Warp World

by Kristene Perron

  Seg pressed his lips together and looked past Jarin to the bank of machinery that monitored his physical state and sped his healing.

  “Consider what I have said, Segkel. For her sake, if for no other reason.”

  Seg nodded—barely—then turned his attention back down to the film. “I need to finish this.”

  Jarin’s smile rose and fell. “Yes. Yes you do.” Then he was gone.

  The door chimed a moment later. Seg stabbed his finger against the screen to pause the scroll and put the film aside. “Enter.”

  In contrast to the frail, aged form of his mentor, the man who entered could barely squeeze his large frame through the compact door. Seg took him in with curiosity, noting the fine weave of his clothing and the carefully manicured short haircut that adorned the otherwise familiar face. “Manatu? What are you doing here?”

  “Sorry for not coming earlier, Theorist. You were quarantined; I only just found out you were released.”

  “Yes, well, it’s understandable. You look well and perhaps we will meet another time but I have important business to tend to.” Seg held up the digifilm. “Extrans processing invoices.”

  Manatu moved a chair to the wall.

  “What are you doing?” Seg asked.

  “I’ll be here.” Manatu sat. The huchack fiber–weave frame of the chair squealed ominously.

  “Why?” Seg sat up in the bed with a grimace. “The raid is over, Manatu. Go home. Spend your money.”

  “I don’t have any money, Theorist.”

  “What? You couldn’t have spent it all. The payoff on this raid hasn’t even finished calculating yet and it should have been enough to set you up in comfort for a lifetime. You were getting a percentage on the gross.”

  “I signed it over to my parents. I do that with all my disbursements,” Manatu said. “What else would I do with it?”

  “You signed it all over to them?” Seg thrashed slightly in the bed, then groaned as the med system chimed a warning at him. “All of it?”

  “I bought these clothes.” Manatu held out the vest of his suit. The color was drab, as was most clothing of the People, but the fabric fell softly around his fingers. The texture was the sign of the most expensive, well-woven huchack fiber clothing money could buy. Seg had only seen the like at a distance. Manatu pulled the vest aside to show Seg the holster he wore. “I also bought a pistol to replace the one I left with you.”

  “So … don’t you have to find another contract and get back to work, then?”

  “My job is to watch you.” Manatu leaned forward and put his hand on the rail of Seg’s bed. “You saved my life, Theorist.”

  Seg shifted and turned to the side, groaning and raising another chime from the med system. “You were hurt protecting mine, Manatu.”

  “I’ll be quiet, you can get back to work,” Manatu said as if he hadn’t heard anything.

  “I …” Seg looked around and realized that he had knocked the digifilm to the floor. He started to reach for it, but a sharp spasm stopped him. Sweat beaded on his forehead and the med system chimed angrily. “Karg it. Can you get that for me?”

  As Manatu leaned forward, an idea occurred to Seg. A solution. “There’s something else you can do for me. They’ve restricted my comms and there’s someone I need brought here. Quietly.”

  Ama pressed her back against the dusty metal wall and sank to her haunches. Her second eyelids, the filmy layer that protected Kenda eyes from the salt and cold of the water, were half up—an indication of serious illness or injury. She raised her right hand to her left shoulder and touched the self-made bandage that wrapped her wound. Even that slight contact set her teeth together, air hissing between them.

  You don’t want to know what it looks like under there.

  Seg would come for her, for all of them. She might have doubted him in the past, but that had all changed at the temple and the Secat. And a day and a half wasn’t that long, was it? No, not long at all.

  “Tired of our company already?”

  She looked up to see Viren’s cocksure grin and, with some effort, returned a grin of her own.

  “Just enjoying a moment of peace.”

  He crouched beside her in the quiet alcove and moved a hand toward her bandaged shoulder. Ama recoiled instinctively; Viren looked her in the eyes and they shared a wordless exchange.

