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.”
Sweat poured out of him. Viren raised his canteen, tempted to guzzle the contents, but then stilled his hand. Since the moment they had fled the warehouse, the lieutenant had drilled the importance of water rationing into them.
“Oh, father Nen,” Viren said, staring down into the canteen, “how have I offended you?”
Prow snorted. “How haven’t you offended him?”
“How hasn’t he offended anyone?” Swinson slapped Viren on the back.
“Ah, there goes my lady love.” Viren pointed skyward as the rider blasted by overhead.
“Speaking of those he’s offended,” Swinson said.
“Least he’s stopped annoying the lieutenant since she’s been back,” Keer said. “Every time he gets mad at Viren he takes it out on us, too.”
The men nodded in agreement as they took measured drinks and wiped sweat from their faces.
“Look sharp, deckies, here comes our friend, Pirate Jind.” Swinson jerked his head toward the approaching figure. “Reckons himself the little Lieutenant, doesn’t he?”
“He’s second in command.” Viren lowered his voice as Cerd drew nearer. “Good reason to make sure nothing ever happens to Lieutenant Dismal.”
Cerd stepped in front of the band and folded his arms. “Anything going on in your sector, Viren?”
Viren looked around at the rocks and sand. “All clear … Mascom.”
Prow and Swinson snickered.
“Good.” Cerd turned to Prow. “Your squad ready?”
“For what?”
“Something besides pleasuring themselves,” Cerd said.
Prow stepped forward until he was inches from Cerd. “Calling
me out?”
Viren watched the exchange with new interest. There had been no love lost between his squad and Cerd’s since the moment they had all stepped into this new world. After Lieutenant Korth’s warning, he had made an effort to control his outbursts, though the feud had continued in a quieter fashion. But this moment was different somehow; Cerd wasn’t reacting to an insult, he was provoking Prow, deliberately.
Cerd squinted at Prow. “I’m asking for the status of your squad, Squad Leader. Are they ready to move? To fight? To do their job?”
“Always, Mascom. Always ready for a fight,” Prow said. The men behind him gathered closer—standing taller, circling Cerd.
“Good.” Cerd stepped around Prow, forcing the others to move aside or be shoved out the way. “All of you, ready for a fight then? Any fight, any time?” He looked around him, meeting every unfriendly gaze.
No one backed down, but none made a move. The wind picked up, the air filled with a static buzz, just like the night the Storm had come to Old Town.
They’re waiting for me, and Cerd knows it.
Viren pushed off the boulder. “You’re looking for a fight, Mascom?”
“That’s what we’re here for, isn’t it?” Cerd asked.
All heads turned to Viren. He couldn’t have hated Cerd more than he did at that moment. It all came down to this. You take away unity and you might as well shoot every one of your deckies in the head right now, Lieutenant Korth had warned. If he raised his fists now, unity would be shattered, he knew that. But bow to a pirate? The blood in his ears thundered at the thought and an image of his father filled his head. He glared at the dark-haired man before him.
Cerd took a step back, clearing himself from the circle. “I don’t care if you hate me, all of you. Say what you want about me here, but when the time comes, we all fight. I think you’re a boy in a man’s body, Viren, but I’ll kill for you.”
“Filthy traitor,” Prow said. “What do you know about—”
“Compose, Squad Leader.” Viren shot a look at Prow to silence him. “When the time comes, every man here is our brother. The enemy is behind the walls of the Keep, not here. Understood?”
Through the shock clearly written on their faces, the men managed to nod and mutter their agreement.
“Blood for water,” Cerd said.
“Blood for water, Mascom,” Viren muttered at the departing man.
Nen take you, he cursed, silently. You’ve made me a traitor, too.
Prow looked at Viren and the air exploded with a sonic boom. He jerked, then glanced up as the rider flew by, going so fast it was already nothing but a speck.
The men had instinctively ducked and reached for their weapons but were slowly realizing there was no threat. Tirnich jogged over, beaming. “Did you hear that?”
Viren chuckled and inserted a finger into his ear. “Our ancestors back home in their graves heard that, Tirnich.”
The rider flew back more slowly, sweeping low before touching down in a cloud of dust.
“You see?” Viren gestured to the rider. “She can’t stay away from me. Smitten.”
“Field active units, board the rider!” Fismar’s shout rang through their ear comms. “MOVE!”
The awestruck troops sprang into action, grabbing their gear as they raced to the waiting rider.
“I’ve got a canister of that sweet stuff that says Keer’s the first to lose his lunch,” Viren said, already at a jog.
“An extra water ration says he isn’t,” Rikker said.
“My water’s on Keer, I’ve seen him in a squall.” Swinson slapped Keer on the shoulder as he trotted past. “Sorry, deckie.”
Night had settled over the wasteland, though the glow of the distant shield prevented the dark from consuming everything. Ama walked around the Defiant, running through the post-flight checks as Shan had instructed. She kept one hand on the rider at all times, her face lit with a small smile.
“That’s my girl, Defiant.” She tapped her digipad. “Nozzles all clear. Time for a rest.”
