WARP world (2 page)

“Okay, we’re thirty out from the nearest piece of settled ground,” Kerbin said to the gathered squad. “Eyes and ears open. There are Outers on this world just waiting to kill every kargin’ one of us. Don’t give them a shot. We’re the hunters; they’re the meat. Keep watch for dangerous bioforms. Plants, bugs, water, even the Storm-cursed dirt. We’ve lost troopers to every damn thing there is on a planet and there’s always a new way to die out here. Don’t be the idiot who finds it!”

Unlike the rest of the squad, Seg sat a slight distance away from the squad leader, watching the perimeter with his bodyguard. The danger curve for a fresh extrans through the warp spiked in the first hour, declined as the Bliss faded, then spiked again within the next eight hours as attention drifted and the first glimmers of familiarity led to the early dangers of relaxation. Kerbin knew those statistics as well as he did, and she worked to keep her veteran troopers sharp and alert. Her cadence and emphasis were born of training, practice, and experience, and served to command the attention of her people.

Well, at the very least, she had his attention. He had come to this place to facilitate conquest and capture, not to die in any of a million different barbaric ways such as pleased the local primitives.

“We stick to plan. What’s the first objective after successful extrans?” Kerbin asked.

“We make a grab on an Outer and pull the language out of ’em,” a small, wiry trooper replied. He was the squad’s long-range weapon specialist. On the other side, he had a relaxed demeanor. Here, however, he was all business, head moving in a slow, continuous motion as he swept the area with his electronically enhanced senses.

“Okay,” Kerbin said, pulling her visor back down, “let’s go collect the Theorist a specimen.”

Ama walked the fifty-foot length of the
Naida
, satisfied that the latest ‘temporary’ repair job to the skins was holding. There was a good wind blowing from the southwest; she gathered her loose, light blonde hair in her hand and twisted it back into a knot. It was the perfect day for a devotional cruise; her Damiar customers would get their money’s worth. As she reached the set of stairs leading from the dock to the upper deck of the boat, one of the passengers called out to her.

“You there, girl. Help Lady Uval with her bags,” the long-faced Lord ordered, waving his hand as if shooing away an insect.

“Captain,” Ama answered, forcing a smile. “You may call me
Captain
…Your Lordship.”

She grit her teeth, slung the heavy piece of luggage over her shoulder and made her way up the steps to the
Naida
. Why did these fat-assed Dammies think they needed so much fluffery for a flat-water day cruise?

“Captain Kalder!”

Constable Provert’s voice, just what she didn’t need to hear. Tossing Lady Uval’s bag to the deck, she hopped back down to the dock, out of hearing range of her much needed, paying customers.

“Constable,” she said as she shifted her bandaged right hand behind her back and raised her left palm skyward, “blessings of the Shasir upon you and—”

“You are on notice.” He dropped a folded piece of paper into her hand. “Again.”

“Is that all?” she asked, passing the paper back.

“No,” the Constable replied, his pleasure obvious even beneath his flat expression as he thrust the paper back into Ama’s hand, “Judicia Corrus has reduced the term of your license. You have thirty days to be off the water, permanently.”

“What?” she stared down at the paper, mouth agape.

“Girl!” one of the Damiar passengers called from the deck of the boat, “How much longer?”

Ignoring the question, Ama unfurled the notice and read. Eyes skimming over the list of her current offenses, she stopped at the last two lines.

In light of these and past violations, we hereby give notice that Captain Amadahy Kalder, of the vessel Naida, is to cease commercial operations on the first day of the following month. Failure to adhere to this notice will result in seizure of property and a term of Correction.

“He can’t do this; I was promised three months!” she protested, but Constable Provert was already halfway down the dock, weaving through the crowd. As she crushed the paper in her grip, Ama took off after him.

“Girl!” the Damiar called again.

“Provert!” Ama yelled, shoving bodies out of her way, “Get back here and explain this, you coward!” She was almost on him when she felt a set of hands grab her around the waist.

