WARP world (9 page)

On this world, he could easily pass for one of the Shasir or Damiar, who were of the same race, (or mix of races, more accurately), and those castes had access to any of the prime vita hotspots.

As rigorous as the Shasir had been about cultural unification, they protected the secrets of their technology through even more extreme means. Lengthy torture, death and a promised eternity of suffering in the afterlife, had served well to keep their magic out of the hands of those they ruled. A necessary precaution, since even primitives could eventually figure out the mechanics of things such as steam engines, lift gas (such as hydrogen) or advanced metallurgical methods, given enough time and exposure.

A reasonably formidable band of Outers, these Shasir, Seg had to concede. Though, in their position, they would have been better served doing away with the Kenda completely. Once a rebel, always a rebel–history taught that lesson well.

He rubbed his eyes from the strain of reading the small screen. He knew he should take a som tab to help him sleep but what he was attempting was beyond unortho, it was dangerous; he needed to be prepared. His mind drifted back to training, as he considered the history of these Outers.

“Despite typically professing a desire for peace, every culture thus discovered has maintained some capacity for violence. Given our notions of evolutionary adaptation, it follows that the pressures of competition, internal and external, ensure that no humanoid population of sufficient size will ever achieve any modicum of perpetual peace.”

Jarin. His mentor was brilliant, unquestionably so, but Seg did not expect he would approve of his plan any more than the thickheaded Kerbin. House Haffset, the raid’s sponsor, would offer resistance, as well, at least until Seg could show Haffset how much wealth was to be gained. He suspected he would have only detractors until that time. Prodigy or not, no one on the World would count on a Theorist to bring in much above quota—if that—on his first mission. He would simply have to prove them wrong.

In order to do that, though, he would have to lay the groundwork on this world. Tapping a button on the screen, he reviewed the list of items he had requested from home. Clothing to disguise Manatu and himself—the Damiar were the class most suitable to imitate for this venture—local currency and an assortment of the nonsensical items these self-imagined nobility were so fond of. Large quantities of everything, in keeping with the Damiar custom of excess for the sake of excess. All could be manufactured, (ironically, by the caj of other worlds the People had conquered), well enough to fool the Outers.

Thanks to wide geographical and cultural differences, he could use his own name and Manatu’s as part of their cover, which gave him one less detail to remember.

The list of weapons was restricted to those that could be easily hidden. Two micro-chacks, two pistols - the former were more powerful and the best choice for a primary weapon, latter were smaller and could fit inside a pocket or boot, a perfect back-up defense. However, both weapons were reliable and near silent, firing toxic huchack spines that easily sliced through flesh and poisoned the blood. There was also a selection of micro grenades on the list, (smoke, concussive and fragment); eight chack cartridges and two forearm straps to conceal the weapons; six blades; another pair of stunners; a chack for Manatu and some remote micro-dets. They weren’t going to war, and if they had to use any of their arsenal then things would have gone drastically wrong by that point and the weapons would most likely be useless anyway.

The Signals Operator had incorporated a means of text-based communication, via Seg’s digipad, to keep him in covert contact with the squad, and he had also put together a larger audio/visual comm unit, which in an emergency would allow him to communicate with the World. As per protocol, he kept a set of digifilms to record the details of the mission–information that was the property of the sponsor House. He had also requested another warpgen and warp gate. That would raise some questions and it would be bulky, but if he needed to get back home in a hurry he couldn’t depend on rendezvousing with the rest of the troops.

He had already stashed an auto-med in his kit as well as the standard selection of medication; field rations; map disc; and VIU - Vita Indicator Unit, for scanning vita sources.

He was ready for any eventuality. One more day of travel, one more night of study and he and Manatu would be on their own. Tapping his digipad, the new world returned to darkness.

Seg laid his head on his pack and looked up at the night sky. Stars were visible to the naked eye. Strange. Could a Person get used to such a thing? Closing his eyes, he reviewed the list in his head. Yes, it was complete; there was nothing to add.

He was ready for anything.

T
he Central Well dominated the landscape more than any other structure on the World. Towering over seventy stories high, it transmitted a continuous, translucent stream of vita into a shimmering aperture projected over its height.

Efectuary Jul Akbas always found the sight a testament to the will of the People and their superiority over the greatest force of nature in existence. The Well was power, a flag of defiance against the Storm–the force that had threatened to consume their World for over a millennium.

No one knew when the Storm had first appeared, those records—as was the case with so much of the People’s history—had been lost. What they did know was that the black, howling monstrosity had once ravaged the land, destroying cities with its insatiable hunger for vita, and the People had fled, hidden or been consumed in its path. Billions of People had perished, entire continents had been rendered uninhabitable. Then the Well had been constructed; at last the Storm could be fed, directed, controlled.

Of course, as a natural phenomenon, the Storm could not be completely contained, but shield technology had eventually been developed to cover all the inhabited areas of the World. The people had triumphed.

And who had led this triumph? Who processed, disbursed and controlled the collected vita of the World? The Central Well Authority, of which Jul Akbas had been a member since her graduation from Orhalze Scholastic Academy, sixteen years ago.

The CWA administrative facility included an observation deck, where high-level management could take in a meal and look out upon the main instrument of their power and position in the World. As of today, that senior administration included Jul Akbas.

She shifted her focus and examined her reflection in the thick wall of glass, to ensure everything was in its place, organized. Like the Well, she stood tall, polished, productive. She looked back out at the Well and felt the pride of her personal achievement mirrored in that iconic edifice.

