Authors: Kristene Perron,Joshua Simpson
WARP world
Warp
world
KRISTENE PERRON
JOSHUA SIMPSON
© Copyright 2012 Kristene Perron & Joshua Simpson
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the authors.
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons,
living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Cover designed by Miguel S. Kilantang Jr.
Email:
[email protected]
ISBN 978-1-55120-050-7
Mint Publishers Inc.
Suite#6 – 560 Baker Street
Nelson, British Columbia V1L 4H0
Kristene
For my father
Joshua
For the kiddo.
Writing was your idea.
Contents
T
he sky was blue, he should have been prepared for that. All those years of preparation—simulation, training, reading, lectures, images—fell away as Seg lay on the moss at the transit point. The cool morning ground soothed his body while the roar of the nearby ocean quieted his thoughts.
Rolling onto his back, he blinked once more against the clear, unshielded sky. Unusual. For the first time in his life, Segkel Eraranat of the Cultural Theorist’s Guild felt at peace with the world, even though this world was not his.
Squad Leader Kerbin squatted down next to him, facing the opposite direction. “Snap out of it, Bliss kid!” she hissed, and jabbed his shoulder with the butt of her rifle, “locals might have seen us come through.” She stood upright and glared at the large trooper hovering over Seg. “Manatu, you were ordered to make sure he took his stim pack! Damn it, if we lose the Theorist we might as well set up camp here permanently. The Guild will sell our organs to the highest bidder.”
Kid?
Yes, Seg supposed that, to Kerbin, he was a kid. At twenty-one, he was just beginning. His first mission as a graduated Theorist, the final test. Succeed and fulfill his life’s ambition to work in the field, succeed far beyond expectations and he could elbow out the rearward thinking fossils and take the seat of Selectee for Field Research. Fail and—no, that was not an option.
The beginning. Of his career, certainly. And, judging from the wonders that now surrounded him, perhaps even his life. He looked up and over at the squad leader. How old was Kerbin? Thirty? Thirty-five? Memory eluded him. Old enough to be angered by inexperience or whatever else had dug those lines over her brow and on either side of her mouth.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath of this new air, so clear and fresh. He thought he had trained for the Bliss—the euphoria, the debilitating euphoria his People experienced when they traveled through the warps—but no drug could replicate this feeling.
“Vita.” He inhaled again, and swore he could taste the substance in the air. Vita, undetectable to the human eye, was the energy imbued on anything of cultural or spiritual importance, and necessary fuel for the continued existence of his People. This was what they had come for. And though he had studied vita, even visited the Central Well where it was fed to the ever-hungry Storm, at this moment he could actually
feel
it.
Seg lifted himself from the ground, sat upright, and watched as Kerbin gestured orders to the recon troops, fanning them out around her position. Had he really thought of her, during their prep sessions, as colorless and bland when he could now see her crisp efficiency and competence?
Her uniform, set to woodland camouflage, hid any evidence of gender but her almond eyes and high, sharp cheekbones betrayed Kerbin as distinctly female. Seg was at least a head taller than the troops, with the exception of Manatu, that were assigned to his mission, though not nearly as filled out. Despite the difference in size, Kerbin was formidable. She knew well what she was doing.
An avian flew across the sky in the distance; Seg stood as if to follow its direction. Manatu grabbed him by the collar and pulled him behind cover while, next to Seg, the signals operator began a broad-based passive sweep, his equipment sucking down any emissions the locals might be making.
Pre-transit, Manatu’s only redeeming quality had been his imposing size but now Seg watched, with admiration, as his assigned bodyguard swept his weapon across the treeline. A stalwart and steadfast protector–who could not respect that?
“What society awaits us?” Seg wondered aloud, then moved his tongue around his mouth and lips to taste the salt-tinged air. Manatu gestured with a hand sliced across his throat to indicate an immediate need for silence. Seg realized his mistake and pressed his lips closed. But the Bliss overwhelmed him again, spinning his thoughts off into happy contemplation.
There were thousands of worlds out there, from high-tech wonders that dwarfed his people handily, to aboriginal primitives who had barely progressed past the use of flint. The basic human phenotype had, surprisingly, remained consistent from world to world, with only a handful of cases of extreme adaptation. Fortunate, as successful infiltration would be impossible otherwise.
