WARP world (57 page)

The woman turned to circulate with the rest of the crowd, boldly striding forward. Her own caj cleared the path, rising smoothly to follow, but Ama was a half second too slow and the large woman’s foot clipped her calf. Charter Commander Myrd lurched forward, arms flailing as she tried to regain her balance. Gelad lunged after her, in vain, as the big woman tumbled to the floor, her head grazing a chair as she went down with a solid
thud
. The room went silent as Myrd groaned and pulled herself to her knees. A few titters spread through the crowd. Gelad helped her up. The woman’s caj, kneeling at her side, shot a venomous glare at Ama. As Myrd rose up, she turned her own wrathful gaze to Ama, as well.

“You!” she howled, hand sliding toward a fortuitously empty holster. Finding no weapon at easy grasp, she advanced forward, her face darkened with rage, her hands clenching into beefy fists as she prepared to pummel the impudent caj.

Gelad stepped into her path, his face cold and blank. “My caj, Charter Commander,” he said calmly, “my responsibility.”

He whirled on Ama. “You clumsy, worthless piece of shit!” He grabbed one of the rings on her collar and jerked her head forward. “What’s the matter with you, huh?” He dipped his hand into his pocket, then brandished a small square device before her. “This is what you get for your laziness.”

Ama recognized concern in Gelad’s eyes as he made an exaggerated motion, pressing his thumb on device. What was it? What did he want? Then she remembered the helmeted caj.

She dropped forward onto her hands, back arching painfully, mouth wide open to mimic a scream, though only a hiss of air escaped. She shuddered and convulsed, and out of her very real fear, managed to shed a few tears.

Gelad stepped forward and stood with his legs splayed over her, looking down with the perfect mask of merciless anger. He pressed the button again and Ama took that as her cue to stop. “Don’t do it again,” he warned her. “I didn’t pay for you anyway, wouldn’t be nothin’ to ship you to the huchack ponds.” He stepped back and folded his arms, his expression expectant.

Ama’s relief was genuine. Though not for the reasons others in the room would suppose. Her efforts, however, had momentarily driven all the lessons from her mind. She panted and feigned lingering pain to cover her pause as she scrambled to remember what to do in this situation, what Lissil had taught her. Lissil. Yes, the first meeting with Seg.

Without fuss, she lowered herself until her forehead touched the floor, her hands clenched in fists, next to her ears. The retyel. Basic pose of caj to owner.

Gelad stood over her for a long time and dragged the moment out. At length, he lifted his foot and placed his boot against the back of Ama’s head, pressing it hard enough against the floor to make an audible
thonk
. “Your obedience is accepted. Rise caj.”

“My apologies again, Charter Commander,” Gelad said to the woman. “If this matter is not resolved to your satisfaction, I will take further measures to damage the caj.”

Myrd brushed away her own attendant, pushing the caj back on his heels as she shook her head. “No, no. But she’s got no art to her. Good thing you didn’t pay for her.”

“Art’s all in the hands, Charter Commander,” Gelad said, then added, “and other places.” He gave her a small smile, to which Myrd responded with a guffaw and a backhanded slap to the chest that sent him back a step and forced Ama to dodge out of the way again.

“You old rigla,” the woman said with a little snort. “Don’t you change, even if you’re only driving trans and shepherding one of the digis these days,” she jerked her head in Jarin’s direction.

With that she departed. Gelad fired a glance back at Ama, then made his way to his seat at Jarin’s table.

Ama followed him, aware of the eyes on her, shocked to find that looks of disapproval came not only from People, but from other caj as well.

They sat for a span of time long enough to avoid suspicion but short enough to get Ama out of the room before she could make any more mistakes. Seg would be waiting anxiously for the data. For her part, she wanted to be done with this hall of horrors.

The helmeted caj opened the door for their exit. There would be no machine to pass through on the way out. Thankfully. Ama was busting out of her skin.
Why do Gelad and Jarin move so slowly?

They passed out of the raid planning area and down the sprawling stairs toward the main exit. Free. Finally.

At the bottom of the stairs, a tall, thin woman fixed Jarin and Gelad with a smile that reminded Ama of icicles.

“Theorist Svestil, Sergeant Gelad, we’re so pleased you’ve decided to grace these meetings with your presence. It is a shame young Eraranat cannot be here.”

“Efectuary Akbas,” Jarin said. “Segkel is similar to most of his age and ambition; he has much to learn. A pleasure to meet you.” He raised his hand, palm facing inward, only inches from his chest, his eyes twinkling as he waited for her to respond.

Akbas raised a sculpted eyebrow a fraction, then slipped her palm against Jarin’s. “We rarely see the traditional method of greeting anymore,” she said, then pulled her hand away as if she had touched something scalding hot. “How…quaint. And Sergeant Gelad, we see you’ve acquired a pet. We were beginning to worry that some of Theorist Svestil’s philosophy was wearing off on you.”

“Didn’t figure anybody’d be interested in my luggage,” Gelad said with a shrug, holding his palm up for her to meet, though neither made contact.

“We are interested in
everything
that comes in and out of the raid planning room,” Akbas said, raising a finger to her lips. Her heels clicked as she pounced, snagged Ama by one of the rings on her collar, and examined her closely. “This one seems fresh. Where did you get it?”

Ama’s mouth went dry and she froze in the woman’s grasp. Akbas’s hand held her collar right at the spot where the leech was hidden.

Gelad’s hand shot out, grasped Akbas’s wrist then lifted her hand away and stepped between the two women. “Don’t know how things go in Orhalze, but here we don’t handle other people’s property without asking nice first,” he paused before concluding with, “Efectuary.”