The observation deck was sparsely populated at the off-hour. Light, repetitive tones of music droned in the background, while well-trained serving caj padded silently on bare feet to refill drinks or deliver meals.

She held the rail with one hand as she looked back toward the entrance. The man who entered was lanky, taller than most, with neatly-trimmed grey hair and a sculpted beard. Supervisory Gran Fi Restis smiled as he approached.

Until thirty minutes ago, Gran Fi Restis had been her superior.

“Efectuary Akbas,” Gran said, stressing the title. “Congratulations. Taking in the view for the last time?”

She nodded and slipped away from the rail toward one of the secluded booths. As with so many products on the World, the booth and cushions were blended from extruded huchack fibers, and bleached free of the toxins the creatures left on everything they touched. However, for the upper echelons of the CWA, the material had also been laboriously softened–an expensive process few could afford. Draped over the plain seats were shimmering fabrics, the spoils of some raid.

Jul sat first, according to protocol, a reflection of her new rank and superiority to the man who slid in across from her.

“Supervisory Fi Restis, thank you for coming. We will be able to do great things in Orhalze,” Jul said.

The center of the table lit up as they sat, revealing a selection of glowing icons. Gran waited while Jul pressed an icon for her drink order before he made his own choice.

“Well, the visit isn’t all pleasure,” he said, then passed his digipad across the table to her. “One last impression, then your duties here are complete. Standard forms, code transfer approval and the like.”

Jul knew he expected her to press her thumb to the document without so much as a cursory glance. That was why Gran Fi Restis, ten years her senior, would forever remain a Supervisory. She read through the entire document, gave her impression, and slid the digipad back without a word.

“When do you meet Director Fi Costk?” Gran asked.

“In tweny minutes,” Jul answered, the mixture of pride, excitement and fear barely detectable in her tone.

Adirante Fi Costk, Director of External Affairs, was perhaps the most powerful of the five CWA Directors, power accrued over the course of decades. A hard and challenging man who did not tolerate failure–admirable qualities.

The drinks arrived and Gran lifted his glass to Jul.

“We will be discussing the latest acquisition cycle,” she said, after a small sip.

“Have you made your assessments of current raids?” Gran asked.

“There are four recon missions in progress. Two are led by veteran Theorists known for making safe, conservative assessments that lead to minimal expenditure and minimal gains. Both noted for breaking even.” As she spoke, her hand flexed around her glass. “The third is a corporate-sponsored raid. A possible option, but we are prioritizing the Houses.”

There were two entities on the World who sponsored raids: Corporations and Houses. In the actual process, there was no difference between the two. They both bid for the right to sponsor a raid; both hired Theorists and recon squads to survey the targeted world and determine the best sources of vita; both designed their raids according to information provided by the Theorist; both sold the recovered vita to the CWA, technology to the Guild or the CWA, and auctioned caj and materials on the open market.

The difference lay in the structure. Corporations had multiple owners, strict contracts and complex ties that made them resistant to takeovers. Houses were familial, hereditary units, with a hierarchical system that left even the strongest vulnerable. Both entities would take all measures to avoid a takeover but, under the right circumstances, Houses were the easier prey.

“And the fourth recon is House sponsored?” Gran asked.

“Yes, and led by a young Theorist on his first mission–one of several promising factors. First, this Theorist, Segkel Eraranat, is a former student of Senior Theorist Svestil, known radical and risk-taker. Second, the sponsoring House, Haffset, hopes to leverage a successful raid for elevation to Major House status. Finally, junior Theorists will take more chances, to prove themselves.”

“And if they fail…” Gran led.

“We move in,” she said, with a sharp smile. “However, we are also prepared to disrupt a raid at the planning cycle, before forces are committed. Properly handled, we will demonstrate that the Guild is less functional in vita assessments than we are, and that our own services can be more profitably substituted for theirs.”

Gran chuckled. “Theorist Jarin Svestil. I met him once. Radical, yes, but hard. There was some scandal that the Guild concealed, I understand.” His smile faded. “You know, if we dislodge the Guild from their position, the financial fallout of that failure would likely leave many of their senior members exposed to reclamation. I would actually visit the huchack ponds, just to see those ‘intellectual elites’ mucking around, collecting the fibers.”

“Visit the ponds?” Jul’s nose wrinkled. “We are above that. Certainly the ponds have vid feeds, to monitor the caj? If not, we would insist on their installation.”

Fi Restis laughed quietly, then sobered. “I have every confidence in your success, Efectuary, but bear this in mind when you deliver your briefing to Director Fi Costk today: he knows the cycles well. He will want you to show sufficient mastery of detail to demonstrate that you understand the finer points of this operation, down to all the names of the Theorists involved, House Masters, and so forth. However, he will also correct you for being over-explanatory at some point, to demonstrate the value of his time. Fi Costk operates on the principle of keeping everyone in his sphere off-balance and uncertain.”

Jul nodded as she finished her drink, then dabbed the corners of her mouth with a cloth napkin. “Thank you for your concern, Supervisory Fi Restis”

They rose together. His smile was warm, genuine and too familiar.

“It has been a pleasure working with you, Jul. You should be proud. You’re climbing the final layer, and the position you’re in gives you a clear path to the Directorate.”

Jul’s smile tightened as her eyes narrowed. “Certainly closer than you ever reached, Gran.” She soaked in the wounded confusion in his eyes before she added, “A productive day to you, Supervisory Fi Restis.”