  She was not the only wounded person in their lot and shortly after arrival in their new home she had pulled the auto-med sleeve from her arm to share with her Kenda brothers. Her assumption that there would be more of the machines waiting for them somewhere, or that Seg would send healers, had proved faulty.

  Between the ceaseless throb of the wound and the voices that haunted her sleep, she was finding it increasingly difficult to assume the mantle of authority that Seg had placed on her. But the men needed her—they were confused, angry at their abandonment.

  “If he’s not here by lights out, little Captain, I’m putting that magic sleeve back on you,” Viren said.

  Ama opened her mouth to protest but the look Viren gave her silenced any opposition. He pulled something from his pocket. “But if the suffering gets to be too much, if you decide to end it all, then eat this.” He tore the filmy cover off a rectangular bar—one of a stock they had found in a bin labeled Food—and pressed it into her hand, nodding solemnly. “No one will think the less of you. I only hope your death is quick.”

  At the sight of the commonly-loathed food bar, a laugh burst from Ama’s mouth, shaking her body and the aching shoulder. She stifled it as quickly as she could.

  “Charming place he’s brought us to, this fellow of yours.” Viren dropped onto his hindquarters and turned himself so that his back was against the wall, beside her. “Reminds me of a lovely night I spent near Malvid, locked up in correction.”

  “Well, I didn’t expect the cloud temple, but this—” She shook her head and raised her hand to indicate the building.

  At first, she had thought the drivers had made a mistake when they stopped in front of the building. Everything she had seen of Seg’s world up to this point had been clean, orderly, and well tended. Lifeless and drab, also, but that was preference and not condition. This place, at the very edge of the city (so close to that otherworldly shield overhead that she swore she could feel its vibration), looked as if it were close to falling in on itself.

  The inside of the huge, cavernous building was as neglected as the face. Some scattered parts, machinery, and stacks of large crates remained from whatever industry had operated there. Seeing the platforms, walkways, and pulleys high above, Ama could imagine great quantities of goods being loaded and unloaded. Bins had been left in the center of it all and clearly marked food and supplies in Seg’s language. She was thankful for her chatterer because without the translation none of them would have guessed that the wrapped bars, metal canisters of liquid, or tubes of green paste were edible. Even so, none of the men would eat the green paste; some commented that it smelled as if it had been eaten once already.

  There were bunks that looked flimsy and uncomfortable. The water taps and sonic cleansers had been a source of some controversy. Despite Ama’s explanation that water was strictly rationed on this world, it was a concept so far outside of the Kenda’s understanding that they nearly used up the rationed amount in a few scant hours. None had set foot inside the cleansing room, even after Ama had demonstrated, on one arm, how the wands painlessly vibrated dirt and oil from the skin.

  The lights were the biggest surprise. The trans driver had used a control pad to turn them on but when Ama asked how to turn them off again he had only grumbled, “Ignorant Outer,” before hurrying back outside. That night the lights had shut off on their own. Then in the morning (at least Ama had assumed it was morning), on the lights had come again. Seg had explained electricity to her but it still seeme
d like magic. And the magic lights that turned on and off when they pleased made the Kenda uneasy.

  But no matter how strange the setting, the Kenda had each other and spent their first day making the dirty and neglected building into a home. There was singing and whistling, stories and laughter as the men worked. Viren and Prow had a card game running as soon as they could piece together a table—dividing up the food rations for wagering. And though there was already division among them—the older Kenda and many of the Secat prisoners gravitated to Cerd, the younger and more boisterous to Viren—Ama was buoyed by this small pocket of home amid the gloom.

  Her one worry had been the doors. Three were large and well-sealed, the fourth, the one through which they had entered, she had ensured was both locked and barred. She trusted Seg but she knew this world was as full of enemies as her own.

  Now, she chewed her food bar absently while Viren chattered on about the sad state of the building.

  “Why did you come here?” she interrupted. “And don’t tell me it was for Brin, because I know my cousin didn’t want you to leave.”

  “It was time to move on.” He spread his hands wide and sang in a low voice.

