Warp World (15 page)

If nothing else, it would get her out of this infernal room for one night.

“Go, get this over with.”

Predictably, Lissil was at her post in front of the wallscreen. She was busy
trying on
fluffery for the Haffset party. At the moment Ama walked in, she stood in front of an image of a dark orange gown covered liberally with yellow, sparkling gems. On the screen, there was a type of mirror that let her see herself in the dress.

“Too plain,” Lissil said. “Next selection.”

Plain?
Ama couldn’t contain her smile; it looked as if Lissil had been set on fire.

Lissil said nothing at Ama’s entrance, simply frowned at the next outfit, a pale lavender frock, and instantly demanded another.

“Order something plain for me.” Ama leaned against the wall. “
Very
plain.”

“You’re attending?” Lissil asked. At Ama’s nod she added, with one raised eyebrow, “You’ve finally accepted that you’re caj?”

Ama pushed off the wall and turned to leave. “Just order something plain.”

“If you think you’re going to learn his job, you’ll have to do better than that.”

At Lissil’s words, Ama stopped.

“There are expectations, especially for the caj of the People’s Hero. The People of the World pride themselves on being conservative. But how do you show off your status at a party if you can’t wear bright colors or flashy jewels?” She didn’t wait for Ama to answer, as she gestured to the image of herself in the latest ensemble. “Caj. You let your caj be your color. The bigger, the brighter, the more exotic your caj, the more impressed your fellow People will be. We’re their color, we’re their status. Haffset is a Major House now; their party will be full of beautifully costumed caj.”

Ama frowned as she took in the gaudy arrangement of iridescent blue and purple, complete with a train of feathers. “Son of a whore,” she muttered. “Fluffery.”

“This is how they do things. If you want to blend—”

“Plain,” Ama said.

“Plain,” Lissil repeated. “You truly still believe you’re not caj?”

“I’m not. One day these people will understand that.”

“What do you see when you look at me?” Once more, Lissil didn’t wait for Ama’s reply. “You see a Welf. You see someone who grubs around in the dirt or cleans the fish guts off your docks. Even on this new world, you will always see me as your servant. And the People will always see you as theirs.”

“Things will change.”

“Don’t count on it. And if it comes to a choice between you and Eraranat’s People, or his career, you’ll be registered and shipped off to processing before you can whistle. He’s already talked about it. Jarin said he could find another place for you. You would have to be grafted and processed, of course, but the old man said you wouldn’t have to work too hard and your owner wouldn’t be a monster.”

“That’s a lie.”

“There are worse ways to live.” Lissil turned around slowly and the image of the dress with the feathers turned with her. “Perfect. I’ll have to have the matching face paint and hair ornaments as well, but since your dress will be less extravagant we can afford it.” She turned once more and said “Order,” to the screen.

Nothing happened.

“Order,” she commanded, with more volume. When the screen remained as it was, her hands curled into fists. “Order, you stupid machine!”

“It’s not available,” Ama said. At Lissil’s blank face, she continued, “The dress isn’t available. Look at the bottom of the screen, the words say
temporarily unavailable
. See, those big orange letters?”

Lissil’s mouth hung open for the barest moment, then she tossed her head to one side. “I didn’t really want this one anyway.”

As she demanded the next selection, Ama saw color rise to the girl’s face and understood. Lissil was so well spoken, she had never questioned her education. But she
was
a Welf, after all. Whatever schooling Lissil had received, Ama guessed it had not come from books.

Their implanted chatterers worked for both spoken and written language, but for those who could not read to begin with, Seg’s language would be indecipherable. Ama had never attended the Lesson House past her first day, but her father and her brothers had seen well to her education and had made sure she could read and write as well as any Damiar.

“Lissil, if you can’t read, I can help you. If there’s not something on this machine, I can use Seg’s paper books to teach you.”

