Warp World (72 page)

Tirnich sent a brief pulse over the comm—the signal for Fismar to open the access door. Next he tapped an icon representing the room they were about to pass through. A second later, a dark image appeared, footage from an Eti viscam, which they now controlled, thanks to the grabber. The equipment may not have been magic, but it was still strange. In the darkened room, the Etiphars could barely be seen on his film, but they were doing something—

Light flared.

“Lieutenant—” Tirnich started.

“I see it,” Fismar’s voice assured him over the comm. “They’re fusing the accessway door shut. Perimeter door opening in five.”

“Grenades!” Cerd said.

Ahead of Cerd, the lead men on the squads primed their grenades and waited. As the first door ground open, the men rolled in the grenades, then paused long enough for detonation before launching themselves into the room. In the wake of the blast, the Kenda moved quickly to their corners. There was a brief burst of fire before Wyan’s squad called
clear
. Cerd jogged into the room and moved straight for the access door. It glowed cherry red from whatever incendiary the defenders had used to fuse it shut.

Cerd turned to Tirnich and Wyan, his expression unreadable beneath his visor.

“We’re blocked,” Cerd reported, both to his squad leaders and to Fismar.

“Alternate pathing,” Fismar said.

Tirnich produced the digifilm again; the alternate route was already cued up when he activated the display.

“Keep moving.” Cerd gestured the squads ahead. “We have to get down there.”

“What happened?” Slopper whispered to Tirnich as they pressed forward.

“They blocked our entrance,” Tirnich said. “It’s okay, there’s another way in, it’s just going to be a bit tighter.”

Tighter was an understatement. The tac display in his visor showed Tirnich their new path—a narrow corridor leading to a set of ladders. They were being herded into a tunnel.

As they picked their way through the storage bay, they passed crates of strange goods, stacked randomly. Icons, like the ones Theorist Eraranat had shown them, were painted and etched on the walls. In the shadows, Tirnich swore he saw bones, which looked disturbingly human, dangling and painted with the Etiphars’ symbols.

They’re just people, like us
, he told himself, but a chill had settled into his blood.

The Haffset luxury trans was a special specimen of decadence. The passenger compartment was spacious enough for at least two citizens to reside in full-time, and of course it came tended. Seg had already declined the drink offer from the serving caj as the enormous vehicle whirred its way to the Guild compound without so much as a mild shudder. Soumer had explained the changes wrought by the night of the riot and Seg could now see some of the quicker thoroughfares blocked by debris. He stood, a hand pressed to one side of the compartment, as he felt the seconds ticking by in the pit of his stomach.

Soumer and the debt were just the first matter. Now he would have to persuade the Guild of his loyalty and continued allegiance, or else he and his people would be left without that organization’s protection. Lacking that shield, he and all of his troops and employees would be fair game for any House or larger organization that decided to pursue a claim against the Keep, by force of arms if necessary.

This had to work. As he paced, he mentally reviewed the points he wished to state.

Akbas watched the grainy image, transmitted from high above the Cathind. The rider would go easily unnoticed—just another part of the routine air traffic that orbited any city of the World when the Storm permitted

“We have the trans in sight.” The collection agent patched the feed from the sniper’s scope through to Akbas’s channel. “Cleared?”

Eraranat couldn’t have picked a larger target. Why Jarin Svestil placed so much faith in this impulsive glory-seeker baffled her.

“Alive,” Akbas said into the comm, “I want him alive.” She clicked her forefinger against the screen. “Clear.”

Next to the image of the trans was a map of the surrounding area, with her designated agents represented by glowing icons. The icons surrounded the trans in a wide semi-circle. A net for her prey.

She heard the agent’s voice again, this time speaking to the sniper. “Cleared. Driver and vehicle. Live capture on Eraranat.”

The sniper didn’t respond with words. Instead, he adjusted his rifle a fraction and fired. One shot, a pause for a few seconds, then a second shot snapped out.

A violent lurch sent Seg stumbling into the padded wall of the trans. Black smoke poured from the drive compartment and he looked up to see the driver rock back, then forward. Blood gushed from a fist-sized exit wound in the man’s back. Despite the loss of the driver, the trans sped forward. Seg tugged at the door release but it refused to unseal.

