Warp World (50 page)

By the time he could see the screen again, the onscreen crowd was spilling into the plaza. Off-duty raiders locked arms and battered their way through, toward Segkel’s group.

What was the boy up to now?

The corners of his mouth pulled downward. Of all the times to give his aide and agent, Gelad, a night off. He glanced over at Fi Costk, who was speaking intently into his comm. Fi Costk had service? Somehow, Jarin doubted that was coincidence. Their eyes met, and in that moment Jarin knew that something deeper was afoot. Efectuary Akbas was led forward by one of Fi Costk’s functionaries and he gestured for her to come to his side.

Their eyes locked one more time, then both Jarin and Fi Costk exploded into motion, pushing through the crowd toward the exit.

Efectuary Akbas quickened her pace to keep up with the Director. He had yet to acknowledge her, which she could only hope was a good sign. If not, at least she’d had the pleasure of witnessing Eraranat with Gressam, just as planned. Even from a distance, she had seen his suffering as he was forced to stand and behave before the man who had tortured his beloved pet caj. A minor triumph, but a triumph nonetheless.

The Director’s comm was to his ear; his eyes were directed across the room, to Theorist Svestil. “…
act is authorized
,” she heard him say into the comm.

Those words signaled an operation being put into action. Something was happening here. Something big.

Fi Costk tossed his head for her to follow. His retinue shoved their way through the crowd, cries of annoyance and outrage following them. “I know why you’re here, Efectuary.”

Of course he knew; she should have realized that. “We have been monitoring Eraranat closely, Director. We felt it was valuable to—”

“Where in your current task description is
monitoring Eraranat
? Aren’t you responsible for ent analysis now?”

“Yes, and the department is running at peak efficiency. Eraranat was a special project, conducted on my own time.”

The path cleared and they entered the lift to take them to Fi Costk’s rider on the roof.

“You were pursuing a vendetta, Efectuary, which included diverting funds from your division to purchase facilitation services.”

“We, that is, I—” Akbas pressed her lips into a hard line. He would show no mercy and give no quarter until she assented. And, in a rare moment of crystalline understanding, she saw that she
would
assent. She would roll over and take every accusation and punishment—deserved or not—that Director Fi Costk threw at her. Not because she was weak—just the opposite. Because one day she would replace him. One day, she would sit in his chair and loom, equally mercilessly, over her department, over Orhalze, over the World. Until then, she would glue herself to this powerful man and learn all she needed to know to usurp him.

She tilted her head slightly and took a breath though her nose to regain composure. “Yes, Director. And I will accept the consequences. But Eraranat is a threat to the World and its Citizens, as he has proved this evening.”

Fi Costk nodded. “So he is. Initiative is a dangerous quality, Efectuary. In the future, clear your operations with me. I’d hate to see you grafted for disrupting an operation the way you nearly did this evening.”

On the roof, Fi Costk’s rider was ready, the engines swirling the air around them. “Come on. It will be best for us to be out of the city before the Storm comes down and cuts passage to Orhalze.
”

Akbas darted a glance up to the shield, as if expecting the reliable copper to suddenly vanish at Fi Costk’s command. Then she stepped up into the rider. “Thank you Director. We won’t disappoint you again.”

M
anatu shoved his way through the flock of indecisive Haffset House Guards at the doorway, barely pausing to let the portal slide open before he marched outside. Behind him, Seg followed, with Ama close behind. Lissil, in her elaborate frock, scrambled to keep up.

“What exactly did those men say?” Seg asked Ama, with a glance over his shoulder to ensure they weren’t followed.

“Ortis said they would be taking care of your ungrafted Outers in Old Town tonight, that the warehouse would be empty by morning.”

“
They
,” Seg repeated. It could only be one
they
. “Hold!” he ordered Manatu, and raised a hand to stop the group before they stepped out into the open plaza.

“Theorist?” Manatu asked.

“Extrans conditions. CWA.” His eyes shifted suddenly—to the rooftop, to the line of smaller residences along the road in front of the estate, to the alleys and other dark places.

Extrans conditions: hostile ground, surrounded by potential enemies. Manatu understood the code and reached for his weapon.

“No,” Seg said, still searching. “Not yet.”

“They wouldn’t kill you here, in front of all these people,” Ama said, though her voice rose questioningly.

“Wouldn’t put it past Wellies to do it,” Manatu said.

“Kill him?” Lissil asked.

“We have to get to the warehouse,” Seg said.

“The slideway’s our only way in, and it’s in the Raider’s Quarter; Haffset trans won’t travel there. And if they’re aiming to de-pop you, that …” Manatu stepped in front of Seg and gestured with his eyes to the pathway designated for guests, “… is where they’ll do it.”

“Cover and transportation.” Seg broke away from the huddle and strode toward the crowd. “Manatu, you’re in charge of transportation.”

“Where are you going?” Manatu asked, running ahead of Seg.

“To get us cover,” Seg said. “Stick close,” he called to Ama and Lissil.

The crowd roared as Seg approached the interview platform. Nallin Sastor waved over her viscam crew as, with quick little steps, she moved to greet him.

“Theorist Eraranat! What an unexpected—”

Her polished professionalism disappeared as Seg yanked the voice amp from her hand and turned to the crowd.

“My People!” His amplified voice echoed.

Around the plaza, the large screens projected his magnified image to the hundreds gathered behind the barriers. The crowd reacted instantly to his acknowledgement, a booming cheer that subsided with equal speed, as they waited for more.

