WARP world (58 page)

“Know my own history, thanks.”

“At the age of nineteen,” Jarin continued, unperturbed, “your persistent applications for a raider position paid off–a last minute opening on a mission, which you jumped at. That is where everything changed. You excelled and your superiors, recognizing your potential, moved you upchain with startling speed. You were a prodigy in your own right. First recon mission at the age of twenty-four. Impressive. Though, as I recall, that mission had some…challenges.”

“Kargin’ shit mess,” Kerbin said, her eyes assenting as she dipped into memory.

“But you came through the experience. Wiser, I should think. As Theorist Eraranat will come through this mission.”

“Cubs like Eraranat think extrans is some kind of vacation. Start letting Theorists run over recon squads the way he did over there and you’re gonna have stacks of bodies piling up at the warp gate. There’s a reason we run things tight. Like I said,” she leaned back and crossed her arms, mug still clasped in one hand, “I’m not letting him off on this. So if there’s any thing else you’d li—”

“I’d like to talk about your father,” Jarin said, cutting her off.

Kerbin slammed her mug down on the bar with a warning growl, the liquor sloshing over the sides. “How do you want to die, old man?” she asked, voice low and barely restrained.

“I’d rather not see it coming,” he said, as he pivoted to face her fully, “but it won’t happen here. And now that I have your undivided attention,” Jarin pulled a digifilm from his pocket, “let us discuss business.”

S
eg leaned forward and rubbed his face in his hands. The patterns on the digipad blurred before his eyes. He had done the essential work, crafted the target priorities and made rough measurements as to the suggested manpower diversions based on the available troops. If need be he could go in and deliver his plan immediately.

But his planned raid wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t to the level of craft he would have turned in for an assignment. The lack of assistants didn’t bother him, he preferred to trust his own calculations and only use others to check for errors. It was the insanely compressed timeframe that had made the journey so wearying. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and went through a simple mind-clearing mnemonic, as he prepared to wade back into the work.

“So I’m not the only one who talks to themselves,” he heard Ama say. When he opened his eyes, he saw her looking down at him in the dim light.

“What?” he asked, then remembered that he had been repeating the mnemonic aloud. “Oh. At times, talking to one’s self is the only way to ensure an intelligent conversation. Shouldn’t you be resting?”

“Could you sleep right now?” she asked, but his hollowed eyes and dishevelled hair answered the question for him. “Tell me this is going to work.”

Seg felt the urge to reach out to her, stopped himself momentarily, then lifted his hand. After everything, now was hardly the time to be timid. Still, he felt a measure of relief as she squeezed his hand and let him draw her next to him on the chair.

“I don’t fail. I’ve never failed.” He closed his eyes, taking in her scent and warmth. “I don’t make many promises, Ama. But I keep those I do. One way or another.”

Somewhere in the excitement, fear and work of the past five days, the anger between them had steadily burned itself out. She smoothed his hair from his face, letting her fingers linger on his skin.

“I want to show you something,” he said, leaned forward and plucked the digipad off the center table. He tapped the screen in one corner then pushed a button, scrolled through a set of images, stopping at a photo of a gunship, bristling with arms. “There,” he passed the digipad to Ama.

“What is it?”

“A skyship. In fact, it is a 739 M Tactical Raider Transport,” he said. The 739 was an older model, lesser-equipped, but he was a man working with a budget. He recited the specifications the rental agent had told him from memory. “It has independently tracking twin solid-projectile multicannons, four mount-points for mission-specific weapon loadouts, rocket pods in this case, also side and rear-bay heavy needlers for fire suppression.”

There were other features, but they involved technical minutiae such as countermeasures and other electronic arcana that didn’t concern them and weren’t necessary against opponents whose idea of high tech weaponry was burning powder.

“The raiders that will ride in it will be equipped as Kerbin’s squad was,” he said, digging again into his memory for the sales pitch. “A proper mix of antipersonnel weaponry ideal for deployment in a close combat environment against urban primitives.” He turned his head to face Ama, who was entranced by the image on the screen, “And it’s yours.”

“Mine?” Ama’s mouth opened as she pried her eyes away from the digipad.

“That’s the gunship that’s going to carry you, and me, and twenty-eight heavily armed raiders into the Secat in two days time. Dagga could have a hundred men guarding your father, it won’t matter. With my troops and this rider, we’ll have him free in less time than it takes to drink a mug of grint, with an onboard med-station ready to tend to any injuries he might have sustained.”

Ama reached a hand out to the image of the gunship, trailing her fingers over the screen. “I don’t know what to say. You make it sound so easy. Your people must win every battle.”

“Not all but, yes, a great many. Our combat methods have been honed over centuries. There are two philosophies central to our success, even against opponents of equal or greater technology. One, we know exactly what we want before we go in, and we do not deviate from the objective–with the full knowledge that some sacrifice will be required. Two—and this is established as our most effective weapon—surprise. Catch your enemy off guard, even for a second and you gain the upper hand. Then you keep after them until you’ve gotten what you came to get. We don’t fight to win, we don’t fight for honor, we fight to achieve our objectives and nothing more. The thirteenth Virtue of a Citizen is efficiency–do no more or no less than what it takes to get the task accomplished.”

Ama smiled as Seg finished his lesson with a long yawn. “You should sleep.”

“So should you. There’s another thing.”

“More?”

“I’ve decided to take her back, no matter the consequences,” he nodded toward the room where Lissil slept. “We can disguise her and hide her among the raiders. It will be a risk, and if she’s caught before we extrans…what is it?”

Ama was shaking her head, “She doesn’t want to leave.”

“She told you this?”

“Yes.”