Outers
, that was the People’s name for any humanoid species from other worlds, and Seg looked forward to seeing his first one. He wanted to see them in their environment, a race as yet untouched, naïve and pure. These were not processed caj, the slaves of his World. These were raw Outers in their natural state.
He pressed his hand to the tree Manatu had placed him behind, marveled at the ridges and knobs of the bark, and put his nose up to the surface for a long sniff. The scent was rich and earthy. His world had nothing like this.
If only his People could simply pick up and move, reestablish their society in a place such as this. An impossible but tantalizing dream, the fancy of first year cadets before their instructors slapped them with the unforgiving hand of simple math. All other sound reasons aside, to extrans 90 million People through the warp? Never mind equipment, supplies or caj. The amount of vita required to fuel that journey was laughably unattainable.
“Signals, what’ve you got for me?” Kerbin asked, her voice low but urgent as she crouched near the operator, occasionally casting angry glances in Seg’s direction.
The troops had formed a perimeter in the forest, covering their sectors with the professionalism and wariness of veteran raiders.
Anything
could happen on a new world; Seg remembered that now.
“Getting high band traffic over here,” the signals operator replied. “VHF/UHF. Got some shortwave too. Nonrepeater, definitely comm signals. No signs of satellite comm.”
“You with us yet Theorist?” Kerbin snapped.
Seg bristled, the effects of traveling through the warp quickly draining from his body. He ignored the squad leader, adjusted his gear, and wiped away bits of moss and dirt. As he tugged at the edges of his coat to straighten it, he willed his head to clear.
How long had he laid there, Blissed out, endangering himself and the squad while Manatu had watched over him? Mistakes irritated him and his mistakes, however rare, most of all. Now that he was free of the fog, he re-evaluated the circumstances.
He recalled Kerbin’s earlier snide remark, and frowned. Who was this insolent bitch who dared address a Guild Theorist as if he were a common raider? To say nothing of the clumsy idiot they had assigned to guard him.
Manatu
, the name of an extinct, lumbering, land mammal from the World’s ancient past. Fitting name for one so dim.
His decision to forgo the pills designed to counteract the Bliss had been an error. Nevertheless, he shot the squad leader a withering stare. First or fifty-first, this was
his
mission, every responsibility and outcome—from collection of vita-related data to the selection of strike points—rested firmly upon his shoulders. Kerbin should know her place.
He screened the scenery with new eyes. It was lush here, vibrant and alive. Was this some residual Bliss informing his opinion or merely the strong contrast to home? Either way, it was that vibrancy they were here for.
As he slid his visor down, Seg was already contemplating what the standard cultural practices of residents of such environments would be. Systems of trade and transportation, myths and religion, mating rituals, all aspects of a society hinged on its surroundings.
“Any visual signals?” he asked the comm operator.
“Negative.”
According to the drone signal captures, the locals obviously had problems with the regulation of their signal traffic, with a messy clutter of bands often clashing into each other. “Sloppy organization,” Seg remarked to Kerbin. “Promising. Between the signal capture from the drone and this, we’ve got a start on language capture.”
She nodded. “We’ll review the plan, then make the initial move-and-acquire.”
The troops clustered around Kerbin as she went over the first stage of the mission with them. Seg listened but his eyes were fixed on something he could barely see through the thick foliage.
Water.
Initial drone penetration and its environmental readings of this world had shown a high ratio of water to land. An estimated 72% of the surface was covered by salt water, with countless island chains and six major land masses, the largest of which had been chosen for the transit site. Seg had known the geography going in—the drone was programmed to determine if a world were a viable vita source and to assist the recon squad with preparations—but now that he was here, the word had taken on a threatening tone.
Water.
Endless quantities of it rushed by, roiling uncontrolled and undirected. It lay within an easy walk of their location, a loud, flowing menace. The rational, educated part of his mind knew full well that it wasn’t likely to come flooding their way and wash them out of their hiding spot but the animal part felt both challenged and daunted by its presence.
There were worlds where Outers worked on water, even lived on it in various temporary and permanent structures. It was strange, reckless behavior, even for primitives.