“Citizens of the World. Workers. Raiders. Tonight is
your
night. Tonight is
your
celebration. In there,” he said and pointed to the main house, “they praise my victory. Where is the praise and gratitude for you? It was your labor and your blood that brought us here tonight. Where are your trophies and your tributes? Where are your rewards? WHERE?”

He felt the pulse of the crowd change, the confusion shifting.

“We have taken theirs—” He pointed toward the large screen in the plaza that displayed footage of the raid on Ama’s world. “—and made it THEIRS!” He pointed at the Haffset estate.

There was a rising murmur, and a few shouts. His eyes roamed across the nameless faces, the workers and commoners of Cathind. Pressed against a barricade, a woman with dark-ringed eyes and a gaunt face stared back at him. In her expression, he saw the weariness of a life of unceasing work and empty promises of rewards. He remembered the same tired eyes from his childhood—affectionate, but worn. He saw, now, a flame ignite behind the woman’s eyes.

“I came from this city. I walked these streets. My father worked in the recycler. My mother programmed the machines that make our World work. Tonight I return to where I began and where I belong: among my People!”

The crowd exploded at his words and surged against the barriers. The solid fiber creaked, but the walls were well-reinforced against the pressure. Seg looked down the line of barriers and noted the support braces. They were strong against force from the outside, but not from the inside.

“I come to join you!” He raised a fist in the air and dropped the voice-amp on the ground with an echoing thud.

Beside him, Nallin stood speechless before she dove to retrieve her equipment. Seg could hear her calling for him but he ignored the shouts and returned to Manatu.

“Get us an opening in the barrier!” he shouted.

With an unhappy look to the surging mob, Manatu pulled his pistol from its holster, then paused, reholstered the weapon, and marched to one of the Haffset House guards. Before the guard could react, Manatu mumbled, “Pardon me, Citizen,” grabbed the guard at his neck and mid-section, and lifted him. Manatu charged, heaving the body sideways, using the guard as both shield and battering ram to push down a section of barricade. It fell inward and, like a burst dam, released rivers of people who flowed out around him.

Manatu dropped the guard, swept his hand out to Seg and grasped him by the collar. In turn, Seg grabbed Ama’s hand. Her arm was linked to Lissil’s and the chain of four clung together against the flood of bodies.

“How are we going to get out of here?” Ama shouted.

Seg did his best to shelter the pair in the shadow of Manatu’s bulk—a rock against the tide pouring into the plaza. Confused and outnumbered, the remaining House Guards retreated into the safety of the estate, sealing the door behind them. Nallin Sastor was abandoned to the mob.

How
were
they going to get out of here? He hadn’t thought that far ahead.

“RAIDERS!” Manatu’s voice carried through the din with surprising clarity. “TO THE THEORIST!”

At Manatu’s call, heads turned, raiders scattered through the crowd moved against the flow to where Seg and his small entourage made slow progress. In a short time, the group was circled by thirty men and women. With weapons drawn, the raiders moved into position, creating an island—Seg, Ama, and Lissil at the center.

There was a loud smash from somewhere in the distance, followed by shouts from onlookers. The crowd was turning violent.

“We need transport,” Manatu said.

“I have a private trans. Where do you need to go?”

Seg followed the voice to its owner—Arel, the raider with the prosthetic arms. He grabbed the young man by the shoulder. “We need to get to the RQ, to the slideway to Old Town. Now!”

Arel lifted his head to address the circle of raiders. “I’ve got the Theorist. Who’s with us?”

“Sergeant Katstin of the Naffick Lurkiyas. We brought two utility trans. We’ll watch your tail,
” a tall, square-jawed woman said.

A man in the crowd tried to lunge through the line, toward Seg, and was tossed aside.

“Let’s move,” Arel said.

Behind them, more crashes, more cheers, and now the smell of smoke. The crowd was tearing apart the barricades and using the pieces as weapons. The air was tightening, threatening to explode with some long-contained fury.

The raiders marched steadily forward against the swell of bodies. Behind them, screams signaled a new wave of demonstrations—the House Guards and responding wardens were using their own weapons. Even so, more Citizens poured in. The chaos was infectious.

Seg glanced back at the tumult. He had intended to excite the crowd, create a distraction for his escape, that was all. What he had seen on those faces, however, suggested something far more serious was unfolding here. “I never knew,” he whispered, as a raider grabbed his arm and pulled him farther away from the estate grounds.

Lines of trans were neatly parked near the perimeter of the plaza, though the crowd was now weaving among them. A group of Citizens tipped over a luxury trans, clambered on top, and stomped on the machine. Bottles passed from Person to Person, and the haze of amba smoke mingled with the scent of other fires.

“Over here!” Arel said, now at a jog. He stopped at a sleek, well-polished trans and pressed his metal-composite fingers to a pad on the door. The pad glowed blue, announcing that the machine was now unlocked.

As Arel ushered Seg and his crew inside, he shouted directions to his fellow raiders, who hurried off to two larger, utilitarian machines. The raiders piled into the backs of the utily trans, sat on the long bench seats on each side, and warned away rioters with chacks and rifles.

Arel’s trans was a sport model, with only enough room for a single operator in front. All passengers were relegated to the back. Lissil was first in, followed by Manatu, then Seg and Ama. The vehicle was luxurious under less-crowded circumstances, but was clearly designed more for appearance and performance than carrying capacity.