Warp World (60 page)

They weren’t trying to kill me; they were trying to catch me.
The knowledge didn’t make Shan feel any better.

She looked around to see who had taken out these two, but caught just a glimpse of boots fleeing around a distant corner.

Right now, running seemed like a very good idea. She didn’t look back.

By the time Shan arrived at the worn door to the aboveground residence, there were wide pools of sweat under both arms, at the small of her back, her stomach, and between her legs. She leaned forward, briefly, to catch her breath, and more sweat fell in droplets from her forehead. She didn’t bother to wipe any of it away, but focused on the pistol clutched in her right hand and the designation number over the door.

“Please don’t be a trap,” she whispered, then rapped twice.

Her finger slid to the trigger.

The door opened a few inches and a slender face framed by blond hair, with piercing green eyes, edged around it. The eyes narrowed. “I know you.”

“What’s your name?” Shan asked, still winded from her run.

“Arel Trant,” he said. “I was at the temple; I remember you were with Eraranat and his Outer. What do you want?”

“Just had to make sure.” Shan glanced over her shoulder, then pressed close to the door and lowered her voice. “Eraranat sent me, now let me the karg in before someone else tries to snag me!”

“Eraranat’s dead,” Arel said. Nevertheless, he opened the door.

Shan barged in. She grabbed the door from his grasp, slammed it closed, and engaged the lock with a hurried click.

Behind Arel, on one of the two bunks in the narrow room, an aged raider straddled and gyrated atop a rented caj, spitting soft insults.

“Don’t mind Jessine.” Arel waved toward the bunk with a prosthetic arm. “She just got back from an extrans.”

Shan stepped up close to the young raider to make sure he missed none of the urgency in her whisper. “I don’t know why the boss sent me to you, but …” She glanced up at the pair on the bunk: the raider was fully focused on her own pleasure; the caj was … caj. “Eraranat’s alive. In the wasteland.”

She saw the surprise. Relief, too, if her instinct was correct. Arel pursed his lips and reached into his pocket. “Need the room, Jess,” he called to his roommate.

“Karg off,” she said without breaking rhythm.

He laid a scripstick on the bunk next to hers. “That’ll cover you for a room and another rental if you want.”

She stopped and stared at the stick for a moment before she clambered off the bunk with a curse and grabbed the discarded clothes from the floor. She blinked blearily at Shan and shook her head. “Coulda shared.”

A moment later she was out the door, dragging her caj by the hair. Arel latched the door and slid a blocking bar into place. He hit a kickswitch on the floor to unfold a chair from the wall, offered it to Shan, and sat on his bunk.

“Talk,” he said.

Alone with Arel, Shan felt as if some measure of safety had re-entered her life. She flopped into the chair, rested her elbows on her knees, and let her head hang forward. The adrenaline was finally subsiding. After a moment she looked up and nodded to Arel’s arms. “Temple?”

At his nod, she continued.

“Got a comm today. Coded. The boss is out in the wastes with his crew. They need his rider, plus food and weapons. He didn’t say a lot more, but he was specific that if there were
complications
you were the man I should talk to.” Shan blew out a breath. “Well, there’s complications alright. Wellie complications.”

Arel’s shoulders lowered and he laughed softly. “At least he’s alive. I thought after he crossed and the shield came down— Never mind. I told him anything he needed, I’m in.” His eyes lost the glow of relief and narrowed once more as he picked up a digifilm. “Talk to me about the complications.”

With frequent glances to the door, Shan filled him in. She half-expected Akbas to burst through and drag her off to be grafted.

“So the rider’s locked out, gutted, and I’ve got all of …” She pulled her scripstick from her pocket and flashed the dark amber bar that indicated an empty account at Arel. “Not to mention the Wellie goons waiting out there to pull me in. So—” She gazed around the room; it was luxurious for a raider but, even so, just an off-duty res in the RQ. “—you got a rider stashed in here? That why the boss sent me to you?”

Arel threw the digifilm down on the tiny side table. “He doesn’t make small problems, does he? Is this what it’s like working with him full-time?” He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes as he rubbed his temples with metallic thumbs. “We don’t even have the funds for a rental. I’m good with money, but this …”

Shan laughed, but it was a hollow, desperate sound. “This is kargin’ great. He sends me to some sand stomper from the temple who’s
good with money
and that’s supposed to help? Perfect. Perfect shitty end to my shitfest day.”

“I was a Financiary for House Yusset,” Arel said.

Shan bolted upright in her seat and squinted at him. “Are you serious?”

He nodded and lifted the digifilm to study it once more. Almost simultaneously, he pulled a small silver package from his pocket and popped a piece of brakka gum into his mouth. She made a face at the sight—brakka was good as a mild stimulant but it tasted almost as bad as veg paste.

“I know a guy that would be good for a rental rider, an armed unit, even,” Arel said. “Not in the best shape, but it’ll fly and it’ll shoot.” He studied in silence again, then looked up at Shan. “Who pressed the claim on the rider?”

“Efectuary Akbas, PIS,” Shan said, spitting out every hard consonant. When Arel resumed his digifilm study, Shan looked around the small residence and shook her head. “Financiary to House Yussit? What’d you do to end up here? Get caught karging a pairmate? Filter some funds into your own account?”

“I can tell why you can’t get a job anywhere else. So, PIS is it?” He stared at the digifilm again and let out a little snorting laugh as the tempo of his gum chewing increased. “I can do this.”

“You can? How quick? I got thirteen hours to show up or they march.”

