Warp World (43 page)

Jarin waved an impatient hand. “Shyl’s choice of residence is her business—let us move on to ours.”

“Yes, let’s,” Ansin said. “Beginning with your protégé. It seems that dramatic events will follow your former pupil throughout his life.”

“So it seems,” Jarin agreed. “Nevertheless, matters have been handled, he has been steered onto the proper course with the Question, and we have a grip on events.”

Ansin shook his head and leaned past Shyl to look Jarin in the eye. “Let’s not leave
matters
behind so quickly. This business with the caj, why did it occur in the first place?”

Jarin’s expression darkened. “She was ill-informed as to the protocols required of her on the World and in Cathind.”

“Because she had not been processed. Nor has the other one. Both remain ungrafted. And he is still training an armed body of Outers in Old Town. Very curious, such actions from the son of a man whose entire career revolves around keeping caj properly industrious and non-rebellious. Did some element of
corruption
enter Eraranat’s training?”

Jarin’s face paled and his ears rang with the buzz of tension. “Ansin Sael,” he said, softly, “you will retract that statement.”

He felt Maryel and Shyl tense on either side of him, but his vision had narrowed down to a black tunnel focused on the man he faced.

“This is counter-productive,” Maryel said.

“He will retract the statement.” Jarin forced the words out from a tightened throat.

Ansin looked back at him, unflinching. At length, he nodded. “I retract the comment, Theorist Svestil.”

Jarin’s muscles loosened slightly, but he waited for Ansin to look away before he allowed himself to relax. Maryel wore a look of disdain, while Shyl was obviously disturbed.

Maryel tapped her digifilm. “Returning to pertinent matters, Eraranat has indeed shown vast improvement in taking the protocol of the Question seriously, and while he is of course lying to us about the events of his time extrans and evading the truth, he is at least covering it well enough to pass muster.”

“So, we pride ourselves in teaching young Theorists how to better deceive us now?” Ansin asked.

“Deception has always been central to our craft. Don’t romanticize the past, Ansin,” Shyl said. “Lying to the Council is a time-honored tradition going back to the founding of the Guild.”

Ansin’s face soured. “The rest of you may find shadowy affairs and deceptive politics acceptable, but if we readily sacrifice our integrity, what will we have left to defend?”

“Please do not presume to lecture me on the value of integrity,” Maryel said. “I find it as distasteful as you, but if we are to effect a transition to new values that will allow the People to survive, deception is the tool we must use. If we follow your path, we will die comfortably in our virtue and carry our entire species into death with us.”

“For some, deception is the virtue.” Ansin’s gaze returned to Jarin.

“Thank you.” Jarin sat up once more. “Now, onto matters of greater import than philosophy. Yes, Segkel has learned his lessons and in the way that he typically must be forced to learn them: via harsh experience. There is a matter of concern approaching, however.”

“The Haffset Victory Commemoration,” Shyl said.

“Indeed,” Jarin said.

“When will we be able to rely upon this young man to appear in public without having to fear some sort of World-wide disruption?” she asked. The quartet looked at each other, then Shyl snickered. Ansin followed with his own small laugh, and even Jarin smiled. Maryel remained stern and unamused.

“It’s a
party
,” Ansin said, after a lengthy pause. “I would hope that he can avoid engaging in any large-scale theatrics.”

“I will also attend,” Jarin said. “To advise and guide him.”

“I wish I could find relief in that,” Maryel said.

A
ma was determined not to cry out, no matter how ruthlessly Lissil tugged the brush through her hair, ripping through knots with no consideration for the scalp below.

She hadn’t been back in Seg’s quarters since the night she had run away and she hated it even more now than she had before. Not least because of Lissil, who seemed so at home.

The Welf had already been dressed and groomed when Ama arrived—an extravagant costume that used some kind of invisible electronic device to make it look as if she was a walking forest. Green and gold leaves, dappled with fake sunlight, spread across the surface of the gown. The leaves and shadows moved as Lissil did. Highlighting the effect was the face paint, which made her look like some woodland nymph peeking through the trees. This was all topped off by her hair, with swirls upon swirls intertwined with gold leaves. It was nothing Ama would even consider wearing, but the creation was mesmerizing.

In contrast, Ama had been draped with a plain blue dress and simple shoes. “Just what you asked for,” Lissil had said. She had been waiting with the dress and armed with an array of primping and painting tools when Manatu brought Ama inside.

Manatu. Manatu had come to the hangar to collect her. Not Seg.

Now they were in the middle of the common room, in front of the wallscreen, which had been set to reflective. Ama sat on one of the chairs as Lissil flitted around her. She had insisted on face paint, “just to highlight.” And while the finished product was considerably less elaborate than Lissil’s, Ama felt more than ever like a piece of property to be molded and shaped and decorated. Not that she had a choice; instructions had been specific: Lissil was in charge of organizing this evening; Ama was to obey without question.

A decorative blue scarf, wound around her neck to cover her exposed dathe, completed the ensemble.

Lissil
tch
’d as she held up two sections of hair, ragged and uneven. “Who attacked you? Did those pirates living in Old Town do this?”

“I did it,” Ama said, then pressed her mouth closed again.

Lissil
tch
’d again, reached into a small tub of goop and slicked a handful over Ama’s unruly locks. “You’re going to shame all of us, looking like this.”

“Good.”

