanks for reading, thanks for your reviews and ratings, thanks for liking us on Facebook and following on Twitter, thanks for journeying through the gate we created to help you travel to other worlds. I hope you enjoyed the adventure; there are many more to come.
Blood for water. ~ Kristene
Links:
www.warpworld.ca
Warpworld on Facebook
Kristene Perron on Twitter
Warpworld on Goodreads
Cover designed by Miguel S. Kilantang Jr
migzworks.com
Warp World Page 57