Warp World (47 page)

Ama repressed a smirk. How excited would they have been to learn their hero had spent the night in that grovel pit curled around an Outer, his lips and hands caressing her, not as a trophy but as a woman?

“A facet of the job,” Seg said. “When you do this yourselves, remember to be as thorough as possible. Ideally—”

“Enthralling!” Surran exclaimed before Seg could finish or one of the twins could ask another question. “But that hardly compares to his other acquisition. It’s quite a story and one that has not yet been shared. Until now.” Surran smiled and gestured to where Ama and Lissil stood.

The small crowd went quiet as they turned their gazes to the women. Lissil, head bowed, swayed slightly, the leaves of her dress appearing to ripple as she did. There was an appreciative murmur from the crowd, but Surran shook her head.

“No, not that one. This one.” She grasped Ama by the elbow. “This caj was, on its world, a princess.”

Seg coughed and nearly dropped his drink. Ama almost broke protocol, only remembering to keep her eyes down at the last moment.

“Do not let the appearance fool you,” Surran said. “The caj has only just finished training. With Processor Gressam.”

Mutterings of approval ran through the crowd.

She waved at Ama’s outfit and collar. “This is just part of the necessary humbling. You can imagine how difficult it would be to tame an Outer who was used to having a thousand servants at its beck and call.” Louder murmurs now. Surran seized on the moment. “A thousand or more. Impossible to say, as the race lived both above and below the water.” Now she pointed to Ama’s dathe. The reaction was instant.

“
Below
the water?” the middle Brennan sister exclaimed.

“Unbelievable, I know, but true. My brother braved the element to capture it. He doesn’t like to boast about it but I, for one, am not surprised. He always was the bold one of the family.” She nodded to Seg, face glowing with sisterly pride. “Aquatic dwelling royalty, never let it be said Segkel Eraranat lacks ambition.”

“Weren’t you terrified? Of the water?” Poliz asked.

Seg took a deep breath. “You learn to deal with adversity. Surran, I believe we should be moving on now, correct?”

Surran clucked her tongue at him. “So modest. Look at him. How could we be so rude as to leave without a performance?” The crowd’s expressions turned instantly expectant and Surran drew the moment out.

Ama’s chest tightened. Performance?

“Yes,
her highness
—” The crowd tittered as Surran went on. “—should sing us one of her native songs. Go on caj, perform something for us.”

Surran fixed a smiled on Ama that was pure malice. Now Ama understood. Somehow Surran had seen—however well disguised and, at this moment, tenuous—the connection between her and Seg. This was her means of drawing the line between Person and Outer, master and slave, and clearly enough that Seg would see his folly.

Well, if Surran wanted a performance, she would get one.

There was a long moment of heavy silence; Ama raised her eyes briefly, then cleared her throat. “This is a song my father taught me,” she said. “A love song.”

Through all their childhood, every insult and every petty internecine war they had fought, Seg had never had so strong an urge to strangle his sister as he did now. Furthermore, he could not express that urge because, promises or not, she would use any hints of weakness against him.

At least there had been no visible reaction to Ama’s break in protocol, referring to herself in the first person. Surran’s web of mystery, which had ensnared the crowd completely, had given Ama that much protection.

He fought to maintain his air of composure as Ama started her song. She was no virtuoso, her tones would not bring any crowds to tears of joy and appreciation. But the Kenda loved their music and she had an earnest quality to her performance that affected the gathered crowd.

The tones were sweet, longing, loving. But the words—sung in Kenda to hide their meaning—told a very different story. It was a song of rebellion and slaughter, the downfall of wicked foes, and the fruits of hard-earned liberty. He had heard snippets of it once before, sung by his troops at the warehouse. Then, it had been rendered with a more lusty violence than Ama’s romantic version.

His face softened as he listened. This was deliberate. Despite everything, she was still rebelling. Good for her. He was starting to feel much the same for these People as the Kenda had felt for their Shasir and Damiar overlords.

