Warp World (33 page)

“This caj understands.”

He stepped back from her and raised the controller. “Now, you made six errors over the course of this session …”

On the floor of her cell, on the thin mat she called a bed, Ama’s body convulsed uncontrollably, seized by an emotion that went far beyond grief. Her fingertips probed at the place her dathe should have been. She would have wailed to Nen for mercy, but sound had been trained out of her. And Nen? His name meant nothing now, as meaningless as her own.

It wasn’t the physical pain or even the emotional torture she was subjected to day after exhausting day, it was the knowledge that there was no hope anymore. Her life had become a long fall down a black hole. What was at the bottom?
Was
there a bottom?

This day had been the worst, but she would have said the same the day before, and the day before that. And she knew, with a certainty that made her head swim, that the next day would be worse still.

She clutched her stomach and let out a long silent cry. Tears pushed out between eyes hot and swollen, mucus trailed from her nose and mouth.

The door whooshed open, her signal to assume the retyel. She scrambled into position, not daring to look up, to wonder what would be demanded of her next.

“Shhh, not now. Lie down,” Flurianne whispered in her ear. Ama tensed but the woman pressed her hands against her back and guided her to the mat again. “He’s gone, he won’t be back for many hours. You’re safe.”

Safe? She wanted to scream that because of her and Gressam there was no such thing, but all she could do was sob. To Ama’s shock, Flurianne lay down and curled herself around her, rocked her and stroked her face. Part of her shouted a warning that this was a trick, some new test, but there was warmth and comfort in the woman’s touch. Starved for kindness, Ama’s body and mind slowly, reluctantly, settled.

“Amadahy,” Flurianne whispered.

Ama shook her head.

“Yes, that is your name,” Flurianne said, more forcefully. “Amadahy Kalder, daughter of Odrell and Colwyn. Water rider. That is who you are.”

“This caj has no family. Amadahy is dead.” Ama’s voice cracked.

On her side, face pressed close to Ama’s ear, Flurianne wrapped one arm around her and clasped her hand. “No, Amadahy, the Light shines too brightly within you. I can see it burning pure blue, even now. He can hurt this vessel—” She squeezed Ama’s hand. “—but he cannot dim your Light.”

“You hurt me.”

“I had no choice. I am sorry but Gressam must not doubt my loyalty.”

“I can’t—” Ama was wracked by a fresh wave of sobs.

“You think you can’t go on. You think the next line he pushes you across will be the end of you. But it won’t.”

“The things I’ve done—”

“You did to survive. That’s good. You’re strong.” Flurianne wiped the tears from Ama’s face and kissed the back of her head. “I am sorry I could not come to you earlier but I have a message for you, from Jarin Svestil.”

“Jarin?” The name seemed to belong to a story she had heard somewhere or from some ancient past.

“He says you must endure. He says to tell you do not lose hope, you have not been abandoned. Survive, Amadahy. Survive, because you are needed outside these walls.”

“How?” Ama laughed, though the sound was one of anger and despair.

Flurianne took a deep breath. “My name is Arima Tas Diata. Yes, I keep my true name. They cannot take that from me. I have carried the Light for fifty-four years.” She laughed softly at Ama’s surprised gasp. “I know, I do not look that age. My appearance is regularly altered—

Gressam guards me jealously, even from time. On my world, I was a Guardian of the Light. Someday, when the duties of this vessel are done, the Light will take this soul back, to blend into the pure color of the Star, then send it back down again, to a better existence away from this hateful place. For now, I must be content to serve. Not Gressam, not his People, my soul does not serve them. I serve and guard only the Light, always.”

Ama listened silently, the tears had mostly subsided, and those that fell were brushed away.

“Amadahy, your body is only a vessel, it is in your soul where the Light dwells. And that—your soul—you can guard. Come now, face me.”

Flurianne helped Ama roll over and placed a hand on either side of her face, over her eyes, shutting out the glare of the artificial lights in the tiny room.

“I want you to see the Light inside you, see its color, feel its warmth. Concentrate only on that.”

At first, Ama saw nothing. Flurianne began a low, rhythmic chant and warmth radiated from her hands, through Ama’s face, down her neck, her chest, into her arms, her legs, hands, fingers, feet, toes. With the warmth, a glow pulsed like a heartbeat. First dimly, then stronger and brighter, changing from a pale white to an iridescent blue—the color of Nen’s eyes. In that glow she heard the sound of waves, tasted salt—not of tears, but of the Big Water. And then she was floating, away from this place, away from torment.

She drifted that way for—how long? Days? Months?

When she came back, the ache in her stomach was dulled, her eyes were dry. Flurianne—

Arima
on another world—smiled at her.

“How did you do that?” Ama whispered.

“I did nothing. You took your soul to a place where it will be safe. He cannot harm you now, Amadahy. He cannot break you. When you feel you cannot bear it, you can go there, to the place where the Light guards your soul.” Flurianne brushed her thumb across Ama’s cheek. “You have no idea of your power, do you my sister?”

Ama had no answer to that. Since she had come to this place, whatever power she had once believed she possessed seemed like an illusion.

