Warp World (69 page)

Tirnich crossed the last stretch of desert to the Keep’s wall, Slopper at his side. He was thankful that the information from Hephier suggested it was normal for approaching traders to be terrified. He doubted he could have masked his fear, though he did his best for the sake of his companion.

He was sweating rivers and not just because of the layer of rags and costume over top of his regular uniform, nor because of the long trek from the rider to the keep, but because the entire mission hinged on their success. Also, because Hephier had explained that the snipers on the Keep’s walls sometimes took random shots, even at friendly messengers, to assert Etiphar’s power in the wasteland. So he and Slopper not only had to be convincing, they had to be lucky as well.

“You want me to take that now?” Tirnich asked in a low voice, gesturing to the sack that held the carved stone idol they would present to the Etiphars as an offering.

“I’m okay,” Slopper said. “Really.” He staggered forward, eyes scanning constantly for threats from above and below.

“Follow my lead. Like the lieutenant says, don’t run unless there’s no other option, but make sure as the tides there’s no other option.” Tirnich’s voice dropped even further as they stepped into the shadow of the stone monolith. He could not yet see the snipers above them, but he knew they were there.

At first, he thought there had been a mistake—or a trick—but after a frantic search he noticed the signal post Hephier had told them to look for. Not really a
post
at all, it was a small recess in the Keep’s wall and, inside the recess, a button. With a deep breath, Tirnich pressed a trembling finger to the metal and pushed four times, in the sequence Hephier had shown him. Then he waited.

Minutes ticked by, nothing happened. Eventually, three dark outlines appeared high above them, weapons pointed at the two supposed traders.

Slopper raised his hands over his head, palms together, or as well as he could manage while holding the sack containing the statue. Hephier had emphasized the importance of maintaining the pose until the Etiphars activated the lift—a means by which they kept their visitors from drawing weapons

“They have to wait until we send up the offering before they shoot us, right?” Slopper’s arms shook visibly from the weight. Or fear. Likely both.

“Yeah, that’s right.” Tirnich’s hands were also raised, palms pressed together. In reality, the guards could shoot whenever they pleased, but Slopper didn’t need to know that.

They held in that position for a small eternity. When at last the lift, built onto the side of the cliff wall, began its slow creak downward to accept the offering, it was all Tirnich could do to keep from falling to his knees with relief. The metal box touched down and he nodded to Slopper and his package. “Slow. Real slow.”

“Don’t worry,” Slopper said. “We’re lucky, right?” He trembled as he approached the lift, the offering held out where the Etiphar guards could see. Hephier had not instructed them on that but, to Tirnich, it seemed appropriate. The statue was a ridiculous piece of work, crudely and hastily hewn compared to anything the Kenda had seen on their home world.

“Didn’t you say your sister works stone?” Slopper asked, as he lowered the statue into the lift and stepped back with his hands displayed.

“Some,” Tirnich said, his attention far from the whispered, nerve-fueled conversation. “She’s an artist. Sketches likenesses mostly.”

He stepped back as well, drawing in a tight breath as they waited once more. Either the Etiphar equipment was old and slow, or the guards liked keeping outsiders in suspense. Tirnich suspected the latter. Eventually, however, the lift began the long climb up, with the small idol and its hidden weapon inside. They waited until the lift reached the top and was emptied—as per protocol—and then Tirnich said, “Okay, that’s it. Turn slowly and let’s get out of here.”

“Now’s the part where they shoot us. But the lieutenant says that’s part of the job.” Slopper started back in the direction from which they had come. He didn’t look back at the guns they both knew were aimed at them as he began the long journey to cover.

“No, we’re safe,” Tirnich said. “See, they’re letting us go. I bet we make it back to the—”

A loud CRACK split open the air. A rock to the left of Slopper splintered and fine particles rained down.

Slopper bolted for the nearest cover. He at least retained the presence of mind to zigzag, as Shan had warned, before he dove in behind the small rock that could barely shelter him.

Tirnich sped up his pace but not to a full-out run. Another shot rang out, close but obviously meant to intimidate, not kill. Afterward, he swore he heard faint laughter from atop the Keep’s wall.

“Come on,” he urged Slopper as he marched by, “we’re almost out of range. They’re not going to waste any more ammunition; they made their point.”

Slopper rose from behind the rock, looked at Tirnich, then nodded and walked at a brisk pace.

When they were a safe distance away, Tirnich allowed himself a nervous laugh. “Told you it was good luck!” He looked at the drexla tooth around Slopper’s neck, almost hidden beneath the layers of bone and metal and other bits tacked on as part of their disguise. He had passed off his lucky charm the night before, to calm his friend’s worries.

Slopper looked down at the tooth and touched it. “I just hope we didn’t use it all up.”

“All loaded.” Fismar’s voice crackled over the rider’s comm.

“Your two are back on,” Shan said to Ama.

“Good.” Ama realized she had been holding her breath while Fismar spoke, and exhaled.

The rider sat in the rocky gully Shan had selected as a hiding place while they waited for the signal from the grabber. On the monitor that showed grainy views of the rider and the landscape, a small, scaled creature sniffed inquisitively at the landing strut, then jumped back as it encountered the mild electrical charge of the wildlife repeller.

Ama watched the creature hiss and scutter away, then shifted her attention back to the EW display in front of her. Shan had explained what she could expect to see when the grabber went to work inside the keep but so far there had been not even a blip.