Lissil whipped her head around to face Ama. “I don’t need you to teach me anything. Who says I can’t read? Leave me alone! Can’t you see I have important work to do? I don’t need you sitting around ridiculing me.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Leave me alone!”

Ama raised her hands and started to back out of the room. She stopped only long enough to deposit Jarin’s note on the table, where Seg wouldn’t miss it. On her way out of the common room, she heard Lissil mutter, “Stupid water rat,” before issuing another shrill command to the screen.

Viren searched in vain for a witty comment as he jogged around the warehouse perimeter.

Probably back in my bunk, sleeping, where I should be right now
, he thought.

His pack—filled with cans and pipes and whatever other Nenforsaken items the Lieutenant could find around the old building—grew heavier with each lap. The uniforms each man had been issued were either too small or too large—Viren’s was the former and now chafed painfully under his arms and between his legs. The chafing was only worsened by rivers of sweat. In his hands he carried a large metal pipe. According to the Lieutenant, this was meant to represent the bangers known as
chacks
, which they would one day wield in battle. If the chacks were as heavy as these pipes, Viren reckoned he would rather die quickly than fight.

“Arms up!” Lieutenant Fismar Korth shouted.

The men hoisted the pipes over their heads with huffs and groans that were audible even over the noise of ninety-six boots. Viren felt a burning envy for the two men assigned to guard duty as, behind him, Kype gasped out a litany of Westie curses.

The men were divided into squads now. Kype, Prow, Wyan, Cerd, and to his immense dismay, Viren, had each been designated as squad leaders. Bad enough that he had to endure being woken at all hours, shaving off his hair and his beard, and running around an empty building with an eight hundred pound pack strapped to his back (or so it felt), but he was also now supposed to provide leadership and inspiration, as well? Maybe his choice to join this crew had been hasty, after all.

“What does a raider need?” Fismar shouted.

“A chack, a pack, an enemy to attack!” the men called out in unison.

“I don’t hear you!”

The volume of the chant and the pace of the jog increased; Viren thought his lungs might explode. He was on the verge of actually offering silent prayer to Nen when Fismar called everyone to a halt.

“INSPECTION!” Fismar bellowed. “Dump ’em out, worms!”

Grateful for the temporary reprieve, Viren slung the heavy load off his back and pulled loose the ties with a feeble effort. Along with the rest of the Kenda, he emptied the contents of his pack on the ground in front of him, stretching out the moment in order to catch his breath.

“Move it, move it, move it!” Fismar shouted, and every man responded instantly, finishing their task and standing at attention, or as close to attention as they could muster.

Fismar paced slowly through the room, inspecting the piles of dislodged goods, randomly shouting out insults and orders whenever he came across something that made him unhappy. But when he got to Slopper, whose pack nearly weighed as much as the boy, a squall passed over his face.

“Palk, where’s your spare cassette for Handlo’s needler?” Fismar said.

The boy’s face—with his jutting teeth and oddly tilted eyebrows—always looked a bit comical to Viren, but now Slopper’s features only magnified his real panic.

“Uh …” Slopper’s eyes darted over the mess of items and Viren could tell he was trying to remember which one was meant to represent the spare cassette and then figure out where it was. “Uh … I don’t know, sir.”

“I don’t know,
Training Lieutenant
!” Fismar said.

“Um, uh … I don’t know, Training Lieutenant,” Slopper said.

Viren waited for Fismar to launch into one of his fiery rants. Obviously, Slopper was also waiting, by the way he seemed to shrink even further inside his over-sized uniform. Instead, the Lieutenant spun to face Kype.

“Squad Leader Kype, why isn’t Palk’s kit correct?” Fismar asked.

“You heard the boy, he forgot it,” Kype said, salt in his tone.

“Is that an excuse, Squad Leader Kype?”

“My reason, Training Lieutenant.”

“Your
reason
is that your man forgot?” Fismar asked. “Just be clear about this. It’s Palk’s fault that he wasn’t carrying the spare cassettes for Handlo’s heavy needler? His job to remember it, correct?”

