Warp World Read Free Page A

voice strained, “you answer no.” He shook his head to demonstrate. “Say you: Talk Ama.”
    Ama understood this to mean she would be the lone voice here. The men were not to answer any questions Seg’s people might ask them. Clever man .
    The white-suits looked disdainfully on the unortho spectacle: a Theorist of the Guild speaking the strange, lilting language of barbarous Outers. They murmured among themselves, their thoughts clear in any tongue.
    “When you are done here, you will be taken to your new home in a…in a type of cartul called a ‘ mass-trans’. The driver will not speak to you and there are no windows to see outside. This is for your safety.” He paused, struggled for breath. “I will come for you.” That was all he could muster.
    He’s lucky to be alive, never mind making speeches. At the thought, Ama’s shoulder throbbed where she had taken Dagga’s blade. She adjusted the auto-med that circled her arm, pulsing medicine and speeding healing. A chastising beep warned her not to fuss with it further.
    “Crazy drexla,” she whispered to Seg as he turned. She offered her good arm, but he waved it off as he limped toward two white-suits—medicals who waited with a slim table on wheels, braced with shiny metal. A stretcher, Ama guessed. As with everything on Seg’s world, it resembled no stretcher she had ever seen.
    “I didn’t have it so easy the first time I came through.” She glanced back to the Kenda.
    “You weren’t armed,” Seg wheezed, and she knew he was making a joke despite the deep folds of his brow and the sweat that rose on his skin.
    Perhaps it was the drugs washing through Seg’s system or perhaps he had ceased to care what his people thought, but he grasped Ama’s hand even as the medicals urged him to lie down on the stretcher. “Watch over them.” He forced the words out now; his forehead was shiny with perspiration, his face a deathly white.
    One of the medicals stepped forward. Behind his mask, his eyebrow arched as he regarded Ama. “Theorist, I have to insist—”
    “You’ll have to stay with them until…” Seg grit his teeth, winced, took a breath.
    “Until you know we’re safe. I know, I understand.” Ama raised a finger to her lips to silence him, for all the good it would do. “Enough. You need to go now.”
    “I will c—” His hand went limp in hers.
    She gasped and reached an alarmed hand toward him. At the same time, the second medical pulled a silver, tube-shaped instrument away from the back of Seg’s neck and nodded to his partner as he caught his patient mid-slump. Whatever the instrument was, the medical had used it to knock Seg out. Tricky, but Ama was glad. Seg would have gone on making speeches and directing everyone present until he collapsed.
    The medicals maneuvered him onto the stretcher. She leaned in to place a kiss on his burning forehead but they yanked the stretcher, and Seg, out of her reach.
    Only their eyes were visible behind the masks, but there was no mistaking the looks of disgust as they hauled Seg away from the filthy Outer.
    So, Seg had made arrangements for her and the men. To keep them safe. After all, she and her fellow Kenda were considered caj, slaves in the eyes of his people. Unprocessed and unregistered slaves. And even if she didn’t fully grasp the meaning of those two words, she knew that Seg had made a powerful enemy in CWA Director Fi Costk. That man would hurt the young Theorist any way he could. If he could take Ama away, or any of Seg’s new Westie crew, he would do it.
    Ama shook her head to clear the thoughts.
    Seg made you a promise; he keeps his promises.
    There were more important things to deal with now. Including the fight threatening to break out between the Kenda and the white-suits.

    Jarin Svestil, Senior Theorist of the Cultural Theorist’s Guild, Selectee of Education and council member, rubbed his eyes and stifled a yawn. His fellow Theorist, and clandestine companion, Maryel Aimaz,