WARP world (56 page)

H
er idea had seemed brilliant, until this moment. Ama’s palms were cold and slick with sweat, as she followed behind Jarin and his assistant, Gelad, to a large arch that marked the entrance to House Haffset’s Central Raid Planning Chamber.

Eyes downcast, she waited for her turn to walk through the machine that Jarin explained could see through people, through their clothes and even their skin. On her neck, the high, thick collar Jarin had given her to wear, bejeweled and studded with ornaments, grew suddenly heavier and more obvious. Despite Jarin’s assurance, she wondered if the machine would show the tiny device hidden inside, the means by which she would steal the raid data for Seg.

This is no worse than running and hiding from the authorities
, she reminded herself,
you got through that, you’ll get through this.

On the run, however, the goal had been to remain inconspicuous. The disguise she wore now was as far from inconspicuous as she could imagine. Rich, red fabric wrapped her in crisscrossing patterns that she would never have managed without Lissil’s help. Any visible skin was painted with intricate black swirls; even her face was covered with the designs. Her hair was coiled in black and red ribbons and her wrists and ankles sported thick bands, identical to the collar she wore. And although she had argued that the disguise would only draw attention to her, since she had stepped out of the cartul Seg’s people called a ‘trans’, no one had paid her even a passing glance.

Gelad went ahead of her. The machine screeched and hissed, Ama’s heart lurched. The man was pulled to one side where uniformed guards ran their hands over his body. Gelad was an old soldier, whose injuries were beyond counting, Jarin had explained. As impossible as it sounded, many of his body parts had been replaced or enhanced with metal; he would always set off the machines.

Gelad was waved through and Ama stepped up next. She stood statue-like, as the machine hummed, and waited for the dreaded noise.

“Clear,” she heard one of the uniformed men say, realizing only then that she had shut her eyes.

The first obstacle passed, she allowed herself a relieved breath as she hurried to Gelad’s side—her ‘owner’ for this undertaking—in front of a set of large, grey doors. Neither Jarin nor his man looked at her, something else she had been warned to expect. Caj are beneath the notice of People.

But the caj standing at the door was not invisible to Ama, even with the round, metal graft on the back of his neck that marked him as property. He wasn’t much taller than her and he was lean, all sinew and muscle, where his skin showed. But what caught Ama’s eye was his head. At first, she had thought the man wore a hat but a closer inspection revealed that the ‘hat’ was some kind of shell, which the man’s skull had grown around. As much a part of his body as his fingernails or teeth.

His job, that she could see, was to open and close the large doors for those entering the room and he did so with haste. But, when no one was looking, he darted frequent glances to the tall, wide window inside the room, on the other side of the door.

He’s too confined.
Ama could feel his discomfort, the walls pressing in around him. Wherever he had come from, she imagined he must have roamed freely, in open spaces.

Jarin stepped to the door, and the man pushed it open. Ama’s dread returned in a flood as she cast her eyes on the room. The only thing that kept her from turning to run was the thought of her father.

With a steadying breath, she followed Gelad inside.

There were two tables that comprised most of the sprawling space–a solid round, inner table, and another table that encircled the first on two sides. It was at the outer ring that Jarin took his seat. This was the consulting table; he could follow the proceedings but was not allowed to participate or interject unless directly questioned by a member at the inner table. Even so, Ama noticed that several of those seated at the center table greeted the elder Theorist with nods and gestures. Except for one man, who fastened a stoney and unmoving stare on Jarin from the moment he entered.

This man, Ama guessed, must be the Fi Costk Seg had spoken of.

Ama waited for Gelad to sit, then knelt down beside him as she had been instructed. When her position was first explained to her, she had reacted with disbelief. Surely people would not allow themselves to be treated like furniture but now she saw, with no small measure of disgust, that it was true. There were at least thirty men and women in the room and, with the exception of Jarin, each had a personal caj attending them. Some caj, as she did, sat obediently at their owner’s knee; others tended to physical needs–massaging necks, hands, even feet: some seemed there only as an outlet for nervous energy, their owners absently running hands over their body or through their hair in the same way Ama used to fidget with her nove–which she did now with the heavy collar, though this time her movements were deliberate.