As Kype considered the question, Slopper folded his lips inward.

“Palk’s fault, that’s truth, Training Lieutenant,” Kype said, obviously satisfied.

Fismar leaned close to Kype and Viren had to strain to hear. “Wrong.” He raised his voice once more. “If we’re engaged and Handlo runs out of ammo and we lose the fight, who gets the blame? Not Palk. Not Handlo. Not even you. I do. Let me explain this one more time, for everyone’s benefit. A trooper is responsible for his job and the jobs of those he has to replace!”

Fismar stepped back from Kype and launched into one of his trademark lectures, delivered in explosive shouts.

“A squad leader is responsible for every element of his squad. When the squad fails, the squad leader has failed! When the unit fails, I have failed! You do not stand in front of me and tell me that your squad cannot support your brothers in battle because your man forgot his ammo! You verify that your squad’s gear and loadout is in working order!”

Kype’s face reddened as Fismar pointed out his failure to the entire unit. He was ornery at the best of times but never more so than when his pride was insulted—as Viren had quickly learned when Kype overheard one of his less-tactful Westie jokes.

Fismar marched over to Handlo, seized the heavy pipe the man held ready, and waved it in front of Kype’s face. “This weapon does not have ammo! You’re all dead because you did not verify! Why are you in charge of this squad, Kype?”

“On account of I’m the oldest. I’m experienced,” Kype said.

“Just because you’ve been yanking your stalk longer’n some of these boys have been alive doesn’t make you leadership material,” Fismar said. “A leader takes responsibility for his people and their actions. He makes problems like this not happen because he fixes them before they become problems.”

“And some boy barely off his mother’s teat could do better?” Kype’s face reddened even deeper; he stabbed one of the three remaining fingers on his left hand in Slopper’s direction.

“If he can get me a squad ready to kill our enemies and take their wealth, I don’t care if he goes home and plays with his mama’s tits every night. You’re off,” Fismar said. “Trooper Tirnich!”

Tirnich jogged forward, Slopper smiling broadly behind him. “Yes, Training Lieutenant.”

Kype sputtered. “Nen’s blood! I’ll not give over to some fresh spawn such as him!”

Fismar turned very slowly toward Kype and Viren felt a measure of pity for the crusty old Westie bastard.

“Are you refusing an order, trooper Kype?” Fismar asked. His eyes widened slightly. His fingers curled into loose fists.

Kype stood straighter, shoulders back to display his height. He raised his own fists, proudly displaying his missing finger, his badge of honor. “I’ve faced bigger than you. I’ll not be made the fool in front of my men.”

“Squad Leader Tirnich,” Fismar said, “take trooper Kype into custody, to be held on the charge of mutiny.”

Kype’s mouth dropped open. He looked to Tirnich, then to the surrounding men. “There’s no need for that. I was only—”

“Is there another word for flagrantly disobeying the orders of your superior that I am perhaps not aware of, Trooper Kype?” Fismar held up a hand to stall Tirnich.

Kype looked worse than if the Lieutenant had actually struck him. Viren couldn’t blame him.
Mutiny
, enough to humble any man. He wondered if Lieutenant Korth had any idea of how seriously the Kenda took that word?

“No. Plead your forgiveness, Training Lieutenant,” Kype said. “Suppose we do things differently where I come from is all.” He lowered his eyes; his hands were already at his sides.

“We’re not where you’re from, Trooper Kype. Squad Leader Tirnich, reorder your squad, verify their kit, and run four circuits.”

“Quick as three, Training Lieutenant!” Tirnich quickly rounded up the wide-eyed squad.

Viren nodded at his own squad to double check their kits. Prow jogged close but kept his voice low as he spoke to his friend and fellow squad leader. “Thought the old croaker was going to lose another finger there.”

“No,” Viren said, wiping sweat from his brow. “I think Lieutenant Dismal would have taken more than a finger.” He glanced down between his legs and Prow shuddered.