“Karging thing!” He kicking at the latch—a safety mechanism designed to prevent departures while the vehicle was in motion.

A moment after he heard the familiar sound of a rider passing overhead, he was catapulted forward as the trans collided with a pile of debris. He bowled over the serving caj and slammed into the divider behind the cab. He pulled himself up and glanced through the smashed windowscreen of the trans. Raiders were rappelling down from the rider.

This time he knew his attackers: CWA. He shoved off the divider and passed the caj. “Stay here,” he ordered. “Someone will be along to collect you. Stay low if there’s shooting.” He tugged the latch again, the door sprang open. Drawing his pistol, he dove out onto the pavement. Trans traffic had halted and, all around the street, people moved away from the raiders and the hovering rider. Seg risked a glance over the debris pile and saw the CWA team moving forward. The formation was sloppy, imprecise. These weren’t veteran raiders but they were armed and armored beyond anything he could cope with.

He weaved through the narrow lane reserved for trans traffic, then stepped up to one of the broad pedestrian walkways that ran alongside the trans lane. He did his best to blend with the other Citizens, though his height spoiled the advantage that his camouflage might have provided. With a deep breath, he darted toward a side street. Behind him, there were shouts as the CWA troops spotted him. He heard the change in fan pitch as the rider lifted in pursuit.

Jarin ignored the flash of an incoming comm on his desk as he listened to Gelad’s report. “A rider? Weapons fire? He’s there. Converge.”

“On the way,” Gelad said.

The line flashed dead. Jarin stabbed a finger down onto the incoming comm. “Yes?”

“The Council meeting commences in three minutes, Senior Theorist,” the Guild Accountancy said, his face the picture of bland composure.

“Yes, yes, I’ll be there,” Jarin said. He snatched his portable comm from the desk and dropped it in the pocket of his robe. Segkel was fighting for his life out in the streets, just a scant distance away, while the meeting Marsetto had convened to determine his fate was about to begin.

Jarin pulled out his comm and cued it as he barged out the door.

“Maryel, priority,” he said.

“I don’t like this,” Wyan told Cerd over the comm as the squads pressed forward in the dark. “Going too smooth. Open door, pop a grenade, shoot ’em,”

Cerd grunted. “Better than if they were coming at us, Wyan. Now keep moving.”

Wyan muttered in the distance, his comm now deactivated. Undoubtedly something sarcastic, but Cerd could live with it. The priority now was what Tirnich and his squad were seeing up ahead.

“Tirnich, is the L clear?”

“Affirmative, Mascom,” Tirnich said.

Some good news, at last. Tirnich’s squad was on point, scouting the L-shaped corridor forty meters ahead. This route was not only narrow but littered with side corridors, doors, alcoves and small rooms. Every space had to be cleared as they went or they risked getting circled by their enemies.

Cerd watched as one of the sub-teams from Wyan’s squad cleared out another room. So far, aside from three wounded when they had stormed the landing platform, they hadn’t lost anyone. Unlike Wyan, Cerd did not have a problem with the state of affairs. He glanced at the digifilm and wondered if he should pull Tirnich’s squad back in—they were getting strung out ahead of the rest of the group.

He reached a finger to enlarge the map area but before he touched the screen all the icons representing Etiphars inside the Keep winked out. Vanished. The blue icons representing the Kenda troops remained, but the amber icons, generated through the Keep’s surveillance system, were gone.

“Lieutenant?” he said.

“Eti
’s
just killed power,” Fismar came back. “All raid elements, we’re working blind. We planned it, we’ll handle it. Ready torches for the doors.”

Cerd prepared to deliver the order when one of Wyan’s squad members called in. “Contact, contact. Multiple hostiles!”

In the dark, a chack sparked a faint blue as it fired. At the cross-corridor, where Wyan’s man was posted, a continuous stream of blue sparks flickered as the chack wheezed out on full auto. Cerd saw the rest of Wyan’s squad moving up to support when the indicator light for the man changed from square to circle, first bright and then dark.