Warp World (63 page)

Jarin considered this through pursed lips. “It certainly seems you feel as though you have control of the situation. Is there anything further?”

“Your act grows tiresome, Jarin,” Akbas said with an impatient sigh. “Your boy is destined for grafting. He’s stacked up a shocking amount of debt doing whatever it is he’s been doing out there with his band of savages. A debt the CWA now owns. But I’m sure your agents have already informed you of this. However, they may not have made you aware that we
’ve arranged to send him to Merz Gressam for processing. Fitting, wouldn’t you agree?
”

She moved as if to stand, then sat again.

“Oh, there is something else that may interest you. Our new program, the one your former pupil so ignorantly declined to join, has proven successful. The Cultural Theorist’s Guild can no longer control the terms of raids and reconnaissance. Our first Vita Recovery Specialist will commence mission prep soon. Recon for Merkan-Axis Corp, your fifth largest contractor. They have just announced that they will now take all their business to the CWA. How does it feel to face obsolescence?”

“Fascinating. I do have a question for you, Efectuary Akbas.”

She remained silent, an indication he should continue.

“I believe you were as certain of your victory when last we encountered—the perfect maneuver and the perfect coup. Honestly, what hubris gives you the belief that you belong in the same league as Segkel Eraranat?” He rose to his feet and cleared his throat. “Try the eschaln, it’s excellent here. Your meal will be paid for by the Guild, of course.”

Now she stood, heat rising in her cheeks. “The caj—”

“Oh, your choice of locale was understood.” He stalked forward until she could see the thin scar along the top of his forehead. “But better men than you have tried to use the past against me, Efectuary. You are a tool of your superiors, as you always will be.”

“
Eraranat’s
caj.” Her lips curled at the break in Jarin’s composure. “It is property, and thus
our
property. We are well aware of Eraranat’s deviant affection for it. Tell me, how did it feel when they destroyed your beloved property? Know this, Jarin, we will destroy Eraranat’s caj as well. Except its death will be neither quick, nor merciful, and I want you to remember for the few pathetic years you have left that all your pupil’s suffering comes from you. This is on your head.”

“Ah, the caj,” Jarin said. “Amadahy is her name, Amadahy Kalder. You should know it. After all, the idea to infiltrate the Haffset meetings was hers. She is the one who outsmarted you.” He glanced at the door. “Enjoy your time in Cathind, Efectuary.”

A piercing pain shot through Akbas’s lower jaw as she ground her teeth together. Eraranat was her specified target. Director Fi Costk had been clear about that, but—

“You die after the caj,” she said to Jarin’s retreating back. Then, turning sharply on her heel, she pulled a controller from her pocket, flipped the switch to continuous, and pressed the activation button. One of her caj hit the floor instantly, screaming and writhing.

“Leave it,” she said to her guards and marched to the exit.

“Lifter flaps good,” Ama called to Shan. She rubbed her eyes as the digipad screen blurred before her, stepped back, and took a long appraising look at the craft.

They had worked eighteen straight hours fixing up the rider as best they could, finally collapsing from exhaustion, only to wake four hours later. Getting the rider fully operational was top priority; Fismar had drilled that home.

“That’s it.” Ama yawned. “My list’s complete.”

Shan slipped to Ama’s side and wrapped an auto-med sleeve around her arm. “I need you functional,” she said.

“What is—” Ama halted her question as a cold rush surged through her body. In seconds the grogginess vanished. “Son of a whore.”

“First time for stims?” Shan peeled off the sleeve. “You’ll have the twitches for a couple hours before you get to sleep, but nothing else to worry about.” She repacked the auto-med and opened the side compartment to stuff it back into the rider. “Get your helmet and get onboard. We’re taking it up.”

“Yes, Captain.” Ama dashed to a nearby rock where her helmet rested. She glanced in the direction of the natural basin where Seg was sequestered.
What are you up to?
She shook away the thought as she bounded into the rider, stopping only long enough to knock twice on the hull for a safe journey. This wasn’t really a hull, she knew that, but the old Kenda superstition had kept her alive so far.

She plunked into the co-pilot seat and clipped on the harness, a smile engraved on her face. With one hand, she rubbed the console. “Okay girl, time to show us what you can do.”

“Quit calling the rider a girl.” Shan slid into her seat. “It doesn’t have the plumbing and it has a hunk of burned sand for a brain.
”

“Quit insulting her. We need a name.”

“No,
you
need a name. A name for your imaginary friend that lives in the machine.
Is
the machine. Now get on those instruments, I’m bringing her—
it
online.”

Ama turned her attention back to the instruments, talking to the rider as she followed the memorized sequence. “You’re old, but you’re not ready to just lie down and die.
Some
people,” she said with a glance at Shan, “think you should have been torn apart for scrap parts, but you wouldn’t give up that easy. You don’t give up. Like us. Out here in the wasteland. We’re not going to give up.”

“That’s not reports on your status boards I hear, Flight Officer Kalder.” Shan said.

