Warp World (10 page)

“Media feed,” Seg ordered, once he was safely sequestered in his own sleeping quarters. “Volume three, multi-source.”

Manatu had been waiting up when he arrived home and was vocal in his disapproval. There was no use hiding where he had gone—the impromptu interview was all over the newsfeeds.

Lissil had been hard at work preparing a morning meal. She had offered him a slight bow but refrained from assuming the retyel, he was pleased to note.

A dose of sobrite had taken care of the worst of the hangover, and another stim had given him a vibrant burst of energy.

He tugged off his jacket and shirt, the smell of alcohol-laced sweat and amba smoke rising off him as he did. Across his torso, the gelatinous healing grid pulsed. Another two days and he would be done with that annoyance.

What are you planning next?
Sastor had wanted to know. A very good question.

Question.
The
Question, his Question. Jarin had warned him to begin preparation. He would. Soon. But first he needed to consider his situation.

He had his men, his troops, a place to house them, and now a man to train and command them. Ordinarily, he would not put any stock in fate or luck, but events had fallen uncannily into place on that score.

He should have been a wealthy man. Set for life. Carefully managed, his fortunes could have grown and prospered until he was considered truly rich. In that perfect alternate world, he could have afforded a larger residence with a bed big enough for both him and Ama to sleep comfortably, with separate quarters for Lissil and Manatu.

And this
, he thought with a smirk,
is why fate and luck are no better than myth and superstition.

Already, he had spent a good amount of his raid profits—the rental gunship and troops; trans fees for Lissil, Ama, and the fifty Kenda; the lease of the warehouse for his new troops (an enormous sum, even considering the dilapidated state of the building and its undesirable location); transportation costs to move his troops to their new home; and supplies to feed, clothe and outfit them. And these were one-time expenses. To house, feed, and care for his troops indefinitely would deplete his supposed riches more quickly than he dared to consider.

The most obvious answer was to employ the Kenda as raiders, of course. Unortho, but he could make it acceptable and establish a record of success.

Did I bring these men here to rent them out as soldiers?
He knew the answer to that but the answers to his larger questions eluded him.

He sat on the edge of the bed and allowed himself a moment of indulgence, to wonder about Ama. Did he miss her already? They had only been apart three days. She wouldn’t have been able to offer him any help with his dilemma but something about her imbued him with certainty and confidence.

The newsfeed caught his eye, a report on Con-4. One of the few efforts to make a new city, to reclaim lost land from the Storm. Con-4 was perpetually locked in a struggle to survive. It was almost as if the mere existence of new construction offended the Storm, making transport flights and material movement in and out of the construct city problematic.

He crossed to the wallscreen. With a touch of his finger to the corner of the display, he unlocked the newsfeed, shifted it into information mode, and pulled up a map of the World. Seventeen major cities were noted, with information tags offering specific details on each, as well as the numerous smaller outposts, most of which were connected to the larger cities and shared their power transmission facilities for their larger shield grids.

Seventeen cities, surrounded by endless wastes. He tapped a random mountain range, the Sistaz, and noted that the last detailed survey information was over a century old. There were no longer any references to the history of the range, or the significance of the name.

So much lost. The icons for the cities were large and gaudy, standing out in a gulf of wasteland and choked, poisonous seas, the dregs of once-mighty oceans. He stared at the image of one of the seas, so irrelevant now that it didn’t even bear a name or any notation of interest. He remembered the salt spray of the ocean on Ama’s world, the feeling that over the horizon was new land, a new world to be discovered. Perhaps she had not felt that way, having grown up in a world where there were possibilities and horizons, but here the horizons represented limits, not opportunities.

Scrolling back to Cathind, home of the Guild and his own city of birth, he surveyed the surrounding area.

There, a slightly more recent reference, a mere three hours’ flight away, Storm-permitting. He pulled up the information.

Julewa Keep. The story was a minor legend.

We need to take land again
, Fismar had said. It was true. The People needed to move again. To move forward.

He had changed the face of the World once already, with a stunningly successful multi-strike bound to become a template for future operations. He had taken a Minor House and elevated it to Major status in a single raid.

Now? Now he could show them something else. He could take back Julewa, for his troops, for the People, and Jarin’s overcautious nature be damned. The trick to overcoming an opponent like CWA Director Fi Costk wasn’t to cower before him as if he was a manifestation of the Storm. It was to galvanize the World and inspire them with audacity.