He released her wrist but stayed close.

Akbas smoothed a hand over her hair, though not a strand had moved out of place. “Yes, we always forget how touchy you in Cathind are about your property. We have such an abundance in Orhalze that there is no need for such petty protocol.” She cast her eyes over Ama, then offered another cold smile, “Obviously not a pleasure-caj, but then you were never the type for decoration, were you Gelad?”

She didn’t wait for an answer as she turned toward the stairs.

Gelad leaned over to Jarin. “Guess she knows more ’bout me than I do, eh?”

Aside from his eyes following Efectuary Akbas’s departure, Jarin was the picture of perfect calm. “I’ve had enough of this for the day. Let’s return to the compound, Gelad.”

The second the door to Jarin’s residence cycled closed behind her, Ama’s hands darted to the back of the collar. “Stupid…thing,” she grunted, as her trembling fingers fumbled with the intricate clasp.

“Here,” Seg, who was waiting in the entranceway, extended his hands. He moved behind her and pushed her hands out of the way. “Hold still!”

Ama took a deep breath and rooted herself in place while Seg removed the collar.

“How did it go?” Seg asked, his voice tight.

“Well,” was Jarin’s reply.

“Didn’t tell her about the amp,” Gelad said to Jarin.

“Amp?” Seg asked, pausing as he released the collar from Ama’s neck.

“Amadahy handled herself very well, despite our minor oversight,” Jarin said.

Gelad pulled the graft control unit from his pocket and flashed it to Seg. “We had an incident. Forgot to tell her how to act if she got amp’d; we improvised.” He pointed the unit at Ama, “You did good. You’d make a good agent…except for being an Outer and all.” He turned to Jarin, “Boss, if it ever comes up to de-pop that Akbas, I want the job.”

Ama smiled as she placed her hands over her dathe to soothe the skin, which was chafed and raw from the rub of the thick collar. Seg removed the disc from its hidden pocket and passed the collar back to her, their fingers brushing as he did.

“Thank you. This is what I needed. I will do what has to be done.” He raised a hand to her dathe, “We should get an auto-med for that.”

Jarin cleared his throat. “Yes, I’ll have Lissil fetch it. Amadahy, you need your rest. Go on.” He ushered her out of the room, and sent Gelad off to the dining area, then turned to Seg, “And you need to get to work.” He let out a long, thin breath and headed to the main living area.

“Mentor…” Both Seg’s hands were curled into tight balls, his mouth moved undecidedly.

“Segkel?” Jarin looked back over his shoulder, then turned at the sight of his student’s agitation. “What has occurred?”

“Things got worse,” Seg answered with a wry grin that immediately changed to an angry glare. “The CWA sent two collectors here today…for my caj.”

Jarin nodded, “Trans costs unpaid for and, in Amadahy’s case, unregistered. A bold move that assumes you will lose your portion of the raid profit. Or, at the very least, that the two will be grafted and processed by the time the payout is made and you reclaim ownership. We should have anticipated this.”

“I sent them off. But if this doesn’t work,” Seg whispered, holding up the leech disc, “they’ll be taken and auctioned. I have to get her away. I have to…” He dragged a hand through his hair and looked up at the ceiling.

“Amadahy is registered with the Guild. Not the required, formal registration, no, but as long as she remains within the Guild compound, I can stall any action to remove her for as long as possible. Lissil, as well.” He placed his hand on Seg’s forearm and nodded to the disc, “We have five days, let us not waste them.”

Kerbin had prowled the Raider’s Quarter with restless energy for the past day and a half. The deliberations attached to the raid had carried on, she had been told, but without Storm-cursed Eraranat. The cub had overreached, pushed too many unortho behaviors for the House and other parties to tolerate. At the very least, the legal proceedings would tie him up well beyond the actual conduct of the raid, which satisfied her to no end. Better yet, the CWA representative she had dealt with had said he could well lose his share of raid tithe.

Which meant that both of those worthless Outers he had gathered would go up for auction. Kerbin had already half-decided to put in a bid. Wouldn’t it be too precious to parade his little toys in front of him, properly grafted and broken?

Then she would sell them off to the worst and most wretched recycler or huchack pond she could find, to rot away and die. Just for the spite of it.

She took another drink and assured herself that this was the best plan.

An old man slid up to the bar, next to her. Even in her semi-impaired state, she noticed he didn’t fit in the place, even as a retiree. Old Raiders had a rough edge to them—the harshness of contained violence—that this man did not possess.

No, this man smelled altogether different. But he was inobtrusive enough to have some sort of experience. Which screamed Theorist.

“A moment of your time, Lieutenant?” he asked, confirming her impression.

“Eraranat send you?” she asked, with no effort to disguise her bitterness. “Because I’m not letting him loose on that.”

The old man laughed lightly. “No, he did not send me. My name is Jarin Svestil and, after a fashion, you could say that it was I who sent him.”

“What’s that mean to me?” she asked.

“Potentially a great deal, Lieutenant,” he said, then studied her for a moment the way the digis always did. The way she always hated.

“Stop dissecting me, Theorist,” she said, then raised her fist to warn off the serving caj, who had come around selling amba sticks and other off-World hallucinogens.

“I was merely considering the similarities between yourself and Theorist Eraranat,” Jarin said, and moved the caj along with a less hostile wave.

“Ha!” Kerbin barked out a laugh. “Me and him? That a joke?”

“You came from an unprivileged background, and entered military service at sixteen. At the bottom of a long chain, true, but an ambitious move for one so young. Three years of drudgery on-World, guarding ammunition stores or other equally mundane duties. At the—”