Parasites, subsisting off the blood and labor of those beneath them. Subsisting off the sacrifices from worker, raider, and caj alike. Envisioning their destruction, as so strongly worded in the song, brought a faint smile to his face.

As Ama sang, he could see the tensions of the evening flowing out of her. Around her, all conversation stopped, as the crowd listened with rapt attention to her
native love song
. More People gathered.

She raised her eyes to his and, in that moment, he sensed she understood. He was as much a prisoner on this world as she was. Perhaps all was not lost between them? Color rose to her cheeks as she smiled in return and finished with a long held note.

When the song was done, the crowd remained silent and awed. “Blood for water,” Ama said, in Kenda, and bowed her head.

He could have kissed her, swept her up in his arms, and carried her out of this museum. Instead, he contented himself with the crowd’s applause. Of course, the cheer was not directed at her, but at him. People couldn’t appreciate a caj, only its owner.

Invigorated by their shared secret, Seg bowed with a flourish. Let the idiots think that they had been entertained by their pet celebrity and his slave. Those who had been there knew the truth.

Surran moved to Seg’s side, beaming. “Brother, will you ever cease to amaze me? You must let me borrow your caj for just a few moments!”

All eyes were on him, awaiting his answer. Which his sister had counted on. Typical Surran. For him to disagree to such a benign request would be suspicious. Well, if she wanted to trot Ama around the party singing secretly about carving out the hearts of her foes, so be it.

“Bring her back intact,” he said. When Surran nodded dismissively he punctuated the words with a warning glare.

“I wouldn’t dream of harming your prize,” Surran said. Seg passed her the controller for Ama’s collar. She turned to the Brennan sisters. “Poliz, will you be a good Citizen and look after my brother?”

Poliz agreed, readily, and Surran patted a hand against Seg’s lapel. “And promise me you’ll talk the House Master into saving a bottle of that praffa wine for your sister.”

Surran called for Ama to follow before he could answer. Ama looked over her shoulder and cast a quick look at Seg.

“Oh, look at that!” the middle Brennan squealed to her youngest sibling. “It doesn’t want to leave its owner.”

“Go,” Seg ordered. Poliz wrapped herself around his arm. “Now.”

Ama turned away and followed Surran into the crowd.

“Have you seen the look of this crop?” House Marshal Rethelt said to Seg.

Moments after Surran and Ama’s departure, the House Marshal had latched onto Seg. For at least twenty minutes he had rambled on about the haul from the raid, tongue loosened by a good dose of alcohol, Seg guessed. Manatu, for all his firepower, was no help, and Lissil could only stand mutely to one side.

“The Welf?” the House Marshal said. “Good workers, I’ll bet even the ones sent to the ponds will outlast most stock. And the priests? We made copies of their native gear, all the lights and nonsense. Every House is going to want one for a trophy.”

“Fascinating,” Seg said.

Poliz was still hooked onto him, as well. She turned a smile to the House Marshal. “My father’s already put in an order, and he topped up my scrip account for the auction.”

Seg squirmed slightly to extricate himself from Poliz’s grip on his arm. “If you’ll excuse me, there’s someone I need to see.”

“So soon, I haven’t even—”

Poliz was interrupted by a bellow from the crowd in the center of the room, followed by a round of applause.

Seg turned toward the sound, raising an instinctive arm to shelter Lissil from the commotion as he deciphered the meaning.

Poliz smiled at the protective gesture she mistakenly assumed was meant for her. “It’s alright, Theorist. I think there’s some entertainment going on at the big display, that’s all. Come on.” She pulled Seg by his sleeve and led him toward the noise.

“Oh look! It’s Surran!” Poliz said.

On the stage, in the middle of the model of Alisir, Surran stood next to Soumer Haffset, who held a small voice amp. Between both of them, Ama knelt. Naked.

“… a real sea creature, and a princess! I had no idea Theorist Eraranat was hiding this treasure from everyone,” Soumer said.

Seg’s eyes widened. He shook off Poliz and started forward, but a new hand grabbed his arm, and a thumb dug in on the nerve at the notch of his elbow.

