WARP world (64 page)

Banger fire. Something hot hit her leg. As she backed away to seek cover, she inspected the damage. A red slash about the size of her finger ran along the outside of her thigh just above her knee. She had seen enough wounds by now to know that hers was not serious.

“We’ve got to plug that gap!” the trooper shouted. Her arm hung limp, shattered somewhere along the way, but she held fast to her chack with the other hand. She hissed as her comrade jabbed a pneumatic injector to her neck, a shot to dull the pain.

She wasn’t feeling the wound right now, if Seg was any judge of the matter, but she would soon, when the shock wore off. Seg nodded, glanced at Ama, then looked toward the shattered chapel. “If I can get to the upper level, I can sweep them.”

“If you get cut off—” the younger trooper said. He didn’t need to finish. The chapel had a single, narrow entry and exit. If Seg got cut off, he was dead.

“So don’t let me. Come on,” he ordered Ama.

He went over the top of the rubble pile and laid down a fresh un-aimed volley as he went. Welf scattered and dodged, as the surviving troops laid down fire. Seg scrambled through the debris and came around a pile to slam face-first into a large Welf. Both of them stared at each other in surprise as Seg bounced off and fell backwards. Ama rounded behind him, darted forward without hesitation, and slashed through the startled peasant. Her blade flicked back and forth as if she were dancing instead of fighting. The Welf screamed and lurched forward, blood geysered across his body. Seg hammered him in the face with the stock of the needler, to finish what Ama had started. The man went down and they hurried on into the chapel. Although clogged with chunks of fallen stone and wood, the stairway was still usable, and Seg bounded up. He sprinted to the open window and skipped around a section of shattered flooring that gaped down to a pile of bodies and rubble below.

Yes. Clear line of sight. The Welf were learning the new rules of warfare–don’t bunch up under enemy guns. But this group thought they were out of the line of fire.

Seg lined up, took a deep breath and squinted as he squeezed the trigger.

From below the chapel, somewhere in the rubble of the temple, a trooper’s voice called up to Seg.

“Eraranat, you can fall back now. We’ve got them thrown back.”

How long had they been up there? Between himself and Ama they had repelled four attacks into the chapel itself–one of which had ended in a hand-to-hand fight. He was down to a dozen shots, and both he and Ama had picked up more minor nicks and injuries. He was pretty sure, from the jabbing pain, that the Welf who had come at him inside the chapel, with a mace, had broken several of his ribs. In fact, he sincerely hoped they could cover a more sedate return to the lines. Ama was limping badly, and he wasn’t able to move very fast himself.

“Coming back.” His voice barely rose above a whisper. Talking hurt. Breathing hurt. Moving was an agony in and of itself, a special caliber of pain. He gestured to Ama. “Let’s go.”

He glanced at his crono. Two hours. Two hours that had felt like an eternity. And still no word of rescue.

How much longer could they hold? Night was falling. Normally that would shift the advantage over to the People, with their advanced sensors. But against an opponent who could keep throwing endless waves of bodies?

Down to forty effectives, the squad leader had informed him over the comm. That meant forty who could pull a trigger, and half of those wounded as he and Ama were.

He hadn’t thought for a second about coming here. Now he wondered if they would get out alive. He staggered down the stairway, and watched the bodies he stepped over carefully to make sure none showed any interest in coming back to life.

Bodies, that’s all there was anymore, Ama mused, half dazed. The dead bodies around them and the live ones that kept attacking them. She was blood-splattered and weary.

One hand gripped her dripping red seft, the other trailed along the wall as she steadied herself. She limped her way down the chapel steps and worked to keep close to Seg. Thankfully, his injuries slowed those long legs and allowed her to stay near. This wasn’t done yet and she would not leave him unprotected until it was. He was her only hope to save her father.

Some day, far in the future, she knew she would feel remorse for this battle. The Welf were not bad people by nature, they were victims of Shasir trickery, pawns of the Damiar, and now casualties of a technology they could not comprehend. Like children, they clung to the hands of their guardians with blind love and loyalty. But today was not the day for contemplative sorrow; today was about survival.

Not since the days of Theorist Lannit had Jarin seen the war room so infused with energy. Of course, the excitement generated by Lannit’s multi-strike had sprung from its disastrous results–zero vita extraction and casualties in the hundreds. The enthusiastic reaction to Seg’s raid, on the other hand, was of an entirely different nature. Targets had fallen easily and the boy’s data was so thorough that artifacts were being extracted at an unprecedented rate.

Enthusiasm from all present, with the exception of Director Fi Costk, of course. He had maintained a respectful distance from Jarin since the launch, though even from across the room it was apparent that Segkel’s unfolding success was stoking his ire.

Segkel’s infiltration of the T’ueve temple had proved more fruitful than even he had predicted. Beneath the pilings of the airship docks, the troops had uncovered a trove of skulls, buried there as part of some sort of religious ceremony. The vita collected from that site alone would cover the expense of the raid.

Good thing, Jarin mused, since he noticed that Segkel’s richest target, the temple at Alisir, had been lost to the Welf. Troops remained trapped inside but, now that the sources of vita were buried beneath the rubble or destroyed in the explosion, they had been all but abandoned by the House.

Vita above all. For the good of the People, they would say.

