Warp World (57 page)

“Life endures everywhere. Here, life simply has to hide or keep moving. Stay in my tracks. There are hundreds of ways to die in the wasteland,” Seg said.

Ama considered their meager stock of food and water. That was the least of their problems. Along with a host of other threats, the festering wound on her arm and her raw and lacerated feet would put a quick end to their journey if they didn’t find a working auto-med soon.

How thin the threads of their lives were at this moment; Ama tried not to think on it too closely.

“The Storm did this?” She gestured to the land, cracked and hard beneath their feet, and the distant, barren horizon.

Seg nodded. “We used to have forests, grasslands, icecaps, and deserts. Long before living memory. Hold on—” He held up his hand, lifted his weapon, and waited. After a moment, satisfied by whatever he saw, or did not see, he lowered the chack again and continued walking. “We lost three students in my class in wilderness survival training. Wariness is essential.
”

Ama looked over her shoulder, wondering what clue she might have missed. Despite the pain walking now caused, she sped up to keep close to Seg.

“How long has the Storm been here? Where did it come from?”

“It arrived around a thousand years ago, give or take. Record-keeping is spotty from the early arrival. Our data recording at that time was almost entirely electronic and the Storm disrupts electronics. That’s why we always make hard copies for permanent records now.”

He stopped, squatted, lifted a stone and hurled it forward. When there was no response he moved ahead. “We have no idea where it came from. So far as we can tell, it just … came.”

“It feels …” She considered how to describe her experience to Seg in a way he could comprehend. There was only one word that made sense. “Alive. Whenever I’m close to it, I can hear things, voices.”

“As I said, some are sensitive to the Storm. Yours may be the most extreme reaction I’ve seen, but that could simply be a matter of physiology. Perhaps your dathe? Headaches are common. Storm dreams are a well-documented occurrence. I’ve experienced them myself—vivid, almost to the point of hallucination.”

“But I’ve been awake, every time.”

Seg shrugged. “I’m not a scientist. Shyl would be fascinated.”

“Who?”

“A friend.” Seg slowed his pace to accommodate her. “In any case, thorough study of the Storm is impossible. No electronics can survive within it. No humans, either, for that matter. As best we can determine, it is a form of raw energy, similar to electricity or a magnetic field.”

“Then why does it need vita?”

“That remains a mystery.”

“So you built the cities, and the Well, learned to steal vita.” She spoke mostly to herself, then added: “Survival.”

In her right hand she held the knife Fismar had given her. While she suspected it wouldn’t be of much use against any of the predators here, it made her feel not completely defenseless. She felt a new appreciation for what it must have been like for Seg on her world, full of dangers he hadn’t known about and couldn’t have prepared for.

“Shan said people live out here. I can’t believe that,” she said.

“Renegades, bandits, escaped caj. Us soon enough, one way or another. There are oases left, enough to survive. Barely.” He stopped and ran his hand through his dust-caked hair, then checked his digifilm.

Ama stopped in place. “Shan! She was at the hangar last night, when the CWA came after you. What’s going to happen to her?”

“She’s in my employ, but not liable for my actions.”

“But if the CWA came after you—”

“I was the target. The Kenda are Outers and, in the eyes of the People, disposable. Without me, Shan’s role in all this is meaningless. The CWA won’t waste the resources pursuing her. Worse to worst, she’s unemployed. It won’t be easy for her to find another piloting job, but she won’t go down with the rest of us or be stuck out here.”

Ama felt a mixture of relief for Shan’s safety and sadness that she had lost her friend, and her chance to fly. She resumed her walk but the gravity of the situation weighed more and more heavily with each step.

“Will they come looking for us out here?” She glanced back at the city, slowly shrinking behind them.

“That will depend on my grafted market value. There will be the usual cost/reward analysis before they decide whether it’s worth coming after me. I imagine there are a few buyers who would pay quite a high price to have me as their caj.”

Ama studied his face and saw no humor there. She took his free hand in hers and grasped tightly, despite the ache from the wounded arm.

“So, now it’s your turn.” She smiled at his puzzled expression. “Teach me about the wild lands and creatures of your world.”

“Well.” He glanced up at the sky, then down at the site of Ama’s injury. “You’ve already encountered the perasuls. They are much smaller descendants of perasavs, which could easily snatch and carry off an adult human.”

Ama’s eyes darted skyward.

“Extinct,” Seg assured her. “Not enough food for the perasavs anymore. But their perasul cousins are just one in a long list of predators to watch for out in the wasteland.”

Seg’s eyes moved from the digifilm to the surrounding landscape in a repeating cycle. The sun had reached its apex hours earlier; lengthening shadows reversed course.

“Are we close?” Ama asked.

She was never one to complain about physical discomfort but Seg could tell from the ragged edge in her voice that the torn flesh of her arm and her inflamed feet were wearing her down. She would not be able to walk much further, which made what he had to tell her all the worse.

“We’re here.”

She turned in a slow circle and Seg knew she saw what he did: nothing. They had arrived at Fismar’s coordinates but neither he nor any of the Kenda were here. Not even a boot print to offer a glimmer of hope. However clever Fismar’s plan might have been, it had failed.

“No,” Ama said.

“Ama, listen—” He reached out a hand but she shoved it away.

“No. No, they’re here. Somewhere. They aren’t dead. Fismar’s too smart to let that happen. We have to keep looking. There’s still daylight.”