Seg considered this for a moment. “Ama, if she stays, I can’t place her anywhere else. She wouldn’t be safe from the CWA, they would take her, torture her for any information about me, then dispose of her.”

“Then she’ll have to stay with you.”

“But not as caj,” Seg countered, took Ama’s hand and squeezed. “She’ll be a free Outer, under my protection, just like Brin’s men. I swear it.”

Ama smiled at that. There was gratitude in the expression but also sadness.

“Do you miss…” she looked away. “Do you miss my world? I think you must. This world of yours it feels—it feels like a prison sometimes.”

“This is my home. The World has to survive. The People must carry on, and they must learn to change,” he whispered. “They need me.”

“I need you, too,” she blurted out.

His tired eyes brightened, he grasped her hand and squeezed. “Then stay with me. Go with me, where I go.You’re an explorer, as I am. Why confine yourself to just one world? There may be no end to the worlds out there, across the dimensions. I want to see them all…with you.” He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her closer, pushing the digipad to one side. “Trust me.”

“That sounds like a dream. But…my family, my people, they need me.”

“When we return to your world, we’ll ensure that your family is safe. As for your people…” he lowered his voice. “After this raid, and the strikes I’ve commissioned against the Shasir, the Kenda will be free to determine their own future. And you will be free to choose your own path.”

Ama folded her lips inward and lowered her eyes away from Seg. She took a deep breath. “I’m nothing on your world, Seg. In that room—all those people, on their knees. That’s who I am here. That’s who I would always be.”

“Are you on your knees right now?” he asked. “In
our
world?”

She raised her eyes to his. Despite the worry and exhaustion, the familiar heat that existed between them flared.

“No,” she said, then her mouth twisted into a smile, “Why? Do you think you could make me?”

His hand snaked up to the back of her head, fingers curling in her hair. “If I had the energy at the moment, certainly.” He gave her head the slightest tug. “I never fail,” he said, with an impish smile.

Her breathing became more pronounced, her muscles tensed. “We’ll have to test that one day.” Her tone was low and full of need. She swung herself around, legs straddling him, his hand still gripping her hair. “You know I’m a fighter.”

He looked up at her, grasped the front of her nightshirt and bunched it around his fist to pull her closer. “Fighters don’t win wars, thinkers do. The pattern of history cannot be denied.”

The door cycled open and they both jumped.

Jarin struggled to keep a frown from his face at the sight of the two lovers so happily entwined.

“Am I interrupting?” he asked, loud enough to startle. “Good. Amadahy, to bed, you need your rest. Segkel. I have instructed you not to overthink your analysis in the past, and I’m sure that is exactly what you are doing now. Well,” he allowed, “perhaps not at this precise moment. Regardless, you both need your rest. Go. Go,” he said, waving his hands.

Ama slid away, avoiding eye contact with Jarin, her face flushed. She spoke something to Seg in her native tongue then disappeared down the corridor.

Jarin cycled the door closed behind her and took a seat. “Segkel, we need to talk.”

“Reproductive Physiology covered the basics, Jarin,” Seg said, his voice weary, as he rose to his feet and stretched. “I have some idea of what goes where.”

Jarin looked away to hide a sad smile. Either it was the experience or it was the woman, but since his return from the mission Segkel had shown more and more hints of actually having a sense of humor, something the serious student had never done. That made what Jarin was about to do that much more tragic.

“You must let her go, Segkel.” He watched the young man freeze, hands clenching instinctively, and braced himself.

“Why?” Seg asked, and pivoted to face Jarin, his eyes narrowed. The boy was in a dangerous place, ready for a fight.

“For her good, and yours. This is not her world. She will never be accepted here. She will always be lesser. Outer. Caj, whether grafted or not, in the eyes of your peers. Confined, the way the World has always confined you. If you care for her, take her back and set her free. Let her be with her people, let her find her own way, her own life. Her own love.”

“What if she wants to be here with me?” Seg challenged.

“Then she’s operating on the very same irrational, instinctive, hormonally-driven impulses that you yourself would mock in anyone else besides a woman who is triggering in you those very same impulses,” Jarin said.

“Karg you,” Seg cursed.

Jarin pushed himself up from his chair and turned on his former student the black look he reserved for those moments of utmost distaste and disappointment. “Graduated or not, I will not abide that in my home.”

Just as he had done on their first meeting, Seg stared down the man before him. This time, however, he surrendered and looked away. But of course he didn’t apologize.

“There is another matter,” Jarin said, and sat once more. As Segkel reluctantly took his own seat, Jarin pressed his palms together. “As you are aware, I am not one for sentimentality. However, to let you proceed with this plan tomorrow, without offering you the truth, would be unjust.”
And unkind
, he thought but could not say.

“I know the risks,” Seg said, a defensive edge to his voice.

“Indeed. What you do not know, what I have not explained to you, is that you have another option. You stand at the decision point, Segkel. If you step back and accept a loss here, you can recover and move on. There will be some stigma, this is not the best way to launch a career. With your talents and considerable intelligence, however, I have every confidence you will be a successful Theorist over the long term.”

“Behind a desk.”

“For now, yes. Your goals will not be reached with the expediency you hoped for. Like all Theorists before you, you will be greying before you will attain a seat on the Council or are voted into the position you desire: Selectee for Field Research.” He smiled, “Do not look so shocked, pupil, I have been aware of your ambitions for a good many years.”

“And Ama? Fi Costk will kill the raid, you know that. How will she get home?”

“She won’t. I am sorry. But I will ensure that she is placed in a position of minimal labour, with an owner who will not treat her unkindly. I cannot promise she will remain ungrafted but at least you will know no harm will come to her.”