Warp World (29 page)

“Careful now, there’s dangerous goods everywhere here. Watch your step,” Cerd said.

“Thank you,” the caj replied, her voice breathy. “I’m sorry, I’m so clumsy.”

Manatu stepped in, grasped the woman’s arm and tugged her away from Cerd. “Keep back, Outer. She belongs to the Theorist.”

Cerd didn’t back down despite Manatu’s obvious size advantage. Notable. “The lady needed help. I don’t care who thinks they
own
her.”

“It’s none of your concern.” Manatu stood motionless before Cerd.

Cerd’s squad moved up to support him, sliding to the sides to flank the man challenging their leader.

“ENOUGH!” Fismar barked. “Cerd, get your people back to their racks because I am by the Storm going to wear your asses out tomorrow.”

As Cerd and his people filed away, Manatu leaned over to Fismar. “You could’ve gotten into that sooner.”

“Wanted to see if his people would back him like they should. Wouldn’t have let it go further’n that.”

“Tolner!”

Shan raised her head slightly at the sound of the familiar, annoying voice. The big-mouthed Outer she had threatened to shoot, back in decon, was striding toward them.

“Your Squad Leader needs to see you, quick as three,” Big Mouth said.

“But …” Tolner glanced to Shan.

“I’ll take it from here, deckie.” Big Mouth smiled and gestured for the other Outer to move along, which he did. “My Lady of the Sky, a pleasure to welcome you.” Big Mouth finished with a dramatic sweep of his hand. “I fear you and I got off to an unfortunate start. My name is Viren Hult, formerly of T’ueve. And you are?”

Shan looked him over just long enough to let the Outer know she would still happily shoot him and then resumed her walk.

“Nice weapon.” She nodded to the pipe formation he carried in one hand.

Viren tossed the pipe from one hand to the next. “As the good Lieutenant says, shoot them, stab them, hit them, bite them, whatever works. I would apologize for our less-than-pleasant accommodations, but I have a feeling you’ve seen worse.” He nodded to Shan’s black eye and split, swollen lip, “However, we do have auto-meds.”

“Don’t need it,” Shan said.

“Something to eat then?” He fished around in his pocket, pulled out a tube of vegetable paste. “Our finest dining experience, I fear.”

“I’m here because … Because I am.” Shan’s eyes focused ahead, away from her escort. “You’re still an Outer. I don’t make friends with Outers. Just get me where I need to be and leave me the karg alone.”

They rounded the corner of a line of crates and pallets and he pointed toward the area being hastily cleared away for her use. “Oh, I think you’ll find me—”

He waved his hand to indicate the rest of the Outers.

“—
us
, that is, tolerable company. Tolerable and generous.” He offered the tube of vegetable paste again, as his band of Outers laid out her bunkroll.

“You think wrong,” Shan said.

Viren slowly, carefully replaced the tube of paste in his pocket. “If you say so, my Lady.” He bowed low and then whistled for the rest of the savages to join him.

“Stupid Outers.” The words caught in Shan’s throat. She hurled her bag alongside the bunk and wished there was something breakable within easy reach.

A
ll Ama knew about her destination, or what would happen there, came secondhand, from snatches of overheard conversation. No one would talk to her and her few questions had been met with painful jolts from the collar clamped around her neck.

Processing
, this was where she was being sent. To be tamed. According to the guards, who had jabbered at each other as they tossed her into a windowless compartment in the back of a trans, this should have been done the moment she set foot on their world.

Her natural instinct was to flee, and the guards were sloppy enough that she could have succeeded. All she needed was a moment of surprise, to steal the collar’s controller. What stopped her was Seg.

He had put on a good act, real enough to fool even her, at first. But she knew he was trained to fool people, she had seen it on her own world—when he had pretended to be a Damiar to charter her boat, and then when they had lied their way into a Shasir Sky Temple. Whatever she and Shan had done wrong, it was clear that Seg had to trick the authorities into believing she was his caj and he was angry with her. He had acted it all out perfectly and she was confident that she would be freed by the end of the day, if not sooner. All she had to do was go along with everything and play her own part.

At any moment, she expected the trans to stop and Seg to appear, remove the hideous collar, take her away. But when the trans finally whirred to a halt there was no one waiting and the guards hustled her inside as if she really was a prisoner, a criminal.

She expected squalor and suffering, similar to the dank cells of the Secat where her father had been held prisoner. To her surprise, the building she was led into looked not much different than any other buildings she had visited on Seg’s world—clean, stone, silent, devoid of decoration. Instead of a guard, she and her escorts were met by a lithe young woman, who was conspicuously unarmed.

The woman was caj, as evidenced by her lowered eyes and deference to the guards, but she was in some position of responsibility, and she was beautiful. High cheekbones, flawless porcelain skin and brilliant amber eyes—it was difficult to believe this was a living being and not a painted doll. She was dressed elegantly, but plainly, in the way of Seg’s people, and the wardens handed off Ama, and the controller to her collar, without a single word or question.

“Please follow me,” the woman said to Ama. When she turned, the metal graft at the base of her skull was visible beneath an artfully arranged knot of sleek, black hair. Ama lumbered behind in her worn, borrowed flight suit.

This woman would have been even easier to overwhelm than the guards, and there were no guards in the corridors. A laughably simple escape but one that would only complicate the situation for Seg. Besides, from what Ama could see, this processing building wasn’t any more of a prison than Seg’s home. She wondered how long they planned to keep her there.