“You can barely walk.”

“I can keep going!”

“We can look again tomorrow. You need to rest and we need to find shelter.” Seg grabbed her good shoulder to steady her. He didn’t like the wan color of her skin or the beads of sweat gathered at her forehead. He spoke again, slowly, weighting each word so that she would understand the importance. “You need to rest.”

Though she didn’t answer or even nod, her lack of argument was indication enough that she understood.

“Our priority is shelter,” he said. He studied the topography of his digifilm map, scrolling in every direction. There was a rock bluff close by. If they could find a small cave or even an overhang, they might be able to gather enough stones to wall themselves in for the night. It would be laughable protection from the Storm, if it came, but would at least offer cover if their enemies came searching, as well as protection from wasteland predators. “I think there’s a—”

He looked up and blinked. She was gone.

“Ama!” He turned to see her hobbling off into the emptiness.

“I know they’re here,” she shouted, without turning back.

Damn it.
Would she ever learn not to go tearing off on her own on this World?

“Get back here,” he called. “It’s too dangerous to—”

A flash. Not a glint, but a flash. In the distance, dull metal, caught by the anemic rays of the sun. Seg’s mind processed the clue in a fraction of a second, but by then he could already see the barrel of the concealed weapon tracking her path. The assassin was lining up a shot.

“AMA!” He dropped his pack and sprinted toward her.

There was the sound of tearing canvas, as the projectile cut through the air. In slow motion, he saw her tumble, a spray of blood fountaining. He was screaming her name, running, turning his chack toward the hidden attacker.

His lips peeled back in a war cry. “NO!”

“BLOOD FOR WATER!”

The words weren’t his. Or Ama’s. And they were shouted in Kenda.

“Seg! Don’t shoot!” He turned to see Ama struggling to stand.

Dazed, he slowed his run but did not lower his weapon. His finger rested on the trigger, ready to fire.

From a distant cluster of rocks, where Seg had spotted the weapon, a figure emerged. Then another. The figures held their weapons out, barrels pointed to the ground.

Seg arrived at Ama’s side to find her bloodied but smiling. She pointed to a wide, wet circle in the sand at her elbow. A pool of dark blood bubbled up from below.

“Whatever that is, I just about ran right into it,” she said, between labored breaths.

The clues came together slowly, as Seg stared past Ama at the bloody ground.

“Lurkiya,” Seg said.

“That had to be Swinson.” Ama pointed to the distant figures, grinning. “He’s the only Kenda who could make that shot.”

Seg shook his head and sank to his knees as the adrenaline rushed out of his system. He lowered his chack, called out for the Kenda troopers to join them, and pointed a warning finger at Ama. “The next time you run off like that …”

He was too winded to finish the threat. Ama laughed, and helped him to his feet.

Alive. Two Kenda troopers had survived. At least two. More than Seg had hoped for only moments ago. Hopefully Trooper Swinson and his partner were not alone.

The two kilometer walk to the camp passed quickly. Ama’s discomfort had been temporarily alleviated by the joy of the reunion with her kinsmen, Troopers Swinson and Handlo, who were happy to shoulder her weight. Seg kept his composure stern—he was still the leader of these men—but his relief lightened his steps as well.

The code in the book was genuine, left by Fismar in the hopes that Seg would find it. The coordinates weren’t for Fismar’s camp, but for an open area where he could post a camouflaged lookout team. On the off chance someone else had discovered the book and cracked the code, Fismar was not foolish enough to lead them right to his men. The lookout troopers’ orders were twofold—first, verify Seg’s identity; second, before making contact, ensure no one was following him. Ama’s near run-in with the lurkiya had complicated the situation. It had also almost gotten someone killed, Seg had reminded her.

“The Lieutenant’s sure going to be happy to see you,” Handlo said. His voice had the harsh tang of thirst to it, gritty as the desert air.

“How many survived?” Seg asked.

“All of us,” Swinson said. He nodded to the stone mounds, behind which Fismar’s camp waited. “Kype lost an arm, some others got chopped and cut on the way out, but everyone’s still breathing, and we’ve got auto-meds.”

“Good shot, by the way,” Ama said.

“Think I like this banger.” Swinson tapped his free hand on the butt of his slung rifle.

As they passed through the boulder garden and into the camp, Seg saw others moving around. He silently counted and then, for the first time in a while, smiled. They truly were all alive. However he had managed to shelter them, Fismar had accomplished some sort of miracle.

As the pair approached, whistles passed through the Kenda encampment. The familiar faces were more unkempt now, their uniforms disheveled and tattered, but they were here.

Fismar emerged from a rocky cleft.

“Theorist,” he said, “your Guard is present, numbered, and ready for work.”

F
ismar led Seg and Ama through the cluster of boulders where the troops were camped. From a distance, the camp had been invisible. Low tents were scattered in no pattern. Lean-tos, set to desert camouflage, were stretched between boulders, ensuring nearby cover was always at hand. Between the camouflage and the hot rocks that hid the men’s thermal signatures, even a low-flying rider would find it nearly impossible to spot anything unusual.

“We made it through with full complement,” Fismar said. “A couple of wounded. Kype lost an arm but Elarn’s got him stabilized. We’ve had some minor bumps out here and one poison case the auto-med caught. But that thing’s done its job.
”
He pointed at a cylinder planted in the soil near where they stood.