Warp World (44 page)

Efectuary Jul Akbas flashed Gostin Dercy a sharp smile as they passed through the doors into the inner hall of the Haffset estate. It was good of him to bring her along like this, and even better that he had seen fit to keep her name off the list. Ordinarily, she had little time for House members, especially from a House that existed in name only since the CWA had acquired it, but Gostin Dercy could prove useful.

“Garish,” she said, as she surveyed the decorations and the lavishly jeweled and costumed caj.

Beside her, Dercy walked with stiff formality, nodded to other guests, and presented himself with the impeccable manners of one born to a House Major. Nevertheless, his discomfort radiated in the tiny twitches at the corners of his mouth.

“Expect more of this,” Dercy said. “One successful raid, entry into the Houses Major, and Soumer Haffset feels as if he belongs in elevated society. A sad statement on our World, I’m afraid.”

“Latecomers.” Akbas patted a hand against her tightly bound hair. The last time she had been inside the Haffset estate had been the day Eraranat had taken over the raid planning meetings, ruining everything. Not least of all her good standing with External Affairs Director Adirante Fi Costk. “Speaking of latecomers, we are certain the guest of honor will show last. He so enjoys making a spectacle of himself.”

“Theorists.” Dercy shook his head. “My great grandfather was both friend and advisor to Ren Berrenge. He called her the last of the legends. These are different days, Efectuary.” He smiled sadly. “But we are Citizens; any victory against the Storm requires our support.”

Dercy nodded to a familiar face in the crowd. “Efectuary Akbas, it was a pleasure to escort you in—”

“Yes, I
’
m sure it was,” Akbas said. Dercy was gone a moment later, off to trade more cloaked insults about House Haffset with Demi-Efectuary Ortis Longsten, his latest romantic intrigue.

Akbas didn’t waste her time ogling the trimmings, as all the other guests were doing. This was a reconnaissance of sorts. Eraranat would be here this evening—a rare opportunity to get close to the obnoxious upstart again—and he would have his newly broken caj in tow.

From Facilitator Certine’s report, the Theorist had put on a good show when the news about his caj had been delivered. To be expected from Jarin Svestil’s protégé, she supposed. Until now, Eraranat had been able to keep his property, and his deviant affection for it, out of the public eye, away from those who so ignorantly sang his praises. But tonight there would be no hiding and the conditions she had placed upon him would ensure he was as uncomfortable as possible. Success was simply a matter of creating opportunities. And if this evening provided an opportunity, however slight, to really cause problems, she would seize on it. Knowing Eraranat and his lack of political or social prowess, the odds were in her favor.

Someone waved. Akbas returned a curt nod and continued her survey of the party. Discreetly. It wouldn’t do for her to be noticed too widely. Director Fi Costk was here, too, after all. She was already cast out; she could take no risks that might worsen the situation. No need to court Gostin Dercy’s fate: irrelevance.

At first, Ama thought the trans driver had made an error. During her earlier stay on Seg’s world, she had visited the Haffset estate several times, disguised as Gelad’s caj, to help Jarin steal data for Seg’s raid. On all those occasions, the grounds of the estate had been somber, stony, and lifeless. This evening, the estate grounds rivaled any Shasir Sky Ceremony she had attended.

Bright, colored lights filled the air, swirling and swaying across the plaza and main house—and across a sea of bodies. Even from the trans park, Ama could see a crush of People corralled into a tight area at the plaza’s entrance. These weren’t House members, Theorists, or even caj, they were spectators, here to watch the arrival of party guests. Hundreds of People, all here to cheer on the elite of their world and a victory against the Storm. The scene, Ama thought, was not much different from the herds of Welf on her world, who would wait for hours, sometimes days, for a glimpse of a Shasir’threa.

House Haffset’s guards lined a wide pathway that cut through the center of the spectators. Barricades prevented the watchers from crossing into the pathway or the plaza, and the armed guards—dressed in much finer livery than Ama had ever seen—ensured none would attempt to cross the line.

At the end of the long pathway was a low stage. Arriving guests would stop at the stage to be welcomed and questioned by a vivacious red-haired woman. Not that Ama could see this from such a distance, but there were a series of giant screens erected around the plaza that projected the unfolding action. Other images flashed on those screens, too. Most notably, images from Seg’s raid.

Ama stopped in place, mouth agape. She had lived through the battle at the Alisir Temple but she had never seen it like this. These images, looking down from above, must have come from riders. In a repeating loop, they showed the temple intact, the temple under fire as raiders attacked, the temple reduced to rubble after the black powder explosion, finishing with Seg standing before an awestruck army of Welf. There was no sound, but Ama knew the words, would always know the words, Seg had used to subdue their enemy:
Behold, the gods have returned!

He had made himself a god, and the Welf had believed him.

As if she had spoken her thoughts aloud, Seg glanced over his shoulder at her. There was nothing god-like about him in that moment. Though he looked away quickly, for a second it had felt as if they were one person, reliving the horror and the tempest of that long night in Alisir.

A man dressed in the red and gray colors of House Haffset controlled and directed guest entrances, allowing enough time for the woman on the stage to question each new arrival. Ama expected Seg to push his way past, but he let himself be shuffled forward in turn.

On the big screens, the red-haired woman was gushing over a man with a perfectly carved jaw and a smile that looked rehearsed.

“Psalit Finsh, congratulations on your decoration of Vis-entertainer of the People for the third consecutive year!” the red-haired woman said.

