Warp World (80 page)

E
ven as Nallin choked on the smoke and dust inside the rider, her hand reached blindly for her viscam.
I’m probably in shock
, she thought.
Sane People would check for injuries first
. The pain brought on by the resulting laugh told her that she had suffered some damage, perhaps only from the harness—she had slammed hard when the rider crashed—or perhaps more serious. She would worry about that later.

Viscam firmly in hand again, and in one piece, she flipped it on and unlatched her harness.

A jerky revolution captured the mess inside. Up front, the pilot hung half out the cockpit window to one side—limp and at an unnatural angle. Blood sprayed the cockpit, though that was already coated with grit and looked more black than red.

A hand reached in and guided her onto the tarmac. Eraranat. How had he made it out already? She barely had time to finish the question in her mind before he was back inside the rider again, helping pull out the wounded.

Out of the smoke, her head began to clear. She hunched against the rising wind, a torn flap of fabric from her jacket whipping against her back. She could see Eraranat’s bodyguard, Manatu, was injured. His left arm hung slack. The dark-haired caj was scraped and bruised but intact. One of the raiders had dragged out the body of another. Two casualties, so far. Other raiders limped or worked to staunch bloody wounds.

She backed up to get a wide angle of the rider. It was a miracle they had made it to this small landing area. A bigger miracle that anyone had walked away. The craft was a wreck. One side had been peeled open, by either the Etiphar weapons or the landing, impossible for her to say which. It had all happened in a blur.

Julewa. Despite Eraranat’s assurances that the Keep would be under his control, she could scarcely believe she was standing on this legendary piece of ground. She turned the viscam to take in the view—the first chronicle of this fortress in over a hundred years. He had done it. The Storm-crazy Theorist had actually taken it.

With an army of Outers, no less.

When the World learned of this feat, Eraranat would change from celebrity to legend. The World’s first hero since Lannit
’s death and disgrace
.

She took a painful breath and moved closer to Eraranat, who was pulling a Storm cell out from the rider. She had to shout over the howling wind to get his attention.

“Shouldn’t we get inside?”

“Help the wounded get in.” Seg looked over her shoulder and she panned the viscam to catch one of the Outer troops running toward him. “Viren! Take charge of this, get these people inside!”

“I’ve got a more important job right now.” The Outer, Viren, reloaded his chack and wiped the sweat from his face beneath his raised visor. Nallin focused the viscam on the Outer and Seg.

“Hult, you’re in the Guard now,
” Seg said. “I
f you don’t follow orders, I’ll shoot you where you stand! We’ve got a Storm closing in, you need to get these people inside so I can extract—”

“Ama and Shan.” Viren raised a hand to the sky and pointed to where the wounded rider had traveled. “I saw. And the good lieutenant will carve me a new orifice if I let you go out there alone. Not that I need his motivation. So, come on, I’ve got our ride down.”

As they argued, a one-armed Outer rushed past. With his one hand, he hoisted an injured raider across his shoulder and hurried back to the safety of the Keep.

“Theorist?” Seg’s bodyguard staggered to his feet.

“Elarn!” Seg said to a waiting medical. “Keep Manatu inside until the Storm’s passed. Viren and I are going to get the rider crew.”

“That’s insane,” Elarn called to Seg and Viren’s rapidly departing backs.

Nallin turned her viscam to Seg’s bodyguard.

“Theorist!” Manatu yelled. “Don’t go out there!” Another raider pulled him away as the group retreated into cover. Around them, small warps began to bubble into sight and she hurried to catch the rarely-seen phenomenon on the viscam as she followed Seg and Viren to the Keep’s wall.

The two men climbed into a metal basket just barely big enough for both of them. The Outer worked the controls and they descended to the wasteland floor at a dizzying speed.

She raised the viscam to capture the scene one last time before seeking shelter. The winds ahead of the Storm were picking up speed, swirling dust and debris. The shuttle passengers were headed for the safety of the Keep’s walls. All but Eraranat’s caj. She was also at the wall, both hands gripping the rail as she watched her master’s progress. She wore an expression of worry and longing that did nothing to diminish her beauty.

She was only caj but Nallin had witnessed Seg’s strange affection for Outers and guessed he wouldn’t be thrilled to see any of them come to harm.

“You!” She called to the caj as she lowered the viscam. “Get inside, now!”

The caj raised her face and something in the eyes made Nallin hesitate. Something altogether too controlled. And then it was gone, the pitiful longing was back in its place, as she nodded and fell in just a step behind Nallin.
Better watch my back
, Nallin thought, then she smiled at the ridiculousness of the notion. As if a Person, and a seasoned veteran such as herself, had anything to fear from this Outer girl.

“He did what? And Viren let— Yeah, of course he did, he’s the boss,” Fismar said over the comm.

He waved a halt to the troops, then kicked over the nearest movable object, a trash receptacle. The square bin bounced off the large steel doors blocking the main access ramp to the residential levels. A Kenda trooper looked up from his position outside the door to the habitation block, irritated until he saw who had caused the disturbance. He turned back without a word and continued to affix demolition charges, purloined from the power room, to the door’s hinges.

“Un-karging-believable!” Fismar shouted.

“Viren again?” Cerd asked.

