Warp World (18 page)

Seg’s comm chimed a distinctive tone. “Hold that.”

Fismar let out a disgruntled
hmph
. “Storm alarm. You’d best be going. Don’t forget this.” He shoved a mini-film into Seg’s hand, the key to the comm code he had established. “At least we can talk over the comms about business now, if we need to.”

“Good work.”

“I’ll keep things running here, boss,” Fismar said.

“And I’ll have your supplies as soon as possible.” Seg then trotted down the stairs as Fismar watched.

“If you say so,” Fismar said, after he was out of earshot. He looked back down at the troops, and then at the locked office where he stored the rapidly diminishing stock of rations. “Better be quick.”

Viren and his nine squad mates sprawled against their packs on the floor, making the most of their moment of relaxation. As they chewed on flavorless ration bars, they watched two other squads running one of Lieutenant “Dismal” Korth’s exercises.

One of Lieutenant Dismal’s favorite drills was moving the warehouse’s supply of tall, heavy crates around into elaborate mazes and then running the squads through in battle drills. He had ordered Squad Leader Tirnich and his men to guard a bucket in the center of the maze, and then set Wyan’s squad against them. Viren had carefully chosen a spot where he could see both squads and offer running commentary on the action to his own men.

As Viren watched, Wyan and four of his squad members rushed silently past in the leapfrogging pattern Lieutenant Korth had drilled into them. “Behold the gallant Squad Leader Wyan!” Viren said to his squad, his voice low but animated. “How silent and sure the movements of his fearless troops. Woe to young Squad Leader Tirnich and his band.”

Beside Viren, Swinson lifted his water canister. The group’s marksman narrowed his sharp gray eyes at the contents. “Wish we could find something other than water to drink around here. I’d kill for a cup of praffa wine.”

Viren shushed him and pointed to Wyan and his men, now staring at an empty space. “But wait? Where is the dastardly Tirnich? Where could he be?”

“Lieutenant’s gonna have the boy’s head for abandoning his position like that,” Keer said. He nudged Viren with one meaty elbow and almost toppled him. “S’posed to be attack and defend exercise, like the others. Like the one we did.”

As Tirnich and his men circled Wyan’s unsuspecting squad, Viren stood and slipped into his best Lieutenant Korth pose for his own squad. “Listen up you belly-crawling, water-logged, sea worms. Win the fight you’re in! Worry about the rest later. Win the fight you’re in!”

The men laughed as sounds of the faux battle echoed out to them.

On his feet now, Viren saw Tirnich’s people leap out from the flank to strike at Wyan’s team and take them completely off-guard. Cerd and Prow, the assigned monitors for the exercise, waded into the melee, to declare who was
dead
, and thus out of the exercise.

Moments later, Wyan’s defeated squad trickled out from between the crates, toward the sidelines.

“Well done, young Tirnich!” Viren said. “We’ll make a lying scoundrel out of you yet.” Then, slipping back into his Lieutenant Korth persona, Viren folded his arms across his chest in disgust as the defeated squad trudged by. “The dead don’t get to do it over. Remember that, worms!”

“Neither do people who don’t watch their backs.” The real lieutenant rapped Viren on the back of the head as he passed by.

Swinson leaned in to Viren. “How does he always appear out of nowhere like that?”

Viren shook his head. Magical appearances were just one of Fismar’s tricks. He could also make the lights turn on and off at will. That one made their drills infinitely more interesting.

“Tirnich’s men weren’t in position!” one of Wyan’s troopers complained.

“I noticed that,” Lieutenant Korth said.

Tirnich appeared, with a wide smile. “The lieutenant told us we were supposed to be defending something but he didn’t say it was something important. I figured we’d get creamed if we stayed put.”

Viren and several others applauded and whistled.

“You don’t look very happy about your victory, Kype,” Viren said, as the recently demoted trooper trudged out of the maze behind the rest of Tirnich’s squad.

Kype raised a three-fingered fist. “Shut up, Hult, or I’ll shove that ration bar up your—”

“Alright, gather round and let’s talk this out,” Lieutenant Korth said over Kype’s threat. The Kenda formed into a loose huddle. “Squad Leader Wyan, what do you have to say about this one?”

