The Naa had silvery fur with horizontal streaks of black on his cheeks. His pupils were yellow. “You have a plan?”
“Yes,” Santana answered. “I have a plan.”
The council room where the village chieftain and the elders met to resolve disputes, plan for the future, and bemoan the taxes that the new government had started to impose had been transformed into a chamber of horrors. The air stank of alcohol, vomit, and urine. Large sections of the wooden fl?oor were sticky with congealed blood, and nit bugs were feeding on it.
The bandit leader was seated at the west end of the room, in the large almost thronelike wooden chair normally reserved for the village chief. A rather unfortunate old geezer, who along with the rest of his council, was suspended along the hall’s northern wall. It was an excellent vantage point from which to watch the eight females who hung spreadeagled along the south wall, where they had been systematically gang-raped. Two of them were unconscious, and most had had been cut, burned, or beaten. Eventually, when his warriors began to complain, Throatcut would order up a new batch of playthings. But the dozen or so warriors who were currently pleasuring themselves with the females seemed happy enough, so there was no need to summon additional villagers as yet.
The thronelike chair, as well as its position on a raised platform, provided Throatcut with an unobstructed view of the head-high pile of loot stacked in front of him. Some of it wasn’t all that valuable. The brass incense burners and copper cookware were good examples. But there was plenty of silver, too, the Naa thought to himself, as he took another swig of beer. Not to mention some gold, and lots of Legionissued coinage, which could be exchanged for the new money that the government had promised to release. Much of the loot had been taken from unsuspecting caravans that continued to enter Throatcut’s trap.
But nothing lasts forever. The bandit leader knew that and was already working on a new plan. His original gang of desperados had been so successful that entire bands of brigands had requested permission to join up, thereby swelling his overall force to about a 170 warriors. Approximately twenty of whom had been killed during the assault on Deepwell. That left Throatcut with a force of about 150, which seemed like a good thing at fi?rst, but was actually something of a two-edged sword. Because while the bigger force enabled Throatcut to tackle large settlements like Deepwell, it also meant a lot of mouths to feed, and it was bound to attract unwanted attention. So, rather than keep the entire force together, the bandit was contemplating the possibility of splitting it into three fi?fty-warrior units when a breathless Salwa Obobwa passed through the door at the far end of the long rectangular room and hurried forward. “Hey, boss,” the human said, as he stopped just short of the platform. “Doothman says a caravan is coming in from the north. We’re talking six heavily loaded wagons, maybe fi?fty dooths, and a Legionsurplus RAV (Robotic All-terrain Vehicle).”
Throatcut frowned. “What about guards?”
Obobwa shrugged. “The usual. About twelve warriors, all armed with rifl?es, plus half a dozen females.”
The fact that the wagons were heavily loaded struck Throatcut as promising, but not as interesting as the wagons themselves, which were still something of a rarity on Algeron. Because it was only recently, during the last fi?ve years or so, that the main caravan routes had been improved to the point where dooth-drawn conveyances were practical. And Throatcut could make use of the wagons to transport his loot to a safer location. As for the RAV, well, that would constitute something of a bonus, since the four-legged robot could handle rough terrain and transport up to four thousand pounds’ worth of freight while doing so. His freight, since the notion of separating his share of the loot from all the rest appealed to Throatcut, who had very little reason to trust his subordinates.
“Okay,” the bandit leader responded. “Assign someone to sort this pile of loot. The cheap stuff stays here. Everything else will go onto the wagons once we capture them. Confi?scate all the booze. I want our people sober when the fi?ghting starts. Check every warrior and every weapon. Fill their bellies with a hot meal and position them the same way you did last time. And tell Deaver to load Lindo’s missiles. You never know when one of the Legion’s fl?yforms might happen by.”
That was a lot to accomplish in a relatively short period of time, but Obobwa knew better than to complain. “Okay, boss,” the human replied obediently. “I’m on it.”
*
*
*
In spite of the fact that he was a cavalry offi?cer, Santana had never ridden a dooth before and was extremely conscious of the fact that the big woolly beast was in charge as it carried him south. Fortunately, the animal was relatively docile and capable of navigating the road on its own. That left the heavily swathed human to rock back and forth in concert with the dooth’s movements while he eyed the countryside ahead, terrain he had already seen and memorized thanks to the satellite imagery provided by Madame X. The fi?rst obstacles to overcome were a pair of stone fortresses located to either side of the road just north of the village. The “twins,” as they were known, were three stories high, and served to anchor the thick stone walls that extended both east and west. The fortifi? cations had originally been constructed to protect Deepwell’s residents from neighbors to the north. But those days were largely over, which meant that the big iron-strapped gates remained open most of the time, allowing caravans to pass through. Real caravans, unlike the procession of six wagons and a single RAV that were strung out behind Santana. There were no signs of activity on or around the blocky fortifi?cations as the legionnaires drew closer. But the offi?cer could feel the weight of bandit eyes as they scrutinized every detail of the approaching caravan. And even though Santana and his bio bods were bundled up Naa style, their faces being concealed by the long scarves that the locals typically wore, the legionnaire continued to worry that some detail of equipage would give his troops away. An assault weapon that was too new, the way the wagons were sprung, or any of a thousand other details. Because even though Santana was confi?dent that he and his troops could fi?ght their way into Deepwell, he wanted to avoid that if at all possible. First, because the element of surprise was more likely to deliver a quick and decisive victory. Secondly, because the people of Deepwell had already suffered greatly, and the legionnaire hoped to retake their village without leveling the community in the process. And third, because the offi?cer wanted Team Zebra to understand the importance of fi?nesse. A quality that would be critical on Jericho.
And so it was that dooths snorted, wagons creaked, and RAV servos whined as the caravan passed between the twin towers and followed the gently curving road down the center of the valley toward the apparently peaceful village beyond. Except that it wasn’t peaceful—as the scrambled transmission made clear. “X-Ray Two to Alpha Six,”
a female voice said casually. “I have you on LW-6 almost directly overhead. Hostiles fi?ve-fi?ve, repeat fi?ve-fi? ve, are assembled on the right side of the main road as it passes through the village. An unknown number of hostiles are hidden inside structures as well. The rest of bandit force Delta is located at the south end of the village facing north. Over.”
Santana clicked his transmit button twice by way of an acknowledgment. By lining up along one side of the road, the bandits hoped to kill the incoming bio bods without fi?ring on their own people. And, if he and his companions were lucky enough to survive that assault, another trap was waiting at the south end of the valley.