“Worse, the Theorist. We’ve got a rider down, and his crazy ass is off chasing it in the wastes with a Storm bearing down in seventeen and a half minutes. Viren, of course, is following him.” He turned to address the weary troops. “This is why I don’t like letting the dangly bits intermingle in a unit. Go karg a caj if you need the relief!”

“Ama?” Cerd asked.

“Don’t tell me you’ve got it for her too.” Fismar groaned. “Listen, they’re out there, we’re in here. Everyone’s got to deal with what’s in front of them. Now let’s go finish our job and save these kargers.”

“Sorry, Lieutenant.” Cerd double checked the ammo load on his chack. “Good to go.”

Fismar stepped back out and cued up his comm. “Ground Lead, Wyan?”

The comm clicked twice, a silent signal that Wyan’s people had moved into position.

“Get ’em,” Fismar whispered.

The doors blew inward from their hinges. Wyan’s team swarmed in, leading with blades to clear the surviving guards. Screams of terror and the wails of children echoed through the lower habitation blocks. Fismar darted through, then crouched down and whistled at the scope of the habs stretching out below.

“This is like a roomier undercity rig down here. You could stack up ten thousand People inside these walls, easy.” He turned to the small cluster of Kenda behind him, who flanked their Etiphar assistant. “Okay, Hephier, your time,” he said in the boy’s tongue.

The boy stepped forward with slow, pained steps. A reminder that he had barely recovered from his wasteland ordeal.

“Everyone, it’s Hephier. Hephier Bendure. You’re safe. Come out, you’re safe!” He called out in the antique language of the Etiphars.

Nothing happened. The hostages remained hidden and were now deathly silent. Fismar nodded for Hephier to continue.

“This isn’t a trick. These men aren’t our enemies. They’re here to help us. They saved me in the wastes. Please come out and—”

A single figure appeared. A woman. Her face was gaunt, her brown hair streaked with gray, but her eyes were sharp as they moved from Hephier to the Kenda. Her dress looked as if it had come from a museum—rough cloth, which was not huchack fiber, woven with patterns that had not been seen on the World for centuries. Slowly, she raised her hands and reached toward the boy. They moved as one.

“Mama.” Hephier fell forward into waiting arms.

Fismar and the Kenda remained quiet as Hephier’s mother stroked his hair and face.

“They lied to us. They all lied to us!” He broke down in sobs as the woman wrapped him tighter.

She didn’t let him go as she looked directly at Fismar. “Thank you, for bringing him back. Are the rest dead?”

After a surprised pause, Fismar answered. “A few aren’t.” For a moment, he thought he had been looking at House Marshal Devian Bendure, so striking was the resemblance. “A few wounded, some still sneaking around the ventilation shafts. The rest—” He nodded at the blood stains on his arms. “Lieutenant Fismar Korth of the Eraranat House Guard. Julewa Keep is now the property of Segkel Eraranat.”

For the next ten minutes or so, until the Storm eats him
.

“Carenna Bendure,” the woman said. “My pairmate once oversaw a great deal of this Keep and, despite my lowly position as an unworthy female, I managed to learn all about it.” She looked around at the women, girls, and young children who were slowly emerging from their hiding places. “If you’re going to take over, you’re going to need my help.”

As they neared the ground, Seg pulled himself up on the line, to get his legs clear of the cramped basket, and dropped. He hit the ground, rolled away, and came to his feet at a run. He unslung the chack, scanning ahead as he ran.

The wildlife was beginning to show, running ahead of the Storm.

“Nen’s death.” Viren coughed, at Seg’s side. “How do you expect to find them in this?”

Seg slowed enough to slave his comm to Viren’s exclusively. “Visor display. I’m tracking the beacon. We have one ejection seat, one-point-two kilometers on this bearing.”

Fifty-fifty.

It had to be her. The alternative could not be contemplated.

“One seat,” Viren said, echoing his thoughts. Then he raised his chack and fired just ahead of Seg. There was a loud scream and a six-legged gathac collapsed in a pool of dark blood. “Not a good place to chat.”

“Agreed.” Seg veered left as another predator lunged for the fresh carcass. Ahead, creatures known as Dust Trippers used the force of the dust cloud to skip and float across the wasteland floor. Their feet barely touched the ground. They were a sight few humans had ever seen up close.

Seen and lived.

Warps shimmered through the air around them, but Seg had no interest in their ephemeral beauty. The sky had gone nearly black; he switched on his light amplification.

As long as the amp-light shone, they weren’t in the Storm yet. Once it was gone, so were they.

Lungs burning, Seg rounded an outcropping and the outline of the seat appeared in his visor. An arm projected from one side, feebly waving a pistol. Two dead scavengers lay at the foot of the chair, five more circled, snarling and hissing. Seg aimed his chack and fired at the rest of the pack. Viren joined in next to him and the predators scrabbled off to find easier prey.

Seg jumped down from the rock and reached to unlatch the seat’s five-point restraint. The figure pulled off her helmet, releasing a spill of short, dark hair.

“Shan.” Seg’s face, hidden behind his visor, collapsed.

She stared for a moment, unbelieving at first. “I’m sorry.” Her bottom lip quivered, and she winced. Her left leg had broken in the landing and there were undoubtedly a host of other injuries. “I told her to eject, I—”

“Shh, that’s enough.” Viren slipped his arms under Shan. She cried out as he lifted her.

“We need the Storm cell!”

Seg heard Viren call but he had already turned away, to follow the path of the downed rider.