WARP world (49 page)

“I am afraid that is impossible. Warp gate access is strictly controlled and you, I am sorry to say, will not be allowed to pass through.”

“Seg promised to return me home.”

“Did my student teach you about our World?”

“A little. He said it was boring and…” her eyes moved to the far left as she drew up the memory, “full of self-important, feeble-minded, unimaginative fools.”

“Yes, that sounds like a lesson Segkel might deliver,” Jarin said, “and one you would be wise not to repeat. Here, if you come from another world you are considered an—”

“Outer. I’m an Outer, I know that.”

“Then you should also know there are no free Outers on the World. In practical terms, this means you have no rights, you cannot come and go as you please.”

“You don’t understand, I have to get back. There are people waiting for me and—”

Jarin raised a hand to stop the onslaught of words. “We will have to wait for Segkel to discuss that matter. If he has made a promise, be assured he has every intention of keeping it…no matter how ill-thought out the gesture” He leaned closer to her, “And regardless of how Segkel allows you to address him, when referring to him in the presence of others I would advise that you call him ‘my master’ or ‘Master Eraranat’. There are forms that are expected here. Segkel has obviously given you some measure of respect, but do not expect it from any others.”

“
Master?” The sick feeling from the warp returned.

“Come child,” Jarin said, and ushered her down the corridor, “the intrans process will keep Segkel busy for some time and there is nothing for us to do but wait. We may as well do so in the comfort of my quarters, where we can speak openly.”

His collarbone properly set and healing, along with a dose of stimulants, Seg was energized and ready to get to work.

Ama, he had been informed, had been collected by Jarin. At least he could be sure of her safety in his mentor’s care. Nevertheless, the sooner he dealt with his business here, the sooner he could share his plans with her, to see her back home. Doubtless she would be frantic by now.

He rolled his shoulder as he walked, overjoyed to be free of the confining bandage at last. For the next three days he would have to wear a healing grid on the skin over the break but it was thin and barely noticeable. From the infirmary, he moved with long, sure strides to the Debriefing Room, where he would complete his action review by collating and prioritizing the targets.

“So it’s true, what they are saying about you,” a woman’s voice sounded behind Seg’s back.

He stopped and looked back, to assess the threat. She didn’t look to be armed and her posture was not aggressive, though she tried to project an air of dominance and authority that the unschooled might find convincing.

“I doubt it,” he said. “Common wisdom is rarely wise.”

“You’ve just proved my point, Theorist Eraranat.” She smiled and held her hand up, palm open to Seg, “Jul Akbas, Efectuary of the Political Interactions Sector, Central Well Authority.”

If there were a word to describe the woman, Seg mused, it would be ‘contained’. Thin, hair pulled tight, immaculately groomed, and with facial features of perfect size and symmetry, Jul Akbas was as crisp as a finger snap.

He touched his palm to hers to make the fleeting contact of a formal greeting between those of high social rank.

“You’re not known for your patience either, so I’ll make this succinct,” she continued. “We’ve been following your recon. We’re impressed. We have a proposal we think you’ll want to hear.”

“Proposal?” he asked, as his face twisted. “For what?” He had expected a great many things following the recon mission, but to be confronted with the CWA bearing some sort of offer was not one of them. Beyond the delivery of vita, why would they even care what he did?

“We’re putting together a new division, a means by which we can become more involved in the raid process, increase efficiency, decrease errors and loss. The current system, we feel, is flawed. We’re looking for individuals to address this.” She passed him a digifilm, “The Cultural Research Division will examine raids in greater depth and enact changes to our outdated procedures.”

She was silent for less than a heartbeat as she watched Seg study the film.

“As second in command of this division, and eventually first if you perform to expectations, you would design and direct the nature of raids for all Theorists. Without the Guild Council setting your terms.”

“From a desk,” he said, and passed the film back as if it burned his hand to hold it. “The work is done out there,” he waved his hand toward the intrans chamber, “not from meeting rooms. This is simply the verification process.”

“The Division is still in the planning stages, Theorist. There’s nothing to say that your observations couldn’t be done in the field, working with existing missions.” She leveled her gaze on him, her ice blue eyes hinting at something beyond a mere job offer. “Think on this very carefully. We don’t make many offers of this nature. With us, you will control and direct your path. Tell me, can the Guild offer you that? Or do they question your every move? Unortho, that’s what they say about you. We say you’re simply a man who sees more clearly than others.”

Seg rasped his hand through his unkempt beard as he considered the woman before him. “Among the attributes that Guild Theorists are trained for is the ability to perceive the mendacity in others. You are the sort that will say anything to get your way. This could be commendable if you worked toward higher goals, but it’s entirely about the personal enrichment of…” he scratched the beard once more, “what did you say your name was again?”

“Akbas. Efectuary Akbas,” she said, chopping every syllable.