Another group of caj belonged solely to the House responsible for the raid; their primary function was to serve food and beverages or act as decoration. The caj from the front door was one of these and he was inside the room now, scurrying back and forth, tending to the needs of the various House members. Inside the room, with the door closed, the helmeted caj’s claustrophobia was even more pronounced. Ama wondered how anyone could fail to see it, or fail to care about his distress.

At one point, the caj froze, his face turned to the large window, an obvious attempt to calm himself. A moment later, however, he was on his knees, back arched, mouth open as if he were screaming, but no sound emerged. Ama started to rise, her every instinct was to rush to the man’s aid, but Gelad had surreptitiously hooked a finger into one of the rings on her collar and held her in place.

Eventually, the caj collapsed, panting for air as a woman stood over him, berating him. He recovered slowly, and rose to his feet. Ama’s stomach twisted, as she watched him return to his chores.

She forced her eyes away from the scene, to the world beneath the level of the table and the other kneeling caj. Some were looking at the spot where the helmeted caj had dropped yet none regarded the scene with any particular degree of shock or dismay. They didn’t speak aloud but Ama noticed these caj communicated between each other all the same, through looks, subtle gestures, finger taps. To her, they paid little attention, but there was a whole culture that lived below the table, below the eyes of the Lords and Ladies of Seg’s world.

Lost in this discovery, Ama nearly jumped when Gelad nudged her with his boot.

On her knees, she turned her body and began to knead and massage Gelad’s calves. This was part of her cover but that didn’t make the act any less distasteful.

Above her, the proceedings were not going well. The raider leaders were bickering over the target assignments and priortization. The House accountants were contesting the projected vita yields from targets. Jul Akbas, the woman Seg had spoken of, was offending everyone she spoke to. The proceedings were in a fine state of roil, when the House Master called out to Jarin. “Theorist Svestil,” he said “perhaps you could join us at the central table. We need Theorist representation at this venture.”

“It would bring me nothing but pleasure to do so, House Master,” Jarin answered. “But unfortunately I am bound by the rules of the Guild Charter, which states that a Theorist cannot be replaced upon his mission other than by reason of physical or mental incapacity, except by full deliberation of the Guild Council. The Council has called inquiry into this matter, but a proper inquiry will take in excess of the timeframe of this raid, what with the unfortunate compression of the timetable.”

There was a pause after Jarin’s words before the bickering resumed once more. As the voices above rose in pitch and strength, the world under the table grew more agitated. Caj traded fearful glances, some cowered, one petite young woman clutched her stomach as if she might be ill.

While Ama did not have to worry that her owner would take his frustrations out on her, she had more than enough concerns of her own. She left off massaging Gelad’s legs and moved up to his forearm, moving her hands in quick strokes, probing with her fingers until she found the patch of false skin. With a darting glance to make sure she was unobserved, she scraped away the rubbery material, while shielding the motions with her other hand.

Her wet palms did little to speed the process and each tiny shift of Gelad’s body sent paralyzing waves of fear down her spine. After an eternity, she had the small piece of metal palmed. Now the tricky part.

With a grunt from Gelad, she returned to her ‘relaxed’ position and fidgeted with the collar again. She had practiced the movement at least a hundred times, with the goal of making her fidgeting seem natural. But now, as she guided the small bit of metal into its holder—hidden within the collar—it seemed that every move was fake, an announcement of her disguise.

The metal slipped from her fingers, to the floor, with an audible
click
; Ama gasped.

I’m dead. I’m caught.

Just then, a woman launched into a loud, blustering diatribe and all heads below and above the table turned their attention to her. Ama scooped up the dropped bit as quickly and deftly as possible, then just as quickly, fastened it into place.

She closed her eyes and let her heartbeat settle. Too close. She placed her hand on Gelad’s left knee and squeezed twice.

“Redress!” a man above shouted, and rose to his feet.