Wyan squinted at Tirnich. “Little bastard cheated.”

Lieutenant Korth whirled toward him. “Have you listened to any damn thing that’s been said since we started? There’s no cheating in a war! You win or you—” He stopped and turned his head sharply. “Someone’s here. Viren, Cerd, you two, explain this principle for me.”

Viren exchanged a look with the other men as the lieutenant trotted away. Swinson leaned in once more. “You hear anything?”

Once again, Viren shook his head.

Swinson mouthed, “
Magic
.”

Two guards at the front entrance, always, that was the protocol Fismar had put in place from the moment he arrived at the warehouse. All other entry points had been barricaded. Old Town existed on the fringe of society and bordered on anarchy. Fifty ungrafted, healthy Outers would fetch a good price at auction for any bold enough to risk an attack. And there were always spies lurking—CWA, Guild, even the MRRC— he could be sure of that, given the nature of this operation. The Kenda’s blades wouldn’t be much use if any serious threat arrived but that was irrelevant. What mattered was the diligence and wariness he was instilling.

Code words were also required for anyone who knocked on their door. No code, no entry. Fismar was happy to see this rule was being enforced now, despite the angry, muffled shouts from outside the door. One of the guards turned to whistle the established warning, but the whistle died on his lips at the sight of his leader already en route.

Fismar raised a questioning eyebrow.

“He says his name is Field Active Pegno, asked for Raider Fismar Korth. Doesn’t have the code, though, Lieutenant, so I wouldn’t open for him,” the guard said.

“Good job, Trooper,” Fismar said. To one side of the door hung the bulky monitor he had picked up on his last trip to the RQ. Wired to the viscam installed outside the warehouse, the monitor gave him a grainy picture of a man dressed in a Field Active’s uniform, flanked by two armed raiders. Not that Fismar would trust the image alone; Old Town had plenty of clever scavengers.

“FA Pegno, state your business,” Fismar called through the door.

“I don’t answer to caj!” The reply was shouted; the door muted the volume but not the disgust. “Get me raider Korth. Now! Or I’ll have you shipped to the ponds.”

The threat was followed by a series of loud bangs—butts of weapons hammering against the door.

“This is Training Lieutenant Fismar Korth. Stop banging on my doors or I’ll be forced to confiscate those weapons. Harshly.”

The banging stopped. Outside the door, there was silence. “Korth? By the Storm, open the door so we can talk like civilized men.”

Fismar studied the man’s uniform and the small metal emblem on the chest—two crossed blades. “You come from Latile’s Redblades, FA Pegno. We’ve got a mutual friend from that unit, raider named Chim. Tell me, what does Chim eat before every raid?”

On the screen, he could see Pegno’s consternation and eventual comprehension.

“Raider Chim likes to pop a couple of d-stress tabs before he demolishes an entire rack of synlur. Don’t know how he stomachs that synthetic lurkiya meat. It tastes like old sock to me.” He turned his face and looked directly into the viscam. “Satisfied?”

Fismar nodded for the guards to open the door.

“Man can’t be too careful around here,” Fismar said and a moment later he was facing Pegno directly. He squared his shoulders slightly to present his rank tabs, recently purchased and tacked onto his old field uniform. “Something I can help you with, Field Active?”

“Lieutenant Korth, I’d like a word with you, if you’d call off your pets.”

“Depends. Do I owe you money or did I karg your pairmate?” Fismar asked.

Pegno’s expression quickly moved from annoyed to amused. “Neither. I hope.” He let out a small chuckle. “Actually, I’m here on MRRC business.”

“You lose yours, I lose mine,” Fismar nodded toward Pegno’s escorts. “Then we can talk like proper raiders.”

“Stand down,” Pegno ordered his men. “Wait outside.” The men hesitated, then backed away, eyes on the Kenda as they did. “Well?”

Fismar turned to his guards and shifted to the Kenda tongue. “Good work. Go sit in on the review. Wyan’s squad got slaughtered.”

