Priyanka had never been to a warren, nor had she ever personally encountered anyone who had been exposed to the J-K effect.  Of course, her job brought her in contact with people who, like Toby Cowan, went on to be jaked, but she hardly had reason to stay in touch.

She imagined she was typical in not thinking about the warrens very much.  Underground and out of the way, they were easy to forget if you didn’t know anyone living in them, and many people readily distanced themselves from anyone who had been jaked.

Priyanka suspected most people still regarded the jaked population as almost entirely convicts, but in reality the worst that could be said about most of them was that they were unlucky.  Everyone repeated the platitude that the warrens reduced humanity’s strain on the planet, but Priyanka never heard of anyone espousing this sentiment volunteering to go into the warrens themselves.

The night before, Priyanka had thoroughly reviewed the policies and procedures that Warren Administration had sent her regarding the responsibilities of being of a custodian of a jaked person, and she had certified her agreement to follow them.  Nevertheless, upon her arrival at the warren she was required to re-read and re-certify the policies.

Finally, she was admitted to a small white room with a single chair facing a shelf about two feet wide and equally as deep.  The shelf had a two-inch lip and met the wall at the base of a two-foot-square window, at the bottom of which there was a tiny door.  Through the window she could see a niche about the same size as the shelf on her side.  On one side of the niche was what appeared to be the seated figure of a three-inch-tall man staring up at her.

Afraid of making any sudden movements, Priyanka slowly sat in the chair.  Uncertain what to do with her hands, she left them in her lap.  Eventually she leaned forward to get a closer look.

Even if Marco hadn’t already seen Priyanka on the phone, the dress uniform of the Federal Cohort was unmistakable.  It was made of finer material than anything in the warren, and it fit her very well.  Her dark hair was secured by an impressive system of twists and stays that exposed most of her long neck.  Marco, however, was quickly lost in her eyes, dark brown pools that to him were over a foot across and shone down on him from forty feet up.

Marco swallowed and stood, then took a couple of steps toward the door before he remembered the intercom.  He stumbled back to the bench and keyed the mike.

“Uh, good morning, Centurion.  Um, I’m Marco Guzman.”  He paused until he realized he was afraid she would speak.  “I’m coming out,” he said.

The WA flunky unlocked the door before Marco reached it, and like that he was outside the Warren.  He continued to approach the woman twenty-four times his size.

Priyanka held as still as she could while Marco made his way through the final gate out of the warren, but once he was through she found herself lifting an arm from her lap and setting her open hand about six inches from Marco, palm up.

Marco considered her hand, longer than he was tall, then held his phone over his head and pointed to it exaggeratedly.

Priyanka remembered the procedures.  “Oh yes,” she said.  Marco hoped she didn’t see his knees buckle at her voice.  His composure held better as she told him the name of her personal network and gave him the password for intercom access.

“Can you hear me, Centurion?” he asked after he had logged his phone in.

“Yes, Detective,” she said softly.  Her voice came through clearer over the phone, but the awe-inducing reverb of her unmodulated tones remained.  Marco walked over to Priyanka’s hand, stepped into her palm, sat down and gathered his knees to his chest, then gave her a thumbs-up.

She lifted him to about eight inches from her face and gave what she hoped was a comforting smile.

“Would you care to stand, Detective?” she asked.

“Sure.”  As he stood on the unstable surface of her palm, Priyanka noted that his legs were (proportionately) very long.  His suit wasn’t very fashionable, but it matched and appeared neat and clean.  She brought him closer and recognized the practical near-buzzcut worn by most male cops of her experience.  His chin was strong, and if he hadn’t shaved this morning, she couldn’t tell.

“Very pleased to make your acquaintance, Detective.”

“Uh, likewise, ma’am.”

Warren Administration hadn’t provided Priyanka with anything like a transport carry.  She unbuttoned the right breast pocket of her tunic, then brought Marco down next to it.

“Will you be alright riding here, Detective?”

“Looks good to me.”  He lowered his pack into the pocket, then swung his legs over the top and settled in.  His footing was much firmer than he expected, and he was grateful for the less precarious position.

“All set,” he said.  She admired both his physical nimbleness as well as his reception of her rather forward proposal.  In other circumstances, the indelicacy might have given her pause, but it really was the most practical solution, and Marco’s alacrity buoyed her.

“Very well.”  Marco could now feel the vibrations of her voice through his back and legs, as well.  As Priyanka stood up and bore him out of the warren complex as if on the prow of a stately ocean liner, Marco held on and had to remind himself he wasn’t dreaming.