“You know, if you do shame us he’ll probably send you back there. So go ahead, be a disgrace.”

Ama took a deep breath in through her nose, to calm herself. But her hands gave her away; she instinctively moved to tuck them into the pockets of her flight suit but she was wearing the dress now and it offered no refuge. She tucked them under her legs instead.

“Just finish. I want to get this over with,” Ama said.

“I tried to warn you.” Lissil looped the short strands of Ama’s hair over a pulsing wand that smoothed and curled them into waves. “Just as I am trying to warn you now, though I don’t know why I bother. You’re as stubborn as a gresher and half as smart.”

Behind them, the main door whooshed open. Seg entered the common room with hurried strides, tugging off his coat as he walked. Ama kept her face forward, eyes down, determined not to look at him.

“You’re late.” Lissil’s words were chastising but her tone was friendly. She reached for his coat just as he pulled his arm free. “And I’m sure you haven’t eaten. Again. There’s a roll of cintz in the cooling cupboard.”

Ama heard him stop in place. She swore she could feel his eyes on her, though he remained silent.

“Your dress uniform is ready and waiting for you in your sleeping quarters. Manatu is in there dressing, as well—I warned him to be done in the cleanser before you returned,” Lissil said. She brushed off his coat and draped it over the couch. “House Haffset is sending a trans.”

“Good, good,” Seg said.

In the wallscreen’s reflection, Ama watched Lissil lower into a respectful bow. When she stood again, she swayed from side to side to display the leaves of her dress in motion. “Acceptable?”

“Impressive,” Seg said.

“Thank you, Theorist,” Lissil said, and Ama knew she was blushing beneath all that paint. She placed her hands on Ama’s shoulders, stood her up, and turned her to face Seg. “I’ve done my best. If I’d had more time to prepare I could have done something about the hair but—” She brushed a finger across Ama’s cheek and laughed softly. “—at least we found a woman under all that dirt and grease.”

Ama raised her eyes to Seg’s and saw her own confused emotions mirrored on his face. He looked tired, the way she remembered him from the battle at the temple.

Seg opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by Manatu’s appearance.

“Not too late to call in a few more bodies,” Manatu said. He double-checked the battery on his chack, then holstered it beneath his vest.

“Your protection will be sufficient, Manatu. This isn’t a recon mission, it’s a party,” Seg said.

“A party you will be late for soon.” Lissil smiled and urged him off to dress.

Once Seg was gone, Lissil pushed Ama back down into the chair to finish her work. When she was done, Lissil fixed her with one last, appraising look, then nodded to indicate that this was the best she could hope for.

“Up, up! That dress is bad enough as it is without crumpling and creasing it!” Lissil said.

She stood reluctantly, and Lissil launched into another long recitation of the rules and protocols for the evening. Ama could have explained to Lissil that she knew the rules more thoroughly and in greater detail than she ever would, after Gressam’s inhumane lessons, but she found it easier to lose herself in Lissil’s droning voice than to think about Seg.

“Caj are to remain at least two paces behind their owners unless directed otherwise. Manatu will be at the Theorist’s side, for his protection; we will walk behind the Theorist, or beside Manatu. Follow my lead, and stay quiet. As for introductions …”

Ama’s mind wandered back to the hangar, Shan, and the rider. She already missed her friend’s colorful curses and the smell of the machine. Her frustration with the party, and her role as caj, was softened by the knowledge that tomorrow she would return to her work. Soon, she would fly, and all this would be behind her.

When Seg returned, Lissil rushed to his side to fuss over the details of his charcoal-and-gold dress uniform. “Your auction speech is on here.” She passed him a digifilm. “I’ve also downloaded the guest roster, if you want to review it.”

“I suppose I am expected to be versed in such trivialities.” Seg dropped the films into his pocket as Lissil tugged on the ends of his coat sleeves.

She stood back to admire him. “Very dashing.”

Ama wanted— She didn’t quite know what she wanted in that moment. To run? To disappear into the wall? To lash out at Lissil, or Seg? She thought she had been prepared for anything. But this comfort between them—comfort that spoke of hours together in these close quarters and Lissil dutifully serving her master, while she had suffered under Gressam’s heel—twisted Ama’s insides. Had she been so wrong about Seg all along?

“Don’t forget this.” Lissil snatched the controller for Ama’s collar off the countertop and passed it to Seg.

“That’s mine!” Ama cried, breaking her silence at last.

“It is, but not tonight,” Seg said. “Rules. For the course of the evening, I must have it in my possession. Any misstep here and they will take you away forever.”

“And you’d let them,” Ama said.

“I am responsible for fifty-four lives other than yours. What I want doesn’t matter anymore.” He held up the controller to explain.

Ama listened to the speech with a blank expression. She knew all about the functions of the collar. It was set to allow her no more than fifty meters of freedom, any farther than that and, after ten minutes, a proximity alarm would sound. Another five minutes and the collar would trigger automatically. As she watched the controller drop into Seg’s pocket, her stomach knotted more tightly.

“This is duty,” he said to the group. “Let’s be done with it. We play our expected roles and make it as quick and painless as possible.”

The door chime sounded as if on cue.

“Let’s go,” Seg said.

Manatu was up front. Lissil fell in just behind Seg. Ama followed two steps behind her.

Yes, Master.

“Mar Gostin Dercy and guest,” the Haffset Accountancy announced.