One of the Kenda laughed. “By the kid?”

The other man elbowed him in the ribs, then the two muttered a “Yes, Lieutenant” and jogged away.

“Okay, so what MRRC crap do we have?” Fismar asked. “Did I forget to pay my yearly again? I always forget that.”

“No, Korth, this isn’t a matter of dues.”

Pegno took a few steps forward and looked around, obviously appraising the dilapidated warehouse. “Far cry from captaining extrans units for the Major Houses, I’d say. Man with your record should be reaping the rewards of his accomplishments, not wallowing in the dirt with Outers.”

“But the job always comes back to wallowing in the dirt with Outers, in my experience.” He took a breath and waved his hand. “Okay, seriously let’s just cut out all the polite chatter and get to it. You’re here to make an offer.”

“Eraranat’s raid has the World buzzing. Everyone knows what you did at the temple. Everyone. I did some digging on the Sikkora Raid. That business with House Master Parth? Only a fool could believe you were responsible. In short, we want you back. Your rank, benefits, all of it, fully reinstated. Better than that, we’re offering you a Force Leader position and a raid of your own. Got a Corp all lined up, waiting for your affirmative.”

Fismar paused, all traces of his previous insubordination melting away. “Back in?” He looked past Pegno at something only he could see. “All the way?”

“And then some,” Pegno said. “You’ll be running at the edge, Korth. This raid’s on a class seven society, man’s gonna need all the tricks. You’ll have a full squad of stingers in the air and …” He pulled a digipad from his case and tapped the screen. “HKL hovers, eleven FST full combat rigs, three to nine Rissiles and dedicated med transport. Have a look for yourself.”

Fismar scrolled through the information. “They updated the HKLs with whisper fans? Or is this a prototype run? Never mind. Problem: I’m under contract here. As in, MRRC contract. With Theorist Eraranat.”

“You think yours would be the first MRRC contract our facilitators have terminated? There’s always a clause, a phrase, a word, something to get you out. The World needs you, Korth. I don’t know what Eraranat thinks he’s running here,” he said and looked around the warehouse again, “but he’s a digi, not a raider. Come on, how many operations have you been a part of? Are you going to tell me you seriously believe running a bunch of Outers around with knives isn’t going to go sideways, and soon? You’ll be right back in the rental pool again. If you’re lucky. Is that what you want?”

Fismar let his eyes answer the question, then they drifted to a wide metallic cylinder holstered at Pegno’s hip. “Tell me that’s not what I think it is?”

Pegno’s thick lips stretched into a self-satisfied grin. “You bet your stones it is.”

Fismar let out a long whistle, “A genuine sonic repeller costs as much as a decent gunship, last I heard.”

“You heard right, but it’ll save your hide out in the wasteland, when the wildlife comes calling.” He patted the cylinder and winked. “Being part of a professional, well-financed organization has its perks. So?”

“Two things.” Fismar looked back at the Kenda huddled together, the exercise review they were supposed to be conducting threatening to degenerate into another fist fight. “First, there’s a couple of mouthy ones here that I’d love to stick a proper graft on. Think your facilitators could finesse that?”

“Graft a couple of Outers? Why don’t you ask for something difficult?”

“And there’s some business I need to take care of, personal things. What’s my window on this?”

“Three days sound fair?”

“You’ll hold this up three days for me? You must be serious.”

“You don’t get the newsfeeds here, do you? You’re a wanted man. You come back into the fold and you’ll be surprised how many doors start opening for you.” Pegno placed a hand on Fismar’s shoulder. “But don’t do it for the trinkets and bullshit. You’re a raider, that always comes first. Your brothers and sisters on the line need you. Remember that. We leave no one behind and that includes you.”

“Hey, about earlier, I didn’t used to be such a karg-mouth. Spent a lot of time in the ranks lately and you know how troopers are.”

“Got an FHQ full them,” Pegno said, with a knowing nod. “We’re good there.”

“Let me get my business squared and we’ll talk again. Gotta … Well, gotta make it look like I’m still doing my job here.” He offered Pegno a wink of his own.