WARP world (27 page)

Ama watched Seg make his unsteady descent. All his weight was to one side, he gripped the stair rail and half-slid to the bottom. “Crazy drexla,” she muttered. She would hook up the boarding bell then join him below. A blanket over Manatu’s bunk would do well enough for a bed.

“All just stupid rumors? Is that so?”

Ama spun at the sound of Geras’s voice, and nearly lost her balance. He stepped from behind the helm, red faced, fists clenched.

“Were you…spying on me?” Her mouth hung open.

“I was coming back from the Terithe estate, saw this piece of garbage tied up here and thought perhaps my crazy sister had come to T’ueve for something important. I should drag you back to the Banks by your hair. Who’s that Damiar that was draped all over you?”

He bulled forward as if he would go below, after Seg; Ama blocked his path.

“Leave it Geras!” She waited a moment for him to settle. “We’ll talk another time, I’m too murked for this tonight.”

As she climbed down the stairs, she heard Geras’s footsteps behind her. Her molars came together. Why couldn’t he leave her alone?

“I’m getting tired of people trespassing on my boat,” she said, her back to her brother. “I have a charter,” she sighed, and rotated to face him. “He’s my paying passenger.”

“Oh I’ll bet he’s paying.” Geras strained to look past her.

“Then that would make two of us whoring to the Dammies.”

Seg stepped out from his quarters, bleary eyed, “What is thi—”

Geras’s open hand connected with Ama’s face. The high-pitched WHAP reverberated through the small space; Ama let out a sharp gasp as she stumbled into the galley.

Without a word Seg sprung forward, rushed Geras into the bulkhead, seized him by the collar and slammed his head back.

“Seg! No!” Ama yelled.

Geras raised his fist, “Keep your dirty hands off my sister!”

“You’re the savage who struck her,” Seg spat back.

“Geras stop!” Ama sprung up from the floor and grabbed her brother’s arm to stop his swing.

“Get him off this boat,” Geras growled.

Ama kept her eyes on her brother and wedged herself between the two men. “Leave. Now.”

“I want him out of here,” Geras growled.

“You don’t give orders on my boat.” Ama pushed her hands against his chest. “Go, before you do something else you’ll regret.” She knew, from the way the corners of his mouth twitched, he could see the red mark on her cheek where he had slapped her. “Please,” Ama added, her tone pleading. It wasn’t her brother’s fault; he didn’t know what was at stake here.

Geras shrugged away from his sister. “You’re turning your back on your family. I don’t know you anymore.”

“I don’t think you ever did,” she said.

“You’re coming home.”

“You don’t control me Geras.”

“Someone obviously has to,” his eyes burned in Seg’s direction. “I’ll be back tomorrow. You’ll pull anchor and set a course for the Banks or I’ll tie you below and do it myself.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Ama replied, her jaw clenched.

“We’ll see about that.” Geras straightened his coat, opened his mouth to speak to Seg, then shook his head, “Cloud sniffers, think you own everything.” He thudded up the stairs and off the boat.

Ama waited until she was certain he was gone, then let out a breath, “I’m so sorry, my brother is—”

Seg’s hands grasped her shoulders, his knees gave way and they both tilted back into the bulkhead as his weight transferred to her.

“Come on,” Ama grunted, pushing him up, “you need sleep.”

“Is he going to be a problem? Do we need to be concerned?”

Seg’s voice came out in a long slur Ama could barely comprehend, as she dragged him the short distance back to his quarters. She was out of breath by the time she managed to heave him up onto the bed, and flopped down on her back beside him.

“Geras is all bluster,” she panted, her arm draped over her forehead. “We’ve been fighting with each other since I was old enough to talk. Anyway, thank you for the misguided defense.”

Seg’s response was a rumbling snore.

“Well, that’s settled.” Ama’s eyelids grew heavy, she let them close. Her chest rose and fell in time with Seg’s, the effect was hypnotic.
Just rest here a moment,
she thought.
Just a moment.

M
orning air brought a shiver to Seg’s exposed skin. He moved closer to the warm body whose limbs were intertwined with his own, and nestled his face into the silky hair spread out around him. The body shifted and murmured and, though not fully awake, Seg was washed in a blissful calm. Even lost in the land that existed somewhere between dreaming and consciousness, he recognized this moment as rare and squeezed the body as if to prevent it from slipping away.

A low moan brought him a step closer to reality. The pain radiating out from his head, another step.

He opened his eyes. A set of pale grey eyes, only a nose length away, opened a moment behind his. Both sets of eyes blinked.

“This is…” Ama began.

She tried to roll away but Seg’s arms held her tight.

“I didn’t…”

He released his grip and rolled in the opposite direction.

“Must have passed out after moving you.” Ama bolted upright.

Seg sat up with equal speed and groaned.

“My head.” He raised his hand to the swollen lump on the side, sucking air through his teeth at the pain. “Auto-med…” he leaned forward, to push himself off the bed. “Water.”

“I’ll get… Rutting hell!”

“What?” Seg turned to see her squinting against the beam of light razoring through the porthole.

“We slept late!” She tripped out of the quarters, calling out instructions as she crashed her way through the belly of the boat. “We have to get ready for the temple. Get up. Get washed. I’ll pick out your clothes. Fix your hair so that lump doesn’t show. Where’s that magic arm thing? The cartul and porters will be here soon…”

“The temple,” Seg murmured, as Ama continued to chatter too loudly. He worked up some saliva and swallowed with a frown. His mouth tasted as if a small animal had crawled inside it and died. “Water…” He wished Ama would stop talking so she could hear his request.

