WARP world (59 page)

Seg lowered his head in thought. “No,” he said after a pause. “No. I won’t fail. I can do this, you know I can.”

“I know you are capable, yes. But you have already experienced how easily even the best plans can be swept aside by the capriciousness of fate. If you pursue this path and fail, you will lose everything: your Theorist status, Ama, your freedom. Perhaps even your life.”

“I’m aware of the consequences.”

“Are you? Have you considered the consequences should you succeed? Because if this raid is a success, your struggles have only begun. You will face the eternal enmity of Adirante Fi Costk. As one of the single most powerful individuals on the World, he will make every mission a battle, turn public opinion against you, sow distrust among the Houses who would contract you, create obstacles to block your every move, and he will not stop until he has broken you and destroyed everything you care about. As a CWA target, your peers will never consider you for a Council seat, and a Selecteeship will be unthinkable. And if you also keep Amadahy with you…” Jarin looked away from Segkel and shook his head, “You will be privately ridiculed and publicly shunned.”

“You’re saying I should abandon everything we’ve been working for? Everything Ama has risked her life for at those meetings? Leave House Haffset to be broken by the CWA?”

“I am saying you have choices. That is all. It is not too late to save yourself.”

Seg pressed his back into the chair, his eyes left Jarin and moved slowly across the room. For a very long time he sat silent before his mentor. When he spoke again, his voice was uncommonly pensive.

“Why don’t you keep caj, Jarin?”

Jarin blinked, he rubbed his palms against the arms of the chair. “That is my affair.”

“Because of a situation like mine? It would explain why you are so personally invested in the matter.”

Jarin tilted his head back and took a deep breath, then he nodded.

“Did you keep her or send her back?” Seg asked.

“I kept her,” Jarin said, prepared for the surprise on his former student’s face. “It killed her. I speak from experience on the matter. That is all I will say. Now, go to bed, consider what I have told you. Decisions can wait until morning.”

Jarin glanced at the wall crono in the Central Raid Planning Chamber, then silently chided himself for forgetting his oft-preached lesson to his students about the oppositional effect of watching the time when one wishes it to speed up or slow down.

As it had every day, the meeting opened with contention and devolved into outright conflict.
Your plan is working brilliantly Adi
.

He glanced briefly over at Amadahy, in her usual position at Gelad’s knee. There would be no thievery today; all the data that could be collected had been collected. Her appearance today was simply to keep anyone from making the connection between Gelad’s caj and the information leeched from the Recorder. Most would suspect Jarin of some kind of collusion but, as always, he took great pains to remove any evidence of his involvement.

In a momentary break with protocol, Amadahy raised her eyes to Jarin’s and flashed a small, fleeting smile, which was at once nervous and hopeful, and which he did not return. Nevertheless, the gesture triggered a long-buried ache and all his old regrets filled the room like ghosts. They haunted him even as he turned his attention back to the argument of the moment.

The House Master stood and shouted over the combatants for silence. Then he turned his eyes to Director Fi Costk. “We have reached an impasse that cannot be bridged without the guidance of a Theorist. With respect Director, your agents are unable to provide us with satisfactory answers to guide the prioritization of resources.”

Fi Costk nodded. “The next option is to disassemble the raid, House Master. Given the unusual circumstances, the CWA would be willing to lend you the funding to absorb the contracted standby costs you have incurred.”

The House Master went pale as Fi Costk openly laid the gambit upon the table. It was a better option than the bankruptcy he faced in the present circumstances, but barely. When the CWA took a House under its program of recovery loans, it hollowed them out. The House would be converted into a functional extension of the CWA, their resources used for CWA purposes. Inevetiably, within a few generations, such Houses faded into the fold.

His was a choice between a slow, numb death and an immediate, painful death. Jarin did not envy the man.

“Theorist Segkel Eraranat,” the Accountancy announced.

There was an audible gasp from all present. Jarin’s face remained impassive but inside he was seized with unexpected and contradictory feelings: relief and pity.

Segkel blazed a trail through the entrance, the entry caj moved quickly to clear the door from his path before the determined Theorist barreled into it. At Segkel’s side, a hulking security officer kept one hand on his needler, prompting even more gasps and exclamations. A step behind Segkel, Lissil followed on his heels–a not-so-subtle jab at Fi Costk, who had sent the collectors to intimidate the young Theorist with their threats of removal. The girl moved as naturally as if she had been trained from childhood. Beautiful, graceful, obedient; those who were not offended by her appearance would be covetous.

Predictably, Akbas was the first to rise, “What is the meaning of this?”

Segkel ignored her as he made his way to the inner table, to the vacant seat reserved for the raid’s Theorist.

“Security!” Akbas roared, stabbing her finger toward the man standing next to Segkel. “Eraranat is barred from these proceedings, remove him at once!”

The guard lifted his visor and shrugged, “Sorry, can’t do that.”

Jarin feigned a cough to cover his laugh at the sight of Manatu Dibeld, the trooper Segkel had taken such pains to return to the World following his injury.

“House Master,” Segkel said respectfully, as he nodded toward the older man, before he turned his head toward Fi Costk and nodded again. “Director.”

Fi Costk’s reply was a hateful glare.

“I believe that it is…ortho,” Segkel continued, “for the assigned Theorist to attend the pre-raid planning sessions.” He sat down at his chair and Lissil moved closer to his side.

