When she stepped out of the tiny shuttle, she was greeted by the business end of over twenty different firearms. A few of the raiders even held spears or knives, leering at her from the sidelines as she walked into the camp.
The farther she went over the dirt plot where Truck’s Raiders’ home was currently pitched, the closer the tribals around her came. They straddled their makeshift assault rifles and their plumbing-pipe shotguns as they spat obscenities at her. She wasn’t sure what they were saying, but judging by the general mood of the crowd, she could tell they weren’t the biggest fans of outsiders.
One of the Raiders hovered by her right hip. Every time she lost sight of the squirrelly man, she had the distinct impression he was going to try and pick her pockets. She tried to shoo him away with casual waves, but like an annoying gnat, he refused to relent.
The others came in closer. Some hooted at her, making gestures at her artificial breasts. A few tailed her, but she did her best to appear unperturbed. She knew a tough demeanor was required with this crew — if she didn’t want this encounter with the Raiders to end like the last had.
Once she was among the tents and fire pits of the camp, she slowed and gazed at the faces surrounding her.
“Where’s your leader?” she asked, scanning over the tribals. “Where is Truck?”
Some of the Raiders laughed, shoving each other or jabbing their neighbor in the ribs. Tera’s brow furrowed. She couldn’t understand the joke, unless the joke was her. Her jaw tightened as she picked one of the tougher looking men to lock eyes with.
“Did I fucking stutter?” she asked.
The tough guy’s mouth dropped open a little, then he started to heave with large belly laughs.
“Chickie’s tough, eh?” he said in a deep baritone, looking between the people on either side of him. Then he looked back at her. “How tough you think ya’ are?”
He took a step forward. That’s all Tera needed before she sprang into action. With a sudden recoil and pounce, she flew over his head, catching him by the neck as she did. With her downward arc, she spun in a full circle, maintaining her grip on the thug. The weight of her bodyshell combined with the force of her leap brought the man down to the dirt. She dismounted as a cloud of dust puffed out between her and the rest of the Raiders. The man sputtered as he tried to retrieve the breath that was knocked out of him.
Tera squared her shoulders and panned over the other faces. “That was a fun warm-up,” she said. “Who else wants some?”
There was an instant of collective silence before the crowd erupted in laughter again. This time, though, it wasn’t used to mock her. She could see by the look in their eyes, by the color in their cheeks as they chuckled, that they were impressed.
The group surrounding her parted a little as a man, also laughing, made his way towards her. His gait was slow and calm, like he was approaching an old friend. Tera didn’t recognize him. He was in his sixties, but still sported a full head of golden hair that curled along its short length like a bust of Julius Caesar. He was a full head under the tallest of the Raiders, and not much taller than the shortest. He clapped his hands together as he approached Tera.
“You sure know how to make an entrance,” he said. The wrinkles around his eyes seemed to smile as his lips did. “Maybe we need a few girls like you in the crew.”
Tera said nothing. She didn’t allow her tough facade to crack — not just yet.
“I am Truck,” the old man said. “I’m the leader of this sorry band.”
“You got our message?” Tera asked.
Truck nodded. “I did indeed,” he replied. “Perhaps you’d like to join me in my tent so we could discuss your situation in private?”
Tera nodded, then gestured for him to lead the way.
She was surprised when she parted the cloth to Truck’s tent. She expected weapon racks, broken furnishings, maybe even a grisly trophy or two. Instead, the tent was lined with bookcases. A large bed dominated one side of the tent, and a desk sat in the middle. A pair of books were open on its surface.
Truck continued in and took a seat at his desk. He raised his eyes to Tera as she gazed over the decor.
“Not what you were expecting, huh?” he asked. “With a name like Truck, everyone expects me to be some kind of Mad Max wasteland king. I’m really a learned man, Ms. Alvarez, believe it or not. I know that among all the pulse rifles, bombs, and machine guns out there, the brain is still the mightiest weapon of all.”
“It’s more than a weapon,” she said. With a slight shake of her head, she cut to the chase. “We need your help,” she said.
“I discovered that much from your message, funny enough,” Truck said. “I understand what you’re asking. Do you know what kind of fight you’re getting yourself into?”
“Yes.”
Truck studied her for a moment. There was a delicate squint to his gaze, like a poker player trying to read a bluff. After a moment, he seemed satisfied.
“I know who you are, Officer Alvarez,” he said.
Tera felt her nerves go cold for a second. One of the servos in her cheek twitched. “I’m not an officer anymore,” she replied.
“No, I know you’re not,” the old man said. “In fact, I know all about your story — even my people’s role in it. Don’t worry; we are your friends. In fact, I think you can understand our plight, our hatred of the Council, more than anyone.”
Tera didn’t say anything.
Truck grinned before he continued. “I’ve been burned. You’ve been burned,” he said. “Whatever your plan is, I’m in. Let’s burn the sons-of-bitches back.”
Battalion
King Hum received what he could