“I have to leave you soon. But there is more to tell. You have been here five weeks.” She nodded her head slightly at Ama’s surprise. “It feels much longer. That is why the lights in here never go out, why he wakes you at all hours and never lets you regain a rhythm. That is part of how he breaks people. If your training continues as it has, you will be released in perhaps a week or two.”

For the first time since her arrival, Ama’s eyes lit up.

“It will feel very long but there is an end to this. However, things will get worse for you. There are many ways the People train their slaves. Most of the methods are crude, but Gressam only trains those who will serve the most powerful and wealthy of this world, and so he must ensure they are thoroughly and completely broken and obedient. He uses their weaknesses, or what he considers their weaknesses. For you, it is your empathy.”

“I don’t understand.”

“The last lesson, the last line he will push you over.” Flurianne grasped Ama’s hands once more and held them tightly. “He will make you hurt me. He may even unmute me so that you will hear my screams. And he will make it last a long time.”

“No. I won’t.”

“He will and you will obey.
Must
obey.”

Against the hold of Flurianne’s fingers, Ama tried to clench her fists. “I hate him.”

“Bury your hatred. Let him believe he has beaten you.”

“But you—”

“Serve the Light. My soul cannot be harmed.”

“Someday I’ll come back and kill him for what he’s done.”

Flurianne pulled her in for a tight embrace as once more Ama broke down and the tears took over.

“He is already dead. They all are,” Flurianne stroked Ama’s hair. “Long has the Light been absent from this world.”

M
ikon Gelad frowned at the signal capture function on the digifilm strapped to his wrist. Whatever Eraranat’s men were up to in the warehouse, they weren’t leaking anything on the comm channels. Nothing was coming from the warehouse but a carrier signal and it was obvious, from prior monitoring, that all communications of any import were being conducted face to face.

Jarin would not be pleased at yet another empty report. Neither was he, for that matter. At least he could be sure that if he was unable to pry out Eraranat’s secrets here the CWA would be equally uninformed.

From the hidden vantage of the material storage facility next door, where the floor was littered with the remnants of the former supervisory office, he glared at the building across the street.

Comm discipline was laudable, unless one sought to learn what somebody else was up to. Gelad recorded the comm frequency, then blanked the screen and took another look at the building. The man Eraranat had tapped for the job, Fismar Korth, had put together a nice, tight security perimeter. It wasn’t impenetrable, but to get in and actually see what was going on would likely involve damaging one or more sentries, which would quickly alert the residents to an intrusion.

Only the crawling sensation on his neck gave it away. Gelad pivoted, sliding his pistol clear of its holster as he moved. Fismar Korth stood less than a meter behind him, empty hands spread away from his side as his eyes tracked the barrel of Gelad’s weapon.

They stared at each other, a probing moment of assessment, then Gelad holstered his weapon and rose to his feet. Behind Fismar were at least four signaling devices ranging from primitive to the best technology available to the Guild. Any one of them should have alerted Gelad to the intrusive presence in his space. None of them had.

“Sergeant Gelad,” Fismar said. “Your reputation precedes you.”

Gelad grunted as he shifted his coat around. “Yours hasn’t preceded you enough, looks like.
”

“Probably just been asking in the wrong places,” Fismar offered, with a smile that faded quickly. “I get that you’re on the job, and this is, technically, Cathind, and the Guild Intelligence can go where it pleases and watch who it wants. For all I know, the GID has already moved to acquire this building for your listening post.”

Gelad said nothing.

“That’s all fine,” Fismar continued. “But. My side of the line, over there—” He gestured at the warehouse Eraranat’s people occupied. “—is sovereign territory of a Citizen. So.” He paused and his eyes moved to the weapon on Gelad’s hip. “Any intrusions will not end well. Any
attempted
intrusions. Anything that happens to my troops will be answered.”

“I hear you,” Gelad said, after a significant pause.

“I know,” Fismar said, the cheer suddenly returning. “So, this was a social call, a
welcome to the habs
sort of thing. Anything you need, feel free to come to the front door and ask for me. I’m always watching for visitors.”

Gelad nodded, his smile hatched from the irony of the moment—the watcher watched.

“Oh, something upchain might be interested in …” Fismar pulled two mini-films out of his pocket and tossed them to Gelad. On the films were images of a man and a woman.

“Friends of yours?”

“They set up down the street not long after we moved in. Running CWA equipment, in case you don’t have them in your files yet.”

“Obliged.”

Fismar offered him a lopsided grin. “It’s a shame we never went out on a raid together, Sergeant. I always wanted somebody who could keep up with me out there.”

Message delivered, Fismar stuffed his hands into his pockets and sauntered out of the abandoned office, whistling an immortal raider tune that dated back at least six centuries. The lyrics were no less bawdy in modern times than when the song had been created. As he left, he boldly strode through the motion detector lattice Gelad had emplaced near the door; the alert node implanted behind Gelad’s ear emitted a small vibrating pulse in response.

Gelad snorted, then brought up his digifilm again to make a note. Some portions of Fismar Korth’s file had been locked away, making them difficult to penetrate. He was determined to find out why.