“How long do you think it took Tirnich and Slopper to hike back from the Keep?” she asked Shan.

“Three hours. That’s why we risked sneaking in so close,” Shan answered. She studied the back of her flight glove, then lifted her knees and propped them up against her console. “I’d tell you to wake me up if anything goes off, but you don’t know what to watch for yet. It’ll be nice to get you trained up to a proper copie.”

Ama calculated the time of the hike and the time Shan and Fis had told her it would take for the grabber to seize control of the Etiphar’s system. “We should see something by now.” She buried the question burning inside her:
What if the grabber doesn’t work?

“We will or we won’t. This is battle. You’re lucky if half your plans work and you’re lucky if only half of your enemy’s plans do, too. This is a crazy scheme anyway, so don’t eat yourself up over it.” Shan leaned sideways in her seat. “Just be glad that we can run the enviro control up here so we’re not sweating like the stompers in the hold.”

Ama glanced over her shoulder with a sting of guilt. She had seen the battle dress in which the Kenda were outfitted—stifling would be a mild description.

“Shan!” she said, looking back at the display. “I’ve got something, but—” She shook her head. “—it’s not anywhere near the Keep.”

Shan jolted upright; her fingers flew over her console. “Remember what I said about being lucky to get half your plans going?” She studied the readouts off the beacons and tripped the internal comm. “Ground Lead, we’ve got Storm-sign coming at two-seven-three, thirty percent boundary with earliest current eclipse at seven-one-five.”

“On my way,” Fismar said over the comm. Shan thumbed the comm off before continuing.

“On my way,
Air Lead
, oh Lieutenant ‘I’m not karging around with comm protocol,’” she said.

“The Storm?” Ama was focused on the display and the new, flashing icon. “Son of a whore.”

“We still have a sixteen-hour raid window. Fis’ll make the call on that. Don’t start flapping your gills just yet.”

Fismar burrowed his way into the cockpit and reached over Ama’s shoulder to pull up her display. His fingers traced along the display, changing the angles and beacon inputs.

“Okay,” he said after a moment’s consideration, “we can work with that. It’ll just inspire everyone to get indoors quicker.”

“See?” Shan said to Ama.

“See,
Air Second
,” Fismar corrected. “Wake me up if anything interesting happens.”

Shan waited for a long moment after Fismar disappeared down the ladder, then muttered softly, “Sometimes that bastard gives me the shivers.”

Seg didn’t protest as he was pushed and dragged along by his captors. The hood over his head was an unnecessarily theatrical touch, since his final destination was likely a conversion chair for a graft implant, but he guessed Efectuary Akbas wanted that added piece of drama.

He heard a door cycle open; rough hands pulled him through. He was guided to a spot on the floor and shoved into a surprisingly comfortable chair.

So, there would be gloating before grafting. He swallowed and steeled himself.

The hood was yanked from his head. Seg blinked at the return of light to his world, and sputtered when he saw the man facing him.

“Hello Segkel,” Soumer Haffset said, smiling broadly. He sat in a chair, facing Seg, one leg crossed over the other, casually holding a cup in one hand as if this were a common welcoming procedure for visiting guests. He snapped his fingers and a caj ushered up to offer Seg a drink.

“What— what is this?” Seg asked as he took in the familiar expanse of the raid planning room. The difference now was the quiet. In all his previous experiences, the room had throbbed with activity, filled with people, buzzing and alive. According to reports from Ama, during her stint inside the room there had also been shouting, arguing, and occasional threats of redress. Now the room was occupied by just Seg, Soumer, and the serving caj. He glanced back as the door irised closed behind the guard, then took a welcome drink of water. It struck him as wasteful to have such a large space occupied by so few.

“According to raider Arel Trant
’
s comm, you asked for a meeting this morning.” Soumer sipped from his own glass. “I simply collected you before any of the other parties searching for you managed to do so.”

Seg took another drink. He set his glass on the table in front of him, using the time to gather his wits. “I would argue that I could have evaded such pursuit—”

“You’ll lose that argument. There’s a sizable price on your head and legions of displaced individuals looking for easy profits right now, Theorist. And you won’t blend in as easily here as you did on that primitive Outer backwater.” He rose from his chair and paced toward the large observation window. “Now, I cannot help you. You’ve racked up enough debt to cripple my yearly output if I marshaled the funds to extricate you from this mess. So the best I can offer is to put you back where I found you, and recommend you go back to wherever it was you were hiding. You’ve lost this fight.”

Seg leaned back in his chair as he considered the words. He let the silence drag until Soumer turned to face him and opened his mouth to speak.

“I’m not here for that,” Seg said. “I’m not here to beg for charity.”

“Then what
are
you here for?” Soumer asked with a note of impatience. “You have precious little to offer at this point, nothing to negotiate with.”

“My forces are striking Julewa Keep. They have initiated electronic infiltration of the Keep’s control systems. We have current internal schematics and force dispositions, as provided by a defector. I expect that within six hours I will receive the signal that the Keep has been successfully breached and taken.”

“Julewa? That relic? A museum defiled by degenerates. What in the name of the Storm would you want with Julewa?”

Seg rose to his feet and marched to Soumer’s side. He gestured toward the city outside the lone window. “Old Town. They’re going to let it die.”