“Fuel cell at eighty-seven percent, all surfaces showing active neutral, all boards blue, eyes clear to horizon, Flight Commander Welkin,” Ama said. She turned to face Shan. “But it’s true, isn’t it? We’re not giving up. We’re going after the Keep?”

“That may be what the boss has been off staring at for the past six hours, but I sure hope to the Storm not. We don’t have the gas warheads and we’ve only got one grabber, so we don’t have the mission.” She flipped a series of switches and powered the engines as dust swirled around the rider. “Power to forty. Holding. Bringing it up.”

Shan rammed the throttles home and the rider lurched into the air. “Horizon, horizon.”

“Horizon holding clear,” Ama said. Her eyes were slowly adjusting to scan both the console and the tac display in her helmet visor. “She sounds good. Yeah, she’s going to show everyone. She’s—” A smile sprang onto her face. “Defiant. That’s her name.
Defiant
!”

“If you don’t quit babbling, I’m going to name this rider
Ejector
, right after I do a test run on that seat of yours. See how much you like your girl after she spits you out.” Shan vectored the fans to bring the craft into forward motion.

“Yes, Flight Commander,” Ama said, grinning.

As the wasteland wind beat against the fiber tarps set up for his makeshift training area, Elarn held up a black cylindrical object with an articulating metal tube at one end, for the benefit of his single student. “One of your most basic tools, the skin-sealer. Now, somebody’s got a bad laceration, a big gash in the flesh, you don’t just use this to close the wound. Why not?”

Kype raised his arm, frowned at the stump that ended above the elbow, then raised his other hand and scratched his chin. Elarn had seen enough amputees to know it would take some time for Kype to get used to the missing limb. “Might be there’s some bits chewed up inside or, what
’
s it called, shrapnel. Gotta check inside the wound first,” Kype said.

“Right, and what’s the big killer down the way?” Elarn asked.

“Infection,” Kype said. He glanced up at the rider, then spat at his feet. “Curse my ancestors, I’ll never get used to all your magic.”

Elarn returned the skin sealer to its place in the neat row of instruments. “It’s not magic, and you need to get past that if you’re going to understand field med.” He pulled out the auto-med display and tapped the rectangle screen. “There’s an answer for everything here.” His gaze drifted up to follow the rider as it banked in the distance. “Seems like there’s always an answer.”

“You just have to believe.”

Elarn paused at Kype’s words. A cough cut short his contemplation.

“You got all these fancy healing machines, so why don’t you fix that cough?” Kype asked.

“Can’t. Picked it up on a raid. Whatever it is, our meds can’t stop it, only keep it under control. Like I said, this isn’t magic. Besides, I’m used to it now—like you’ll get used to that missing arm.”

Kype gave a non-committal grunt.

Elarn held up the auto-med display, which was blanked, the screen black. “Now, not only are these things not magic, they’re also not perfect. Doesn’t happen very often, but sometimes they lock up or malfunction. If yours does, you need to do a hard reset, which takes a bit of effort—you don’t want displays accidentally resetting in the middle of the action just because you bumped the wrong button. These two recessed buttons need to be pressed at the same time.” Elarn pointed to the dimples, one on each end of the screen. “Easy for someone with two free hands but you’re going to have to learn it with one. And since you’re either going to be in the dark or keeping one eye on your patient, or the enemy, you’re going to do it with your eyes closed.”

Kype let out a huff, closed his eyes and reached his one remaining hand toward the screen. His fingers located one of the small dimples and searched for the other. He stretched his fingers wide to apply enough pressure to both simultaneously. With a grunt, he made one final attempt, then opened his eyes and smacked the display out of Elarn’s hands.

“Stop wasting my time!” He stood and backed away from Elarn. “I’m no healer. I’m a warrior, a soldier. I’m meant to be out there.” He jabbed his hand in the direction of the troops, training in the distance. “A man doesn’t sit on the sidelines while his brothers battle. I’ve still got one good one arm. Give me a knife, send me in there!”

Elarn stepped directly in front of the burly Kenda. “So I’m not a warrior then? Pick any man down there and I’ll put him on the ground.” He coughed into his hand.

“Of course, I’m not saying—” Kype sputtered. “You owe me no wherehow on that score.” His face grew solemn, and Elarn could see the memory of their long trek out of Old Town rising behind his eyes, Elarn carrying his weight all of the way as the Storm bore down on them. “It’s different for your people, that’s all. We’re different.”

“Your blood’s red, so is mine. Tell you something, Kype: working as a med, you’ll fight, no question on that. Time comes and some lunatic with a sword crashes over the top and it’s only you between him and the injured trooper on the ground, what are you gonna do? You’re gonna kill the karger, then you’ll go back to work.” He looked down at the troops practicing their maneuvers in the boulder field. “We’ll be right there with ’em.”

Kype looked down at the men, then back at Elarn, and nodded sharply. “Suppose you speak truth there. Oh wise and noble Sagio.”

“I should have left you back in Old Town.” Elarn coughed out a laugh as Kype’s stern face dissolved into a smile. “Alright, back to work before I change my mind and send you out to run around with those poor bastards in the field.”