She whipped around, fists raised.

“Ama, what are you doing? Calm down.”

“Fa, I…”

Focused on the cause of her anger, she hadn’t noticed her own father, Odrell, on the dock. She turned her head to see Constable Provert climb into a cartul and drive away, then lowered her raised hands and let out a cry of frustration.

“He shortened the term of my license. Bloody Corrus thinks he can—”

“Hush!” Her father stepped closer and lowered his voice, “You know better than to curse the Judicia in public.”

His eyes directed hers far down the length of the dock, to the very end, where the black and charred remains of a cargo boat jutted from the river like the ribcage of a skeleton. Ama’s mouth closed and she felt the usual swell of fear and anger that accompanied the sight of any of the Judicia’s warnings.

At least they had taken down the body of the vessel’s captain, who had been hung from the bow. Not before all the other captains and crew had gotten a good eyeful, though.

“Besides, you should know by now that getting angry isn’t going to help your case.” As he spoke, he lifted her right hand, his mouth slipping into a smile at the site of the blood-speckled bandage wrapped around her knuckles.

She shrugged, “Some Westie called my
Naida
a floating scrap pile.”

“Tadpole,” he sighed, “your brother is one moon away from ascension and you have offers of marriage, good offers. Why can’t you put this aside?” He gestured to the non-stop bustle of the Banks: boats docking, casting off, loading, unloading or being repaired.

Ama tugged her hand away, “You don’t understand.”

“No, I understand too well,” her father said, placing his large hand on Ama’s shoulder and brushing the leather nove she wore around her neck with his thumb.

All the Kenda wore some form of the traditional collar but only Odrell understood the significance of his daughter’s decoration. The nove, well worn with use, had once graced the throat of Colwyn Kalder, his wife, Ama’s mother, who had taken her own life when Ama was just a child.

“I have a cruise,” Ama said, looking away, swallowing the lump in her throat.

“Go on then. I only came to make sure you’re still coming for family meeting tonight.”

“Gods beneath the waves,” Ama cursed, “I forgot.” Her mood sank even further. Thanks to the meeting, she would have to give up her planned paddle down the east fork of the Brahm.

“Language, Ama, language,” he said, and tugged sharply on her ear.

“Ow! Sorry Fa.”

“You’ll be there?”

“Yes,” she said, drawing out the word to two syllables.

“Blessings of our beloved Shasir’kia, for safe journey,” he said, turned his palm upward, then pulled her into a hug and whispered in her ear, “Nen guide you, my daughter,” in the secret language of the Kenda.

Her smile was bittersweet as she pulled away from her father and strode back to her anxious passengers.
Put this aside.
Yes, that is exactly what she had planned to do once she had made enough coin to refit the
Naida
and leave the Banks for good. How could she tell her family that, especially her father? The news would break his heart, which is why she had found too many excuses to postpone the telling of it. Not that it mattered now; Judicia Corrus would make sure she was trapped on shore forever.

“Girl! This is unacc—”

“My sincere apologies your Lordship. We’ll be off in a drop,” she called up to the Damiar pacing impatiently on deck, his many layers of robes flapping in the wind, like the plumage of an exotic bird.

Ama motioned to the dock runners to help her cast off the ropes, offering a quick whistle to the Captain of the neighboring cargo boat, by way of greeting.

“Another devotional cruise, sure you can handle that all by yourself, Kalder? I could send a man to help you.” Captain Brant Tather took a moment from directing his crew, as they hoisted a load aboard the
Greehm
, to take a jab at the
Naida
’s captain.

Ama smirked, “If you can find a real man on these docks, please, send him on over. I’m dying to meet one.”

“Another love letter from the authorities?” Captain Tather pointed toward the piece of paper in Ama’s hands.

“Yeah,” she said, crumpling the notice into a ball and tossing it in the river, “they just can’t stay away from me.”

