Warp World (46 page)

Seg shifted his gaze to Soumer and felt the discs in his neck click as he nodded.

“We’ll need your caj, too, Theorist,” Soumer said. “Come now, on your knees in front.”

For a second Seg worried that Ama would pass out. She stood rigid, her face drained of all color. But with a deep breath, eyes lowered, she made her feet move, then dropped to her knees between Gressam and him. Somehow Seg kept himself in place, his eyes forward, and his thoughts clear of the blood rage that threatened to engulf him.

He concentrated on those lives depending on his performance tonight—the Kenda, Fismar, Shan, Manatu, Lissil, Elarn. And, above all, Ama.

“Perfect! Perfect!” Soumer said.

He clicked several shots before walking off with Gressam. Seg waited until he was sure they were gone before turning his attention to Ama, who remained kneeling even after the men had departed.

“He’s gone,” Seg whispered. “Get up.”

He watched her rise, her body trembling, and cursed his own helplessness in this place. He couldn’t even offer a hand, couldn’t show the slightest kindness, without risking her life. After he took Julewa Keep, no one would hurt her, no one would demean any of his people, ever again.

Lissil straightened the straps of Ama’s dress and slicked down her hair where it had popped out of place.

The Welf’s eyes were directed to the disappearing figure of Processor Gressam. Seg heard Lissil whisper, “O’scuri.”
Demon.

She grasped Ama’s hand and squeezed once before she completed her grooming.

Seg angled to face Ama and Lissil, with his back to the other guests. “This will be over soon.”

The promise was meaningless. This would not be over, for him, until he could be sure Gressam would never lay his hands on any of his people. And for Ama? What had been done to her? He opened his mouth to offer more empty words of comfort but stopped at the sound of a voice from his past.

“Hero of the People? Is that how I am to address you now, brother?”

Seg stiffened, his body reflexively arched into a defensive posture, as he had been trained in his combat classes. He corrected the motion before it became too blatant and turned slowly, sucking in a breath, for patience, as he went.

“Surran,” he said quietly. “What are you doing here?”

Surran raised one sculpted eyebrow. Like her brother, she was tall and lean, her face sharp and angular. She was clothed in the muted colors of the People, but her suit was impeccably tailored.

“Segkel, honestly, I thought all that Guild schooling was supposed to make you smarter?” She turned her head slightly and tilted it to show the small band of metal fastened on the outside of her ear. “I am a member of House Haffset now, which you would know if you ever bothered to answer your comm or return your messages.”

“I looked at a few of the messages I’ve received since coming back. None of them contained anything of interest,” he said. “I do recall you paired while I was in training, but I never … well, I didn’t recall the name.”

“Yes, I noted your absence at the ceremony. Miln, Miln Haffset is my pairmate, though I am certain that is of no interest to you.” She offered a closed-mouthed smile that popped on and off her face almost too quickly to register.

“It would seem you chose the right House to pair into.”

“It would seem.” Surran let the jab slide off her as she strolled closer to Lissil and Ama. She glanced up, to survey Manatu hovering nearby, and then returned her scrutiny to the women. “Trophies?” she asked Seg.

“I brought them back with me.” He fought the urge to slide protectively in front of the pair.

Surran focused on Lissil, taking in the forest ensemble with a nod. “Tasteful. Obviously not chosen by you. May I?” She gestured to Lissil with one slender finger.

Seg nodded mutely, not trusting himself to speak.

Surran positioned the finger under Lissil’s chin and raised her head. “Has my brother been horrid to you? Speak, caj.”

Lissil lowered her gaze. “Theorist Eraranat has been a most gracious Master. It this caj’s pleasure and honor to serve him well.”

Surran ran her eyes up and down the girl once more. “I bet it is
his
pleasure as well. You’re a lucky caj. Segkel was an absolute tyrant as a child. He adored teasing Kissiline, our home caj.”

She spoke to Lissil, but Seg knew this was all for his benefit. She moved to Ama next, following the same routine, knife-like finger under her chin, until a glance down to the scarf stopped her. Somehow, the fabric had shifted, revealing a tiny section of Ama’s dathe. Hooking her claw in the fabric, Surran tugged down until both sets of dathe were completely exposed.

She turned to Seg with a puzzled expression.

“Gills,” Seg explained.

“Are they functional?” Surran poked a nail into the folds of the dathe and drew a slight wince from Ama.

At his nod, she untied the scarf in a fast sweep and dropped the fabric over the balcony. “So like you, Segkel. In possession of the most conversation-worthy caj in the room and you hide its sole redeeming feature. Or perhaps this is your idea of humor?”

“When have I ever shown possession of a sense of humor? I am devoid of the quality.” Seg forced himself not to betray the flash of panic Ama’s exposed dathe elicited.

“Oh, Segkel, always missing the joke.” Surran hovered near Ama for a moment, one arm crossed over her trim waist, opposite elbow resting on the hand as she tapped a finger to her lips. “Tell me, caj …” She spoke to Ama as she had to Lissil, but this time her voice was deeper, more contemplative. “What do
you
think of Master Eraranat?”

Ama opened her mouth but no words escaped. She swallowed and finally mustered, “I am happy to serve.”

As Ama spoke, Surran’s eyes moved between her and Seg. She raised a hand to Ama’s neck, once more, traced her fingernail down, around the edge of Ama’s dathe and stopped on the collar. “Intriguing. No graft?”

“If you’re done, I believe there are many more people I am supposed to meet tonight. We can discuss old times at a later date, eldest sister,” Seg said.

“Yes, hundreds of People vying for your attention, I am sure I can guess how much you love such meaningless attention and idle flattery.” She stepped closer to Seg and snaked her arm through his. “Brother, you may be a great Theorist, but this is not your domain, as we both well know. You need a guide. Unless, of course, you enjoy the prospect of spending your evening fending off sexual advances and pairmate proposals from all and sundry?”