  Never the compass will point you to home,

  So ride well the seed winds, forever to roam.

  Ama smiled and joined in.

  To the Rift, and the Westlands, the ice of the Spires,

  A-rolling, a-churning, to the depths and the fire.

  The Big Water’s callin’ you boy.

  I said, the Big—

  A loud BANG, BANG, BANG, cut off the next verse. Ama reached for her knife, Viren jumped to his feet. They both cocked their heads.

  The sound came again and Ama knew what it was: someone wanted in.

  “Seg!”

  Viren helped her up and they abandoned her hiding spot to join the throng that was striding quickly to the door. One of the men reached for the metal rod they had used as a barricade.

  “Wait!” Ama whispered, just loud enough for the men to hear. She stepped in front of the door handle and raised a finger to her lips to silence them. “Who are you?” she shouted to the closed door.

  “Elarn Fataleh,” a gruff voice answered in the language of Seg’s people. “Theorist Eraranat sent me. Now open the kargin’ door.”

  Seg’s name was enough to satisfy the men but Ama shook her head vigorously.

  “Where’s Seg? How do I know he sent you?”

  There was a silence. Then cursing. Then “Blood for water.”

  The words were spoken in the most garbled Kenda she had ever heard, but those three words, the code of the Kenda resistance, were all Ama needed. She nodded, telling the men to let this Elarn inside.

  Muted afternoon light fell over the newcomer as he entered. Darkness stained his every move; his black hair was shaved to stubble, and he peered out at the crowd through eyes overshadowed by a thick ridge of brow. More a shadow than a man, Ama thought, seeing his look of world-weary distrust and disbelief.

  He regarded the crowd expectantly, then shook his head and walked deeper into the building. On his back, he shouldered a large gray bag. The men kept their distance as Elarn found Viren’s card table, slung the bag onto it, and said, “Right. Clear this mess. Line up at this table. Most injured first.”

  This was the healer? But as if in response to Ama’s doubt, he opened the bag and pulled out a series of instruments. She had seen these before, when the chatterer was put into her head.

  “Come on, come on.” Elarn gestured impatiently.

  “They don’t speak your language yet,” Ama said.

  “Then translate. I’m not being paid to speak gibberish,” he said.

  After a quick explanation, young Tirnich moved to clear the table. Ama stepped aside to let one of the other men forward but Viren put a hand in the middle of her back and pushed her toward Elarn.

  “This one first,” Viren said, with a look to Ama, then to the rest of the men, that made it clear there would be trouble if anyone said otherwise.

  “Kalder, right?” Elarn asked. He snatched Ama’s wounded arm before she could answer and wrapped a large cuff around her wrist.

  “Ama Kalder, yes,” she said, watching him closely. “Where’s Seg?”

  “I don’t know. Don’t talk, Outer. You’ll disturb the machine.” He studied the results, then muttered to himself. “Lucky. Must have been an upward stab, with the blade horizontal. Missed the lung and only nicked the collarbone.” As he read further, he made a tch-ing sound. “He said you had an auto-med.”

  “I gave it to one of the other men,” she said, when she had caught her breath.

  “Idiot,” Elarn muttered, then something else too low for her to hear. He pushed a button on the cuff. “You stop antibiotic treatment that early in and you make the bacteria more resistant and more virulent.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Of course you don’t. I wouldn’t expect the table to understand either. Kargin’ stupid Outer. Now I have to wait for a sample so the machine can formulate an effective antibiotic.”

  Ama clutched the edge of the table with her good hand as burning needles of pain shot through her body.

  “Nictitating membrane,” Elarn said. “You all have those?”

  “What?” Ama wheezed, through the pain.

  Elarn pointed to her eyes and Ama caught his meaning. “Our second eyelids? Yes, all Kenda have them.”

  Elarn let out a grunt but said nothing more and made no comment on her dathe. Maybe Seg had told him about them?