“Hmph,” Tather snorted and moved closer, kicking aside a broken shell, the remnants of some gull’s breakfast, “you and the rest of us.” He looked left and right, then spoke just loud enough for Ama to hear, “Cargo levies were raised again and the fleet limit is now four boats. The Shasir won’t be happy until every last Kenda is crawling on their hands and knees like a Welf.” At the last word, he spit on the wood plank near his feet. “No disrespect to your brother,” he added, then returned to his work.

Ama nodded. No one could disrespect her brother Stevan’s esteemed place among the ranks of the Shasir holy men more than she already did but she was at least wise enough to keep her tongue stilled on that matter.

“Lords and Ladies,” she called, rousing herself to act the part of cheerful guide, as she climbed aboard the
Naida
, “the Halif River awaits!”

Leaping to cast off the lines to the dock runners below, she paused briefly at the stern, made sure none of her passengers were watching, then leaned over, and knocked twice on the hull for safe journey. It was a silly old superstition but these days she could use all the help the ancient Kenda gods could offer.

Ama pointed to the treetops, “There’s a blue hweztel, they come to the Halif this time of year to feed on the spring fry.” Above, a pair of sapphire blue wings circled over the water.

“How marvelous,” one of the Damiar Ladies replied, allowing her eyes to flick upward for a second before turning back to her companion. She fanned herself briskly, “I’m sure I’ll faint if we don’t find some shade soon.”

“Mm, I warned Flavert about these kinds of devotional tours,” the Lady next to her commiserated. “We pay our dues at the Sky Ceremony and that is more than sufficient devotion if you ask me.”

Not fifteen minutes earlier, Ama had listened to the same two women complain of the cold. Before that, it had been the seats (too hard), the drink (too bitter), the wind (too windy) and so on.

Only the stop at the Ymira Pavillion excited them as, swarmed by Welf servants, they were ushered off to be fed and waited upon under the shelter of canopies, overlooking the river.

Once they had gorged and drank themselves to their satisfaction, and had paused to leave a token offering at the temple, the passengers shuffled back aboard. Ama tossed a small bag of coin to the Pavilion’s caretaker and pushed off for the return trip downriver.

Beneath the weight of their petticoats and dresses, their bellies full of roast game meat and benga bread, the Damiar Ladies and some of the older Lords drifted off to sleep, in the way of the privileged classes.

Boring. Stupefyingly boring these devotional cruises were, and yet the Shasir would take even this away from her. As she rested her hand on the wheel, Ama let her gaze roam, watching the familiar trees scroll by and the hunting hwetzels circle overhead.

Even with the time she had originally been allotted, she would barely have been able to make enough coin to refit and stock the
Naida
for the voyage she had planned. And now? In thirty days?

Closing her eyes for a moment, she imagined—as she always did on the long, silent stretches of the river—extending the skins and pointing the
Naida’s
bow west. One day she would leave the docks of the Banks for good.

“Any more grint,
Captain
?” a man’s voice asked, too close to her ear.

Ama jumped out of her daydream. “Forgive me, Lord Uval…er, hold on, I’ll fill your cup.”

When she held out her hand for the Damiar’s cup, he grabbed her by the wrist and licked his lips. “Such fine bones you have. However do you manage this beastly craft all by your lonesome?”

Ama yanked her hand away. “I grew up with five older brothers. I know how to handle myself, your Lordship.”

The man’s long, sallow face, split into a wet grin. “I bet you do.”

She snatched his cup away, held it under the wooden cask on the transom and opened the nozzle. A moment later, she smelled the sour stench of old wine as Lord Uval pressed his face against hers and whispered, “Interested in side coin, after the voyage?”

There was always one. Always. Why were men so rutting predictable?

With a practiced movement, Ama’s hand flew to her waist, unsheathed the blade secreted on her back, and brought it around until the point rested against Uval’s crotch.