She yawned, the effects of the stim dose finally waning. Her hand trembled uncontrollably.
“Night off, copie,” Shan said. She ran a sonic cleanser through her sweat-matted hair, shaking out the wild locks. “Wind down and get your sl—”
She goggled over Ama’s shoulder.
“Where in the Storm is he going in such a hurry?”
Ama turned to see Seg running, occasionally stumbling, across the rocky field.
“I’ve got it!” he announced to no one in particular. “Fismar, I need that uplink to Cathind!”
Head cocked, she shifted her gaze to the direction from which Seg had come. Without a word to Shan, she retraced his path, down a slight embankment, into the small, natural basin. It was darker in the basin than above, but that dark was broken by a glow. As she moved closer and her eyes adjusted, Ama could see that the glow came from digipads and digifilms, at least seven or eight of each. They were all suspended or perched along the rock wall.
Stepping closer to the eerie display, she made out familiar images—those she and Shan had taken of Julewa Keep. The images had been enlarged and the films and pads were laid out in sequence, as if Seg had been trying to reconstruct the Keep here in this rocky hollow.
“What …” Ama pointed at one of the images. Several of the screens showed banners or small statues, all hung or erected on the upper reaches of the Keep’s structure.
She walked from one to another, studying. Her Cultural Theory lessons might not have taken her far, but she knew this much: Seg’s People didn’t worship anything. No flags, no idols, no symbols of worship. That was for primitive cultures. Savages.
Moving closer still, she saw symbols, either woven into or painted on the banners. At fist glance, the symbol like some kind of flower but, peering closer still, Ama could see it was a faint outline of a human heart wrapped with chain.
Seg had said that the people who lived in that Keep, the Etiphars, had come from his people. She stepped back to look at the entire display, and remembered the Shasir of her own world, their banners and symbols. The glow bathed her body, and she turned her head in the direction of the real Julewa Keep.
Whoever waited behind those walls, they were not People. Not anymore.
Inside the tiny command post, Ama was wedged between Shan and Cerd. Seg faced them, gesturing to an array of films and pads, each of which displayed the same symbol.
“That,” he said. “That, that, that, and that. It’s recurrent iconography.”
“You might want to explain the significance of that, Theorist,” Fismar said.
“It’s an icon of devotion. Faith,” Seg said.
Ama understood from the force of his hand motions that this was something serious. Something significant.
“The Etis got religion?” Shan asked. “Out here?”
“Rediscovered religion, or perhaps never quite lost it,” Seg said. He stepped away from the displays and elbowed his way out into the open, where he gazed into the distance. “These symbols belong to an old People’s religion. Fismar, Shan, you two probably don’t know anything about it—the last organized religious entities on the World petered out four hundred years ago, and by two hundred years ago no visible remnants of cults or sects remained. Old Faiths is a single unit course at the Guild Academy, with only a brief overview of our dead superstitions.”
“So the Etis worship bones or rocks or entities in the sky,” Fismar said. “Does this give us an edge?”
Seg whirled toward the group. “Yes, Lieutenant, yes it does. That symbol is the Unbroken Chain of the Humble Heart and it may give us a vehicle for introducing something into the Keep, a means of infiltration. I need an uplink to Cathind so I can access the Guild files on the Humble Heart, and we’ll need to put direct eyes on the
Keep.”
“Introduce something?” Fismar said. “Oh. Oh! Clever.”
“What?” Ama looked at Shan, but she just shook her head. She looked back at Seg. “What are you saying? We’re going to take something to the Etiphars? But—”
“Anything we want,” Fismar said. “We could drop a terminator virus in there; wipe out the whole population—if we had a terminator virus. More likely, though …” He glanced at Seg: “Electronic?” Seg nodded and Fismar clapped his hands together. “We can get our grabber in there, control their systems, and karg them sideways. You’ll want Tirnich’s squad for recon on the Keep, kid’s a natural sneak. You can tell ’em what to look for and—”
“No,” Seg said. “I have to be along for the recon. This is Theorist work.”
Fismar’s face shifted as his eyes settled back on Seg. Ama watched him turn instantly, and deliberately, impassive. “Theorist, this is an exposure that I would not recommend to the overall commander of our force.”
“I know, but I’m not a charter commander, I’m a Theorist,” Seg said. “Eyes on the situation, that’s my work. I need to see the Etiphars for myself.”
“Understood. Is Tirnich’s squad acceptable as support, Theorist?”
“Yes, it is.”
“I still don’t understand,” Ama said. “Whatever you’re planning to use against the Etiphars, how will you get it inside the Keep? Don’t they kill anyone who comes near them?”
“She’s got a point,” Shan said. “They didn’t exactly welcome us with humble hearts.”
“The Humble Heart was a gift-based, exchange-economy religion,” Seg said. “They had numerous ridiculous notions about supporting unviable populations that could not be held together in the face of the Storm, which was a source of their decline. The Humble Heart devotees had a ritualistic exchange system that we may well be able to exploit. We have to see if the Etiphars practice commerce with their neighbors in the wastelands at all.”
“The Gift of the Cloud Ship,” Cerd said.
Warp World Page 45