“As you, and everyone in this room, are aware,” Akbas spoke slowly, in an attempt to draw out the humiliation, “you are no longer the assigned theorist on this raid. We don’t have time for your delusions.”

Segkel turned to House Master Haffset. “Is everyone in the room aware?”

The House Master smiled. “Welcome back, Theorist Eraranat. Your presence has been badly missed.”

Segkel nodded and looked back to Akbas. “Ah! You are referring to that silly matter of the foolish trooper.”

Jarin winced at Segkel’s description of the lieutenant.

Segkel held out his hand, Lissil slapped a digifilm into it. “As of this morning, Lieutenant Kerbin has withdrawn her charge against me. Moment of anger and all that. And as your superior stated, once that matter was resolved, I could return at will.” He thrust the digifilm toward Akbas, and spoke in an obvious imitation of her voice, using the words she had used against him at his dismissal, “Please, take a moment to read, you’ll find everything is in order.”

Akbas stomped across the room and snatched the film from Segkel’s hand, eyes scanning left to right furiously as the room waited in silence. During the pause, Jarin remained passive, though his eyes took in every detail of the moment: Segkel placing a hand on Lissil’s head, his eyes on Fi Costk as he did; Lissil casting a stealthy, downward eye to Amadahy, as she enjoyed her master’s attention, a territorial gesture; the House Master hovering on the edge of his seat, with his eyes fixed on Segkel, his salvation; and Fi Costk, Adi, who looked directly at Jarin, his pupils narrowed to pinpoints.

When she finished, Akbas hurled the film on the table and it slid across to the other side. “This does not address the matter of your security breach,” she sputtered, pounded a fist on the table, then pointed at him. “You did not have clearance to enter this building! You…you…”

Segkel ignored the woman’s tirade. “Director Fi Costk, does this woman have any relevance to this proceeding? If not, I would prefer she move to the outer table. With the timetable as it is, we can’t afford to waste time on…juvenile tantrums.”

Fi Costk continued to stare at his old rival for another moment.

Jarin inclined his head a degree.
A brilliant plan, Adi, but you underestimated the boy. You won’t make that mistake again, will you?

Fi Costk turned his head toward Segkel. “Yes,” he said, “you are correct Theorist.” He nodded, his eyes smoldering. He turned to Akbas. “Go.”

She opened her mouth, ready to fire a volley of vitriol but the look from Fi Costk held her in check. Her lips came together in a thin, flat line and she took her time collecting her digifilms and straightening her coat. When she was composed she nodded to the general assembly, avoiding eye contact with Segkel. However, she directed her exit in such a way that she passed closely by him.

“Good luck with this mess,” she hissed. “This will be your last raid, count on that.”

“Unlike you,” he said, his voice low, “I keep my word and can actually execute my designs. Now, go sit with the lessers.”

Segkel turned back to the table, disregarding her presence altogether. “Now, on to the matter of raid assignments. I have worked out a profile based on the unit strengths and vita sources that I was aware of,” Lissil handed him a stack of digifilms, which he passed down the line, “that we can review now. I believe it will be largely in line with your operational parameters and capabilities, though of course I defer to the raider leaders in their expertise on these matters.”

Chatter resumed around the table but when Segkel spoke, all stopped to listen, completely engrossed and eager for every word. He had not just assumed control of his raid, his bold move had shown the crowd something they had not seen among Theorists in a very long time: passion.

Jarin leaned over to Gelad and whispered, “Look at that. Just look. Segkel has had one extrans mission and has never actually executed a raid, nevermind the most complicated raid in a century. Yet every head is turned to him for guidance, even the senior MRRC raiders. He could tell them to strike at a hundred targets and I believe they would follow him.”

“Proud, Theorist?” Gelad whispered back.

Jarin gave a small shake of his head. “Frightened.”

D
agga rubbed a hand over his head; the tiny ridges of his scars spoke to him, reminded him about the virtues of patience. He had known and delivered his share of suffering, understood the art of torture, embraced its necessity. His failure to capture or kill his prey required penance, and so he had been called from Alisir to T’ueve, to face the Shasir’threa.

Outside the Sky Temple, this prison of stillness and solitude to which he was confined, was war. While the Assembly of Shasir’threa debated and meditated, consulted ancient texts and communed with the gods, the rats were on the move. His punishment? Inaction. He would sit here,
must
sit here, and wait for the Threa’s decision.

No lash or blade could match this agony.

The waiting hall was windowless and dimly lit, another expression of the sky-worshipping Shasir’s unhappiness. Dagga sat on one of the four intricately carved chairs. The other three were empty.

He respected the gods but he didn’t fear them. Every man had his place and purpose, Dagga knew his well. He was not meant for the clouds; his place was below, with the filth.

The doors opened with the faintest sound and Dagga stood. A Shasir’dua stood flanked by two guards.

“Head Constable,” the priest said, his voice sonorous, “the Assembly is ready for you.”

Dagga followed the man down a long corridor to the doors of the Assembly Sanctuary. Servants opened them wide at the small party’s approach and a bright blue light streamed out.

The Sanctuary stretched skyward, ending in a glass dome. The walls and floor were painted to give the illusion of walking among the clouds, tall windows of blue glass completed the effect. On a high dais, sat ten Shasir’threa, in full ceremonial robes. Below them, on a lower platform, was a table of Shasir’dua, and below them, in rows of chairs, was a gathering of Commissioners and Judicias.