The crowd cheered and the man, Psalit Finsh, managed to look genuinely embarrassed by her words.

“Thank you, Nallin,” Finsh said.

“Are you tired of the acclaim, yet?” Nallin chuckled.

As the questions continued, Ama realized the man, Finsh, was some kind of actor who performed in the story-plays Seg’s people called
vis-ents
.

“It’s an honor to be recognized,” Finsh said. “And an even greater honor to be selected for the role of a lifetime in the upcoming ent
First Raid
, which releases in just six more weeks.”

Nallin let out a girlish laugh, and the crowd laughed along with her. “I think the pleasure is mine, and theirs.” She swept her hand to indicate the mob of fans pressed against the barricades. They went wild as Finsh turned to offer a raised palm. “Theorist Eraranat, the role of a lifetime indeed! Well, don’t wander too far away, Psalit, I hear from my
spies
—” She gave him an exaggerated wink. “—that the guest of honor will be arriving any moment.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t miss it. I’ve seen him, vids of his behavior in meetings and in training, but nothing compares to the chance to meet the man in person. I always strive for the closest and highest fidelity to the subject. My art is my duty to the People.” He waved his hand toward the sky.

“What a true Citizen,” Nallin said.

Finsh moved to the side and his entourage of women, bodyguards and service caj followed him as three young women took the stage.

The spectacle repeated—these women were sisters, important members of some important House—and then a set of teen twins, Theorist cadets, took their place on the stage for more of the same fawning.

As the boy and girl stepped up, Seg was directed to begin his walk down the pathway. Just as before, and as it would be for the duration of the party, Manatu stayed right behind Seg, with Lissil and Ama trailing just behind Manatu.

A roar exploded through the crowd. Seg flinched and Manatu reached for his chack. The roar turned to a chant, four syllables repeated in a slow rhythm.

“Er-ar-a-nat! Er-ar-a-nat!” The chant grew louder as Seg approached the staging platform. Manatu, Lissil, and Ama were directed to keep a slight distance away from him.

Nallin straightened her snug suit and flashed a smile. “Theorist Eraranat!” She had to repeat his name several times over the chants and cheers of the mob.

For a moment, Ama thought Seg would barrel past the woman, but she had placed herself strategically in his path. Almost as if she expected his impatience.

“Theorist Eraranat!” she gushed again when the crowd had settled. “What an honor to have you in our midst. A hero of the People!”

This set off another round of screaming and cheering.

Nallin swept her hand to where Ama and Lissil stood. “And, look, not one trophy caj from the raid but two! Another multi-strike!”

Seg stood speechless as he regarded the crowd.
Celebrity
. Jarin had used the word and the number of unanswered messages clogging his comm should have alerted him to this change in status, but not until this moment did he fully comprehend what he had become. Hundreds of faces strained for a glimpse of him, hundreds of voices chanted his name.

They don’t even know me. I don’t know them.

A woman was chattering close to him. He turned and looked at her intently—the red hair, that was familiar. “Haven’t we met before?”

“And a sense of humor!” she said, her voice and mannerisms unnaturally amplified, her laugh well-practiced. “Nallin Sastor of the World News Service. But of course you know that. Who could ever forget our fateful meeting …” She left a significant pause before adding, “in the Raider’s Quarter.”

Another cheer went up, but this time it was more guttural and concentrated among one contingency of the crowd—a cluster of off-duty raiders.

“Now, I know you’re eager to get inside and enjoy the celebration, but there’s someone you must meet!”

As Nallin turned away, he scanned the faces of the crowd, his eyes settling on a group of raiders. He strained for a closer look but a man with a viscam blocked him and a new, male voice boomed in his ear.

“It’s an honor, Theorist!” The man grasped Seg’s hand and tugged him slightly sideways, to get the perfect profile shot.

Seg glared down at the man. “Who are you?”

“Psalit Finsh. I’m playing you in the ent. Smile for the viscams.”

Seg ignored the order and cast his eyes to the crowd again. One face haunted him. He pulled free from Finsh and stepped off the platform. As he made his way to the barricade, the face grew more recognizable. The hair had grown out some, and Seg could see it was blond now that the raider wasn’t covered in dust and ash. The raider’s arms resembled the real thing but just below the elbow they changed from flesh to metal composite. Now Seg remembered clearly.

The raider had lost both arms to an axe, wielded by one of the raging Welf that had made it into the trenches against the storm of fire the raiders had lain down at the temple. Seg remembered the wounded raider being pulled away, back to the makeshift med station. That was the last he had seen of him. Until this moment, he had not known whether the man had lived or died. He was surprised by a rush of relief that this man had survived. So many had not.

Their eyes met as the crowd roared around them, the off-duty raiders in their hodge-podge medley of utility overalls and mixed uniforms roaring all the louder. Seg heard nothing as he reached out his hands. The raider reciprocated the gesture, his metallic limbs extending slowly between the bodies around him. Cold metal fingers wrapped around Seg’s palms as the crowd exploded into an even higher frenzy.

“Whatever you need, Theorist,” the raider said, shouting to be heard. “Anytime. Just say the word.”

“What’s your name?” Seg asked.

A soft-gloved hand grasped him from behind, immaculately-tailored arms gently, insistently, pulled him back toward the party, toward the world of Haffset.

“Arel!” the raider called. “Arel Trant.”

Seg smiled as the Haffset security led him away from the crowd and toward the entrance. “I know you, Arel Trant!” he yelled over the din of the crowd, then disappeared behind his protectors.