“I’ll see you in the courtyard,” the cold, female voice replied.

“Stop this!” the House Master shouted over them both. “We will take recess of this meeting for a time. Take refreshment, make talk and we will settle this discord without violence. Are we barbarians? Are we Outers? The Seventeenth Virtue is Unity of Purpose and Action, and I will see it practiced in my home! Is that clear?”

There were muttered apologies, then, here and there, People rose to their feet, stretched their legs, tried to make conversation and defuse the tension that had gripped the room.

Gelad was one of those who stood. “Gonna go talk to my old bud,” he said, studying his fingernails. Then he rubbed his thigh and nodded to Jarin. “Works great. Good idea to get a tender for my battle aches, Theorist.” He rapped the back of his hand against Ama’s temple, the knuckles jarring her slightly as he jerked his head toward the center table, before he stepped through a gap and made his way toward the middle.

Once again, as she had been taught, Ama stood and followed just a step behind Gelad, hands clasped in front of her, eyes lowered. Around her, the other caj did the same. Their training demanded that they move as one with their owners, as if they were an extension of their body, but equally important was that they must never touch a Person unless ordered or invited. This made for an absurd and chaotic dance, as the owners moved freely and erratically, forcing their caj to be hyper-vigilant, even with their gazes toward the floor. There was more than one near collision, and the tension between the People was now transferring into their caj.

Ama stuck close to Gelad, thankful that his path was away from the main crush of bodies. He approached a silver-haired man whose skin was ashen and whose flesh hung from his face in loose folds. This was one of the Recorders; Jarin had showed her a likeness of the man. Gelad raised his palm in greeting. As soon as he stopped, Ama dropped to her knees at his side. Her hands once again rising to her collar, pulling and twisting at the baubles and rings protruding from its surface. With her thumb she pressed on a stud to start the device hidden within. As long as she stayed within five feet of the Recorder, all the information collected in his digipad, would transfer to the device she carried.

This part, however, was up to Gelad; she couldn’t move without him. He had to keep the Recorder close.

“Voz,” Gelad said, giving the Recorder a craggy smile, “been some time.”

The other man squinted, then grunted. “Hunh. Sergeant Gelad. Heard you’d come over to work for Svestil.
Theorist
Svestil,” he corrected himself. “Were the Orchara as bad as they said?” He nodded toward a pair of dusky-skinned caj garmented in gleaming, shiny-threaded clothing following one of the officers.

Gelad shrugged and held his hand out to accept a drink from a passing caj. “Had moments. Made a good deal off of that, sweetened the Service Termination Payment good.”

The other man nodded as he rose to his feet, lifted the digipad off the table and then slid it into his robe. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got urgent business here.”

As he passed by, stepping toward the space Ama occupied, Gelad grasped his shoulder. “Listen, some of the old hands have a fourth-day game in the RQ, get together, have some drinks, tell some lies. You be interested in that still?”

The man went stiff at Gelad’s grip. “No, I don’t think so.” With that, he stepped on, forcing Ama to scuttle awkwardly to the side as the Recorder made his way toward the cleanser. Gelad glanced down to confirm that she had acquired the data, then tensed at the sound of approaching footsteps and half pivoted as a stout woman called his name.

“Sergeant Gelad! You old rock!” Ama recognized the voice as one of the two whose arguments had brought the meeting to a pause.

The data successfully loaded into the device on her collar, thanks to the miracle of Seg’s science, Ama wanted nothing more than to return to the table or, better yet, to leave. But the drawback of being invisible was that she was…invisible. And she had to stay that way. A feat made difficult by this newcomer who moved with exaggerated steps around Gelad. Ama was forced to shuffle in all directions to avoid both the loud woman and her nervous caj.

“Charter Commander Myrd. So, were you really going to clear holster on Mixis?” Gelad asked, leaning close to the woman.

“That old bastard? By the Storm I would,” she said, then dropped her voice slightly. “Political officer. Can’t plan an operation to save his life. I tell you, I hope we end up on different ends of a House war someday. That’d be some easy pay.”