  “If Seg—” She fought to catch her breath. “—sent you, how come you don’t know where he is?”

  “He was at the Guild compound medfac when I met him. I have no idea where he is now. Now lie down and be quiet!” He shoved her back on the table.

  “Easy there.” Viren clamped a large hand on Elarn’s shoulder.

  A few of the other men stepped in closer.

  Elarn looked up with bared teeth, then glanced to Ama. “Ask him if he can heal you.” Ama translated, rushing to keep up as Elarn continued, directing his words to Viren. “She’s riddled with infection. Without treatment, she’ll die. So get your hand off me, Outer, and let me work.”

  As Viren started to speak, Cerd stepped up to the table. “Let the man work.”

  “The man can work without tossing the Captain around like a slab of meat for butchering.” He turned his face to Elarn, hand still on the man’s shoulder. “You are a healer, not a butcher, correct?”

  Ama gave Viren a warning stare. “I’m not going to tell him th—”

  “I heal People, yes.” Elarn released Ama, whose mouth hung open at the sound of S’ora, the common tongue of her world, coming from his mouth. He turned to face Viren. “Though now I’m paid to heal animals. And if you don’t let go of my arm, there’ll be one more animal to fix before I leave.”

  “So you do speak our language, when it suits you.” Viren let out a laugh. “Animals? Is that what we are?” He waved his free arm to his fellow Kenda who whistled and shouted back at him.

  In a swift motion, he lifted Elarn by the collar and swung him until he was on the ground with a knee on his throat.

  “Viren! No!” Ama leaped off the table.

  Elarn grasped Viren’s ankle. Ama saw the shape of the stunner beneath his sleeve but it was too late; the larger man flew backward in a spastic convulsion. As Viren slumped to the ground, Elarn rolled away and drew his pistol. He coughed, a ghastly wracking sound, as he waved the weapon around. “Don’t test me.”

  Ama raised her good hand in surrender. “Don’t. Please. Forgive them. They know nothing of your world. Seg was supposed to escort them here and explain everything. They don’t know how Outers are treated here.”

  She yelled out to the men,
“Back away! He’s not going to hurt you. Do what this man says.” To Elarn, she added, “I’m lying down, see? No one will hurt you. They’re just protective of their own.”

  Elarn rose to his feet without lowering the pistol. Below him, blood oozed from Viren’s scalp, a small cut where his head had hit the edge of a crate. “Told you, you bastard. He’s not dead. But the next one of you that so much as looks at me without invitation dies.”

  He slid his pistol into the holster and strode back to Ama’s side. From his instruments, he plucked out the same kind of tube-shaped object that had been used to put Seg to sleep in the decon chamber. Elarn popped a small cylinder into the instrument and pressed it next to her wound, and then, gradually, into the wound. There was a hiss, followed by a sensation of cold. The area began to numb.

  “Hold still,” he said, probing at the wound.

  Ama did as ordered. She saw Tirnich had gone to Viren’s side. Cerd hadn’t moved an inch and only looked down on the fallen man with one corner of his mouth pulled up, which lowered even further Ama’s opinion of the man. Viren was loudmouthed and quick to act without thinking, but his loyalty was unquestionable. Cerd, on the other hand, no matter how well behaved, was a traitor.

  Once more she wondered how Brin had put his faith in a Rift pirate.

  “I know Seg,” Ama said to Elarn as he worked, keeping her voice low. “If you treat these men well, he’ll reward you. Are you certain you have no news of him?”

  Elarn sighed as he reached for another instrument. This one was shaped almost like a gun, but a blue light shone from the tip. When he pressed it to Ama’s skin, thin smoke rose off the end.

  “He’ll be here by nightfall. He would come sooner but the medical treating him wants to finish another round of tests. I have orders to make sure of your health, specifically, and your well-being, as well as the health of the other Outers. He said there were several wounded but that none were beyond recovery. He obviously doesn’t know his medicine, judging from the state of these Outers. You certainly wouldn’t have lasted much longer.”