Arel pushed himself up from the bunk, his prosthetic arms whirring softly with the motion. “Then we’d better get to work.”

Jarin gazed out the sloped windows of Maryel’s office, which overlooked the grounds of the Guild compound. She certainly had not needed to upgrade her work space in the aftermath of her assumption of executive authority—the Aimaz name, and her seniority, had long ago guaranteed her an extravagant amount of room, enough to comfortably house six citizens in the lower levels.

He didn’t come by often. The secrecy of their liaison was perhaps another affectation of his admittedly conspiratorial nature, but they protected that illusion as best they could. As such, his previous visits had been purely professional in nature.

Now, however, he was answering a summons.

The door cycled open and Maryel entered, comm pressed to her ear. “No, inform the City Assembly that they will attend us in the evening session in three days, and they had best approach with corrected attitudes if they wish to retain their positions.”

With an irritated sigh she thumbed the comm off and threw it on her desk, then turned and waved at the small constellation of caj who followed her. “Wait outside.”

Jarin stepped away from the window and offered her a polite nod. “Senior Theorist.”

“Jarin, don’t waste my time. I have insufficient quantities as it is.”

“Then let’s come to the reason you called me here, if you please,” Jarin said.

“Raider’s Quarter. Last night. Two logged de-pops, suspected CWA assets. Freelance raiders, presently unemployed so far as we knew, beyond the suspected CWA tie,” Maryel sat and loosened her collar. She tapped the icon to bring her desk display to life.

“Routine operation,” Jarin said.

“The report is sparse. Why did we choose to kill these People last night?” Maryel asked, raising her eyes to meet Jarin’s.

“They were surveilling Pilot Shan Welkin, late of Segkel’s employ.”

“I expect many people are watching anyone formerly affiliated with Eraranat right now. Why the kill?”

Jarin cleared his throat as he considered his answer. “Pilot Welkin received a message, I believe from Segkel.”

Maryel shot to her feet. “Eraranat is alive?”

“Not confirmed, but I believe so.”

“And you didn’t inform me? For how long?” Maryel slapped a hand on the desk.

“I had no confir—”

“How long?” Maryel’s voice cut into him.

“Fifteen hours.”

“We are not operating as before, Jarin. This is it, the single and sole warning I will deliver. You are used to running your own demesne within the Guild, but now it is all on my shoulders and I need my intelligence in a timely fashion, not when you choose to dispense or withhold it.”

Jarin bristled, his shoulders rose. “If you wish my resignation—”

“Don’t be childish! Damn you, this is too important for ego and you know it.”

Jarin closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Of course it would come to this. He had known from the moment she’d had to take the position of Grand Selectee, and if she had done any less he wouldn’t have respected her enough to love her as he did. He opened his eyes and nodded to her. “I apologize and I understand, Senior Theorist. Full details will be forwarded to you promptly and in the future I will perform my duties as you need and require.”

Her face softened momentarily before she blanked it to dispassion. “That will be all, Senior Theorist Svestil.”

Everyone looked up as Tirnich entered the small command post, but Seg could already guess the news from the boy’s glum expression.

“No comm yet, Lieutenant.”

“Start packing the gear,” Fismar said.

“Quick as three, sir.” Tirnich turned and trotted away.

Fismar looked back at the others—Seg, Ama, Cerd, and Viren. “Forty minutes until we put sand under our boots, people.”

“Can’t we give her more time?” Ama asked Seg. “The rider needed work but if Shan got your comm, she’ll come. I know it.”

He wanted to agree, if only to maintain his newly-established peace with Ama, but he once more had fifty Kenda lives to consider. Thankfully, Fismar made the decision before it fell to him.

“We’ve got a lot of people here who are fond of drinking water.” Fismar tapped the canister hooked to his hip. “And as much as I enjoy recycling, I think everybody’ll be a lot happier when we can get some fresh. Not to mention, if some Wellie cracks that coded comm, it’ll lead them right to us.”

“But one more day?” Ama asked. “Viren?”

“Oh, I think the lieutenant is completely correct.” Viren crossed his arms over his chest.

Cerd glanced at Viren. “Well. If he and I actually agree on something—”

“Yes, a brilliant plan, marching into a hostile desert with a handful of weapons and rations, with men who are used to forest and water and have barely learned which way to point their chacks, in the vain hope of—”

“Viren,” Fismar said. His voice was low but there was no mistaking the rancor behind it. “If that’s your contribution to proceedings, you can go assist Elarn with medical. As a permanent assignment.”

“Viren has a point,” Ama said. “We don’t know what’s out there. Once we leave, we’re easy targets. And there’s no coming back. You said that yourself, Lieutenant. Maybe Shan ran into trouble, but she’ll get here.”

“Pilot Welkin would never back down from a challenge,” Viren said.

“Enough,” Seg said. “This is my group, my decision. The lieutenant has the best plan and if we’re going to survive we need discipline. From everyone.” He pushed off the rock he leaned against, and cast his gaze over the entire group. “Is that clear?”

There was a moment of silence before everyone assented. Ama met his eyes—this discussion, for them, was not over.

“Thirty-two minutes,” Seg said. “Lieutenant, attend to the troops.”

“On it,” Fismar said. “Cerd, Viren, with me.” He gave Viren a dark glare as they walked away.

“This is a mistake,” Ama said once the others had departed.

“We are on a razor’s edge, Ama,” Seg said. “Every moment of delay is a moment when we could be found by our enemies. Welkin is a poor bet right now; we’ll give her the time allotted and no more. And that idiot Viren will have to be replaced.”