“Can I ask—”

“Do not speak, please,” the woman said. She led Ama through a series of corridors that zigged and zagged. Every door looked the same, every wall, every square of floor. And then they arrived at the end. Wherever the end was. The woman pressed her hand to a chime pad and waited.

The door slid open to reveal what was a sizable office, perhaps twice the size of the galley on Ama’s old boat. Inside, a fastidiously groomed, dark-haired man sat on the edge of a pale green desk reading a digipad. Likenesses adorned the walls, all of the man and what Ama guessed were the wealthy of Seg’s world. In each image, one or more caj kneeled nearby. From his likenesses, the man seemed pleasant, his smile beaming. His icy blue eyes pierced Ama from every wall of the office, but most sharply from the man himself, who gestured for the pair to enter. The woman dropped to the floor in front of him and lowered gracefully into the retyel.

“Processor Gressam, your caj returns having completed its duty.”

Gressam lifted a mirror-polished shoe to the back of the woman’s head and gave it the lightest of presses. “Await my next order, Flurianne.”

She rose as he pushed off the edge of the desk, trailed him as he made his way to the large chair behind the desk, and knelt at his side as he sat. The seat made the slightest
poof
as air expelled beneath his weight and the cushioning settled. It was the most luxurious chair Ama had seen on this world.

“Sit,” Gressam ordered.

Ama stared at the chair in front of the desk—it was, in contrast, the
least
comfortable she had seen on this world. Despite her lean frame, the chair was barely big enough to accommodate her and was so low that her knees bucked up and she was forced to tilt her head back to meet Gressam’s eyes. The Processor now seemed enormous and intimidating.

She considered speaking, then decided it might be unacceptable for an Outer to speak out of turn. She kept a wary eye on the controller for her collar, which the doll-like caj, Flurianne, had dutifully handed over to Gressam.

“Nothing to say?” He nodded slightly. “A good start, Amadahy.”

Ama started at the use of her proper name.

Gressam lifted his digipad. “Amadahy Kalder, daughter of Odrell and Colwyn Kalder. Siblings: Geras, Stevan, Thuy, Mirit, and Afon Kalder. None of whom were likewise collected. Large family, and you the only daughter. That must have been a rambunctious childhood.” He raised his eyes from the digipad to look at her. “You may speak on the matter.”

He held out his hand as he waited for Ama’s response. Flurianne pressed a peeled fruit into his palm, from a bowl kept on a low stand near where she knelt. He separated one segment as Ama answered.

“My brother Stevan is dead. My mother, too,” she said. His friendly tone put her on edge more than if the man had simply started barking orders and zapping her collar. “What do you want from me?”

He chewed on his fruit, masticating thoughtfully. “Desire. An interesting question. What occurs during processing has little to do with desire, you see. What would I want from you? To be finished, trained, and ready, so I could go home to my pairmate and my children. You cannot do that, however, and so I cannot. It is not about desire, Amadahy. It is about the process of turning you from what you are into what you must be.”

“I like what I am.” As the words slipped out, she silently berated herself, but Gressam appeared unmoved.

“Independent, yes?” He referred to the digipad once more. “You commanded a waterborne vessel. Dangerous work to conduct by yourself and, according to the cultural notes, an atypical venture for your gender. I would go so far as to say you have a justification for that attitude, this appreciation of yourself. Quite commendable in your circumstances.”

He considered another segment of fruit, then discarded it. It barely touched the floor before Flurianne gathered it up and deposited it in the recycler chute next to the desk.

“Then does that mean—” Ama blinked, shook her head. This man wasn’t treating her as a prisoner. “What does that mean? What am I doing here?” She stood suddenly. “Look, I know I’m an Outer, but—”

Gressam held up a finger. “Incorrect. You have learned some of our words, but not their meanings. An Outer is an alien to the World, a free sapient denizen of another dimension. You, Amadahy, are caj now.”

He rose from the chair, offering her another friendly smile as he gestured to the walls. “Every caj in these images wondered what you’re wondering.
Why am I here? What is the purpose?
”

He turned to the woman. “Flurianne, what is your purpose?”

The elegant caj directed her gaze at the floor as she spoke. “To serve the People and Processor Gressam.”

“Precisely.” A small, proud smile crossed Gressam’s face before he directed his words to Ama. “What you were, where you came from, it is behind you, Amadahy. You now exist solely for the purpose of service. The People are at war, you see, a war with the Storm, and you serve the People in this struggle. And that,” he wagged a finger at her, “is why my desires and your desires have no weight in this World.”

Ama felt as if someone were tipping the room from side to side. Her determination to act out her part and wait for Seg to step in wavered as she stared at Flurianne. Was that what Gressam expected her to become? That perfect, lifeless, obedient doll?

“No.” She shook her head vigorously. “No, I came to this world for Seg. I want to go back to him. I didn’t do anything wrong. Why won’t anyone listen to me?”

Gressam stepped behind her and placed strong, warm hands on her shoulders. “Shhh. You’re right, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

She tensed beneath him and he increased the pressure slightly.

“How could you know right from wrong in a new world, a world where you had not been taught how to exist? You could be expected to do this no better than I could be hurled into water and expected to stay afloat. The People are not perfect, Amadahy. Merely superior.”