“Stay put,” Jarin hissed in his ear. As Seg halted, Jarin spoke again. Loudly, this time. “Impressive celebration. Haffset has outdone himself, don’t you agree?” His tone was breezy, in direct contrast to the steel in his fingers. Jarin looked toward Poliz. “If you will excuse us, Mer Brennan, I need to speak to my colleague.”

Poliz opened her mouth to protest until her eyes fell on the Guild insignia on Jarin’s uniform. “Of course, Theorist.” She left with an unhappy swish.

“Let me go, Jarin, I’m—”

“Smiling and enjoying the festivities.” This time, the lightness of Jarin’s words was underlined with warning. “And now, I’ve said something very witty and we’re both amused by it.” At that, he let loose a laugh just big enough to be noticed and pressed his thumb once more against Seg’s elbow.

Seg opened his mouth as if he would follow suit but just then the crowd parted well enough for him to see what was happening.

Surran pointed to the water tank.

“Ama …” Seg tried to break free but Jarin had obviously anticipated the move and clung even tighter.

“Ama is caj.” Jarin’s voice came in a harsh whisper. He continued, a sharp pinch accompanying each phrase. “You’ll enjoy the show, just like every other Citizen. Laugh when they laugh, applaud when they applaud. It is bad enough that the CWA’s prosthetics were tampered with, but you may be able to salvage the situation if you act appropriately. You’re proud of your trophy and you’ll show that pride. And nothing else.”

There was a collective gasp from the crowd as Ama climbed into the tank. Miniature boats bobbed in the waves she created. The House Master stepped back to the edge of the platform, as if he were afraid he might be pulled into the foul liquid.

“I’m going to end this.” Seg tugged against Jarin’s hold.

“Interrupt this and you bring disaster down upon both of you, and all you care for,” Jarin said. “The House Master will join those who are aligned against you. The Council would denounce you rather than agitate one of our few remaining allies. You, and all you value, will be destroyed.”

“Jarin,” Seg said, an edge of desperation in his voice.

“I despise this as much as you do, but we are trapped in the moment. Show no weakness, Segkel.”

Seg’s breath snorted audibly in and out through his nose as he fought to collect himself.

As he watched Ama on the stage, he saw none of the joy and confidence she had displayed in the waters of her own world. This wasn’t the woman who had dived from the top of her mast into an untamed river. The tank was barely big enough to fit her and she sunk into it slowly, with the reluctance of a wild animal being herded into a pen.

“This is too much.” Seg kept his voice low but he wasn’t about to put on the false joviality Jarin insisted on.

“You would rather see her dead? Because that is exactly what will happen if you give them the slightest reason to question your behavior toward property.” Jarin smiled benignly as he spoke, and joined the crowd in another gasp of wonder as Ama’s head lowered beneath the water.

She was spread out in an awkward crouch, hands pressed to the glass. At that moment, a serving caj, directed by Surran, stepped onto the platform. As big as Manatu, the caj lowered one leg into the tank and found a foothold to one side of Ama. The other foot came down onto her back, not with any great force but with enough weight to pin her in place.

A mixture of laughter and applause rippled through the crowd.

The longer Ama remained beneath the water, breathing through her dathe, the louder the exclamations of the crowd. They seemed oblivious to the fact that the girl in the tank was in no danger from the man above her. She could stay submerged for hours. On her world, she would have been perfectly content in the element his People feared. But Surran had played to the People’s vanity and their desire to see the savage conquered. The People above all.

“Tell me something, brother,” Surran called out to Seg, gesturing to Ama. “With such a fine catch, do you plan to stuff and mount it?”

“Laugh and nod,” Jarin whispered to Seg. “Do it.”

Seg forced a smile, but couldn’t bring himself to fake a laugh. He nodded instead, inwardly wishing death on all those taking pleasure in Ama’s ridicule. It was not until he envisioned turning the heavy needler loose on this crowd of applauding animals that a laugh finally emerged.