The boy had insisted on accompanying the raid, not surprising. He would have done so even if he weren’t escorting Ama back to her world. The need for control was one of his student’s greatest strengths. It was also one of his greatest weaknesses.

“Where is Theorist Eraranat now?” Jarin asked the Deputy Militant and followed behind the man as he moved from the comm center to the raid schematic.

“He and two troopers have entered the Alisir Temple in zone three,” the Deputy answered, then added reluctantly, “with a small group of Outers, apparently under his command.”

“He went where?” Jarin asked incredulously. “No, do not answer; it was a
rhetorical question
. The real question is what you are doing to extract him.”

“He volunteered to go in, Theorist,” the Deputy said. “He could have moved north to an extraction point. He can extract with everyone else when we’ve finished moving the materials and caj through.”

“In all likelihood, he will be dead long before then, or have you not been apprised of the situation at the temple?”

“Alisir is no longer viable for vita; we direct our forces where they can best serve the People, as per protocol.”

“Theorist Eraranat is worth more than your entire force,” Jarin said, his normally passive expression hardening. “You will divert whatever assets are needed to rescue him. The others too, if you so desire, but Theorist Eraranat must survive–
that
is what is best for the People, Deputy.”

“You do not give orders here,” the Deputy snapped. “This is my command.”

“Is there a problem Deputy Militant?” Fi Costk’s voice gave no hint of the poison Jarin knew filled his thoughts.

The Deputy Militant gave a brief synopsis of the situation and Fi Costk performed the role of concerned peer well enough to fool anyone but Jarin.

“Unfortunate,” Fi Costk said, eyes focused on the schematic of the temple, “but I believe even Theorist Eraranat would argue the necessity of protocol in this situation. When all the vita is retrieved and all the material trans’d, by all means, send a gunship to the temple. But not one moment earlier. I have authority in this matter; Theorist Svestil is merely an observer. If he continues to disrupt the operation, have security see him out.” He paused and nodded to Manatu and Gelad, who were stationed an arm’s length from Jarin, “
Our
security, that is, not the Theorist’s spies.”

Fi Costk didn’t move away and Jarin knew that the man would not allow him another second alone with the Deputy. “Authority must be respected,” Jarin said, then offered a gracious bow of his head and backed away.

“He pullin’ rank again?” Gelad asked, under his breath as Jarin approached.

“Thank the Storm for predictability,” Jarin answered.

“Going up-chain?”

Jarin looked out across the room with a passive expression, “It is time House Master Haffset and I discussed a few matters. Alone.”

As he exited the private conference room, behind Haffset’s House Master, Jarin’s expression was a subtle, sly smile. It had taken all of five minutes to accomplish his goal; one of the benefits of keeping one’s eyes and ears open, not too mention being a scrupulous collector of data.

“What do we have in air assets?” the House Master asked the Deputy. Haffset was pale, white as death, Jarin was pleased to see. A sentiment not shared by Jarin’s rival, standing next to him.

“Six gunships and four drone detachments,” the Deputy answered.

“I want all the gunships.”

“All, House Master?”

“All of them. Tasked to rescuing Theorist Eraranat and the balance of our forces on the ground in zone three.”

Fi Costk stepped between Haffset and the Deputy Militant. “House Master, you do realize the vita—”

Haffset raised a hand to stop his speech. “I am the final authority on this raid, Director. My order will be followed without further comment or question. Understood?”

Fi Costk nodded, then shifted his eyes to Jarin. “Yes, I understand. Completely,” he said. “Congratulations Theorist,” he continued, “this is quite a victory for you. The CWA will be watching your protégé with great interest from now on.”

Jarin had no doubts about the threats in Fi Costk’s words or behind the beneficent smile. “The victory is entirely Segkel’s,” Jarin replied. “The first of many, I hope.”

The Deputy stood stunned and speechless for a moment before he relayed the order to the comm station. The House Master looked to Jarin, who offered an approving nod before he backed away.

“He looks as if he could tear your head off with his bare hands right now,” Maryel said, nodding to Fi Costk as she sidled up next to Jarin.

“Knowing Segkel, he likely believes the battle he is in at this moment is the worst he will face. I would have avoided this.”

“
This
,” she directed her eyes to Fi Costk, “was inevitable. What did you say to Haffset?”

“I pointed out that the Guild is well aware of the fact that his father murdered his mother in order to clear up potential succession issues and see to it that his inheritance was unimpeded, and that I hold proof of it. I told him that even if the Court of Households did not strip him of his position or dissolve the House assets, he would have a hard time carrying on with that stain on his good name,” Jarin answered in a low voice, eyes forward and trained on the holographic display in the center of the room.

“Are there any secret affairs of which you do not possess knowledge, Theorist Svestil?” Maryel asked.

“I am a harmless old man,” Jarin said, with a wink.

As he returned his gaze to the business of the raid, Jarin hoped he had acted in time, that Segkel could be saved–not only for his own selfish desire to see his student alive again but also for the good of the World. The raid would be a success with or without the return of its designer but Jarin knew the stakes were much greater than the outcome of one raid. The World was facing its end. Without a drastic change in policy and procedure, and a Theorist bold enough to lead the way, the Storm would swallow everyone and everything and no amount of vita or shielding would stop it. As it stood, the brash young man was the People’s best, perhaps only, hope for survival.