He leaned close to her ear. “I will not spend the evening parrying assaults from the front while waiting for your blade in my back, Surran. This is not our childhood home and these silly social games are beneath me.”

Surran looked left to right, then turned to face her brother and dropped her voice so that only Seg could hear. When she spoke again, all the affectation was gone. “Look around you. We came from the gutter. I don’t know about you, but I don’t plan on going back there. Whatever feuds we had as children, it’s in my best interest to see you on good terms with Haffset, and it’s in your best interest to let me help you with these silly social games. You were always the scholar of the family, Seg, but politics? Social protocol? That’s where I excel, and that’s where I can help you.” She gave him a long stare. “If you’ll let me.”

“So long as you know what side you’re on,” he whispered. “I’ve dealt with far worse than this crowd.”

“Oh, I think you’d be surprised.” Surran stepped away, resumed her previous airs, and gestured to the stairway that led back down to the main entertaining chamber. “Shall we?”

“Lead on,” he said, composing himself. The evening got more surreal by the minute. He glanced back at the two women. Lissil followed, her eyes cast down in picture-perfect deference. Ama was similarly comported, but her expression spoke of a deep wound just beneath the surface. He winced as he turned back to wherever Surran was leading him.

To Ama, it felt as if the collar around her neck was tightening and her dathe were glowing red. Aside from a brief mention about his father and his dead mother, Seg had never spoken of family. She could guess why.

Surran led them down the stairs and into the grandest room Ama had ever seen on this world. Her earlier visits to the Haffset estate had been restricted to the entrance and the planning room, nowhere else. What she saw spread before her now made the most luxurious Damiar homes look like hovels.

Multi-colored orbs of light hovered, seemingly magically, in the air, floating up and down. An army of serving caj wandered the room, with trays of drinks and small offerings of food. Music droned from a stage, where a group of caj musicians played strange-looking instruments. There were easily two hundred guests, each with at least one personal caj, though some had many more. Lissil had not lied, these caj were adorned in outrageous costumes, symbols of their owners’ status.

There was a line of glass boxes along one wall, each containing some treasure brought back from her world. Seg’s people milled around these, gasping and chattering in awe at items as mundane as lanterns, books, and baskets. Only one of the boxes held anything of interest to Ama, though the sight made her even more miserable, if that was possible.

Inside a large box, a volp paced. Its coat, usually lustrous and thick, was mangy. She could see where it had been chewing at its own skin. Its mouth hung open in a pant, and thick strings of drool trickled out. It let out long whines as it circled, which delighted onlookers. One or two tapped on the glass; others kept a cautious distance.

Fools. Even if it were free, the volp wouldn’t have attacked them. Especially this one, which was half-dead and terrified.

But the displays, the music, the servants, magic lights and outrageous caj were just the trimmings. The main attraction was in the middle of the room, and Seg’s people were captivated.

On a raised platform, Haffset had constructed a model of the docks at Alisir. Miniature shops and cottages, tiny cobblestone streets, holographic people walked or rode down the fairway but, most significantly, there was water. Real water. A transparent tank held what on this world was a decadent amount of the liquid. Solid model boats bobbed on the surface, holographic creatures—the likes of which Ama had never seen in her life—swam below.

Her world had been reduced to a party decoration.

“Do you feel as if you are back on that world?” Ama heard Surran ask Seg, as they passed the centerpiece of the party.

“Not at all. The water, the soil, the—” He waved his hand, trying to find the words. “You have to experience it. This is a sham.”

“Should anyone else ask that of you, the proper answer is:
Yes, completely
.” Surran said.

However childish, it made Ama glad to hear Seg defend her world against this cheap imitation. Not that Surran cared; her attention was consumed by the People in the room. With a wave, Surran grasped Seg by the elbow and steered him toward a cluster of guests.

“The three young women are from House Brennan. They were the only Major House to support Haffset prior to this raid and, rest assured, Soumer will make a very public display of rewarding them for it. Poliz is the eldest, and directly in line for Mastership. Unfortunately, she’s also on the verge of a pairing. Though it’s no secret she’s been following your rise with great
zeal
.”

“I have no interest in pairing,” Seg said.

“Well, when you
are
interested, consult me first. It would be a shame to waste the political advantage of your status.” She directed his attention back to the guests. “Those two, the twins, are Haffsets—Theorist cadets, dreadful bores but Soumer dotes on them—and the others are of no great social consequence but I’ll introduce them anyway.” Surran wove through the throng to present Seg.

The introductions were made swiftly. Surran knew all the names and ranks; she also knew how to make each person feel special for the few seconds her attention shone on them. As each spoke, she made sure to jump in and redirect the conversation if Seg’s replies were too cold or brief.

Surran’s ability to read the people around her and shift her personality as needed amazed Ama. She’d only met one other who possessed that talent; she wondered how Seg’s sister would feel about being compared to Lissil.

Poliz, the handsome woman from House Brennan, was now flanked by a young man. She kept a respectful distance from Seg, but flashed him a sly smile whenever opportunity allowed. The twins waited patiently but as soon as they were able to speak, they jockeyed for Seg’s attention.

The boy started. “Theorist Eraranat, we understand that you actually calculated a plus-margin on the—”

“
Grovel pits
,” his sister finished.

“Yes, those,” the boy said. “But you only extrapolated from a single dynamic sample?”

Seg perked up; this was the first conversation in which he had taken any real interest. He launched into a long, detailed explanation, which the rest of the crowd struggled to follow

The twins nodded enthusiastically, in unison, when he was done. “Brilliant!”