“I expect I’ll be hearing it again, though likely not in connection with any worthy ventures,” he said before he turned away.

“Congratulations on your first mission,” she called to his back, her voice an octave lower. “We expect we’ll be hearing your name again too, Segkel Eraranat. Though not in connection with any ventures. Worthy or otherwise.”

The click of her boots marked her departure.

Seg dismissed her presence with a shrug. He knew that, despite her rosy picture, the CWA was so hidebound as to make the Guild look revolutionary. He had paid that much attention in Fundamentals of World Affairs, even if the class had been a dreadful bore.

Combined with her obviously devious and underhanded nature, he was better quit of her as soon as possible. But no sooner had he resumed his course when someone else called his name. Would he ever get out of here?

“Unless this is urgent, it can wait. I’m on my way to debriefing,” he said to the House Accountancy now at his side.

“Your debriefing has been postponed. An emergency meeting has been scheduled, Theorist.”

“On whose orders and with whom?”

“I’m sorry, I was told it’s classified. This way, Theorist.” The man directed him down the corridor, past the Debriefing Room, to an unmarked door. With a nod, he ushered Seg inside.

This intrans process was becoming increasingly unconventional.

He entered the room, surprised at the occupants. The Master and Marshal of House Haffset, attended by six serving caj and their Handler, stood near a long projection table. First the CWA, now this? He glanced over his shoulder
;
the door cycled closed in front of the House Accountancy.

Affairs had just turned even more unortho.

Although Jarin told Ama the name of the building they were in, there was no direct translation to the language she spoke. The ‘Intrans Facility’, Jarin explained, was like a very sophisticated ‘dock’ for people returning from other worlds but nothing she had seen compared to any dock she knew of–even those for the Shasir skyships.

Now, as they walked toward the exit, it was difficult for Ama to keep her head down as Jarin had instructed her to do. The building was constructed simply, largely from stone, and composed of sharp, unforgiving angles. The walls were bare except for the long hallway they walked down, which was covered with art and other objects, (plundered from other worlds, she guessed, judging by the wide variances in form and color). When they reached the door, it irised open and Ama let out a gasp as Jarin led her out into the wider world.

He paused as she stepped out, then positioned himself to shield her from the sight of others and allow her a moment to take in the view. The sky was coppery and shimmered over their heads. Beyond that, dark clouds lurked, firing bolts of electricity among themselves; occasionally a bolt hurled down into the copper, where it sizzled and dissipated.

“Don’t fear the Storm,” Jarin said. “We are in a shielded city, where there is no need to shelter from it. Did Segkel tell you of the Storm?”

“No,” she whispered, as she stared at the sky. “I didn’t know…” her voice trailed away. As a veteran of storms, Ama was perplexed by what she saw. The dark clouds were unreadable, lacked connection to weather patterns. They were, in short, unnatural.

“Your world is
malfut
,” she said.

Jarin tilted his head, “Say that last word again.”

“
Malfut
,” Ama repeated, “It’s a Kenda word. It has a special meaning; sick, broken, unbalanced, abandoned by Nen, all of those together.”

“Have a care of how you speak when you are away from me, child. For one thing, all responsibility is levied from property to master. Therefore, your errors belong to Segkel. This is the way of things. As for our World,” he glanced up at the Storm, “you are very perceptive. Though I would not recommend sharing that with anyone else, either. Come along.”

He beckoned her to follow him across a bustling marketplace. Seg’s people, dressed in their drab clothing, jabbered at each other. A line of shackled men, strange barbarians with pale skin and muscular builds, were chivvied along by bellowing overseers, who prodded at them with sticks that arced lightning at the end. There was a crowd, and Jarin took her arm to guide her through the throng. “Stay silent,” he ordered, close to her ear, “and do not look anyone in the eye. Just follow me.”

As Ama walked, she compared Seg’s world to her own. The sounds on this world matched the language his people spoke: hard, metallic, unnatural. No birdcalls, no crash of surf, no rustle of leaves, nothing familiar. Likewise, the smells were unnatural too, as metallic as the language, one particularly that she couldn’t define. This scent permeated everything, almost as if something were burning but not quite, and not wood. And everywhere a fine dust hovered in the air, irritating her dathe.

Not a speck of green was visible. Not a single plant or tree. There was light, coming from somewhere beyond the shield, but the storm clouds blocked out much of it and the shimmering shield above muted what remained.
How do these people live without seeing the sun?

Malfut. Dry, sharp, hard and, with the exception of the people, lifeless. So, this is where Seg had been born and raised, this is the world that formed him.

No wonder
.

A
fter thirty minutes, the meeting with Rethelt and Haffset had begun to feel less like a discussion and more like an interrogation to Seg. In effect, he had been forced to complete his action review under their scrutiny, and now he waited as the men reviewed the preliminary data and proposed targets.