What would he need for today’s recon? VIU, digifilm, some small, concealable weaponry. They hadn’t discussed protocols. How was he supposed to address her? Transportation? Ama had arranged that, he hoped. What else? Water, he needed water.

“Karg,” he muttered, as he shuffled to his pack to find the auto-med among the spilled contents.

I’m about to embark on one of the most dangerous infiltrations executed in a generation and I can barely keep a single coherent thought in my head.

“Here,” Ama appeared in the hatchway, cup in hand.

He chugged the water down, with an uncustomary feeling of gratitude.

“You look terrible.” Ama snatched the cup back and disappeared again.

“Thank you,” Seg said, and would have rolled his eyes if the motion weren’t so painful.

As Jarin and his assistant approached, a pair of tattooed caj swung the large doors of House Haffset’s Raid Planning Chamber inward, bowing low as they passed. Gleaming, burnished grafts nestled in the back of the men’s shaven heads, fresh tattoo patterns swirled around the metal. Jarin spared the men a glance, out of professional curiosity, noting that the new patterns did not correspond well with the patterns that ran across their bare backs and torsos. Apparently Haffset was not of the naturalist persuasion.

The room was large and spacious horizontally, and was one of the few in the estate that bore a window to the outside, a strip of thick, hardened glass that ran nearly the length of the rear wall. Beneath the window, seats had been set up as an observer’s gallery. The chairs could be pivoted for a view of either the perimeter of the shielded city or of the large, circular table below and the various substations around it provided for data recorders, assistants and the like. Major movements of the House were conducted here–the raids and petty internecine House conflicts that were the lifeblood and entertainment of a stagnant world. The appointments of the room were luxurious, designed to impress upon the visitor the growing wealth and power of the Haffsets. A sizable contingent of serving caj waited silently in the wings at refreshment stations, to provide any manner of food, drink, and mild intoxicants. At present, they stood at rigid attention, awaiting orders.

An ostentatious display, designed for public consumption. When actual militancy was required, the House had a similarly sized martial chamber without all the decoration, stripped to function. Jarin took that as a point in their favor, along with the lack of dancers and other distractions that some of the more decadent Houses favored. Haffset was a young and hungry House, formed within the past two centuries, and they were worthy of being held a House Ascendant. This raid would take them into the status of Major House, should it succeed. Should it fail…

He looked around once more.

Should it fail, the CWA would most likely leap in to assume the debt and seize House assets

The House Accountancy gestured everyone to their seats. “Theorist Jarin Svestil and aide Mar Gelad,” he announced. Jarin nodded to the assembled House and raider representatives as he made his way to his seat. Behind him, Gelad followed silently. Silver haired, with dark eyes that looked out from a pronounced brow, sweeping across the room and back, the practiced observation marked Gelad as more than assistant. The large man was a former raider himself, a long-service veteran who now used his experience for a different kind of service to the Guild.

Jarin sat and accepted his digifilm from Gelad. “I believe everyone is here,” he started.

“Apologies Theorist,” the House Master interrupted, “as this entire process has been somewhat unortho, the CWA has requested to send a representative to sit on in on the pre-raid planning.”

Jarin nodded and pretended to scroll through his digifilm as he processed this new piece of information. While the CWA was traditionally kept abreast of raids and raid planning, due to their control of warp gate access, it was unheard of for them to formally sit in on planning sessions.

“I see,” he said as he paused the film and idled his presentation. “I do expect that they are curious as to what we are considering here.”

“Director Adirante Fi Costk,” the Accountancy announced as the door cycled open. Jarin’s head snapped up before he composed himself and turned to look at the newcomer.

Five Directors comprised the Central Well Authority Trust Board, the top layer of management for the gargantuan agency. Each was a power in their own right, equivalent to the head of a Major House or conglomerate. For one of those Directors to deign to arrive at a planning meeting for a raid, one of a dozen raids in the Consideration and Planning phase at any given time, was more than unprecedented, it was a seismic event. Jarin pivoted his chair toward the newcomer as the man entered. Adirante Fi Costk, as always, made a production of his entry. In the sleek black dress uniform of the CWA, trimmed with silver to denote Director status, he cut a sharp figure against the sea of grey and beige. The well-built man offered a polite nod to the assembled.

“Citizens, thank you for this opportunity.” He turned directly to look into Jarin’s eyes and nodded once more, a more formal and deeper nod. “Jarin.”

“Adi,” Jarin answered, pivoting back in his chair.

Whatever the game had come to, the stakes were now significantly higher. Apparently the CWA was not content to simply watch and wait for their next target; Haffset was their unwitting and oblivious prey.

“If I could take some time, Theorist,” Fi Costk said as Jarin ambled to the door at the close of the meeting. Jarin nodded to Gelad, who proceeded past him.

The Director had sat mute during the entire discussion, his expression sober and attentive. House Haffset was undoubtedly already privately calculating the losses they were going to take in the amount of unregistered material they would now be unable to bring back. Skimming goods from raids was a routine gambit, universally overlooked by the CWA. But with the Director of External Affairs now scrutinizing the proceedings, there was no way the Haffsets could take the risk. Though they had no idea what the true risk was here, yet.