“Live and strive, or stagnate and die.” A smile spread across his face.

L
ong before the warehouse lights turned themselves on in the morning, Ama was wide awake. Seg didn’t break a promise unless something, or someone, created an obstacle beyond his control. A fact that was little comfort through the night, as she waited for his arrival. They were well into the third day and there was still no sign of him.

For the sake of the men, she did her best to act as if there was nothing wrong. She ate something hot and sweet out of one of the metal canisters, then she cleansed herself in the room the men still refused to use. She inspected the men’s wounds that Elarn had treated.

She was not the only restless soul. The men were speaking more sharply with each other; some roamed the building as if there was a purpose to their wandering, a few sang of home in voices heavy with longing, and more than one had asked her what had happened, where was Seg?

To which she offered her standard answer: “This world is complicated. He’ll be here.”

Kype, the Westie with the missing finger, jumped on every opportunity to sow dissent.

Only Tirnich seemed unperturbed by the wait. He had quickly latched onto the youngest Kenda among them, the scrawny boy the men had nicknamed Slopper—a name used to denote the most junior member of a boat’s crew. Together, Tirnich and Slopper busied themselves by exploring every nook and crook of the musty old building.

In contrast, the division between Cerd and Viren carved itself deeper every hour. The two no longer contented themselves with an occasional angry glare, and their respective deckies were following that lead. Words had been exchanged. It was only time standing between them and a fight. No telling how that might escalate when the other men chose sides.

Seg, whatever you’re doing that keeps you away, I hope it’s worth it
, Ama thought.

As she reached the door, she told herself that it was only fate that had brought her there, that she had not been watching the men out of the corner of her eye to make sure none were marking her path. She told herself, as she quietly lifted the bar away, that she was only going to poke her head outside, even though there was a canteen of water hooked onto her belt.

Hand on the lever, she took a deep breath.

“Going somewhere?” Viren asked, and she jumped at the sound.

She turned, scrambling for an excuse, unable to mask her guilt as she stuttered, “I was just—”

Viren held up a hand. “I won’t say a word. Not a peep. You can count on your old friend Viren.”

She let out a relieved breath but he wasn’t finished.

“Unless you plan on leaving me behind.”

Ama shook her head. “You are
not
coming with me. Absolutely not.”

“Because?”

“Because you don’t know this world. I do. And it’s dangerous.”

The final word ignited Viren’s smile. “Which is the best reason I can think of for doing it. Come on, little Captain, come on. Free me from this prison, just for a drop!”

Ama pressed her lips together as she fixed her eyes on the door. “Son of a whore. A few paces, that’s all. We’ll go out, look around, then come back in. Nothing more. And if we see
one
face out there we head straight back, no questions.”

“Agreed!” With that, Viren whistled over his shoulder and a small cadre of men perked up and started toward him.

“What are you—” Ama bleated.

“Can’t go exploring new waters without my deckies, can I?”

“You are going to get us in a lot of trouble one day, Viren Hult.” Ama jabbed a finger into his chest.

“Oh, I do hope so.” He clapped his hands together, as four other men gathered around. “Danger! Adventure! Just out there, come on.”

“Do we need blades?” Prow asked.

“No!” Ama cut off Viren’s reply. “No weapons.”

“You heard the Captain. Adventure awaits, deckies!”

Seg stared impatiently at the amber Storm warning light on the slideway system running to Old Town.

“The travel restrict doesn’t come off any faster if you glare at it,” Fismar said. He stretched and pushed his hands together as Seg paced. “Walking doesn’t make it come off faster, either. Once they decide the Storm’s cleared enough to admit passage, it’s cleared. And with a crowd this size …” Fismar waved to indicate the empty chamber, Manatu its only other occupant, “it’s not going to be hard to catch the first slideway over.”

“It’s been three days now. Past sending the med over, I haven’t been able to contact them. They’re essentially extrans here, in a world that regards them as caj or renegade Outers.”

Fismar rose to his feet and intercepted Seg as he turned to pace in the other direction. “You got to learn to accept the bigger things. Storm’s gonna do what it does. When it’s big like this, you can’t sit there and think on it until your brains boil out.”

He accepted Seg’s glare without response.

“Listen, let’s step outside and fill our tanks. You can tell me what you’re planning to do with this happy bunch of barbarians so I can figure out how to get ’em ready for it.”

Seg nodded. What else was there to do?