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He hadn’t chilled the guy. It was only a shoulder shot. Ryan might have taken him down if he wasn’t that strong, but he’d still be alive and dangerous.
But where?
Ryan looked diligently from side to side as he searched for some sign of his opponent.
It was his alertness that saved him. The dry crack of a twig, the harsh rattle of quickly drawn breath, and the held-down, almost silenced grunt of effort all added up to one thing.
The bastard had gotten behind him.
Ryan tried to twist so that he could meet the man head-on, but it was too late for that. Muscles burned, tendons and sinews strained, but his foot stayed locked in the grip of the warm turf, and as the man landed on him, pushing him back, the one-eyed man could feel an intense burn in his calf as his twisted leg was forced into a position contrary to nature. It was so sudden that it almost took his breath away. The desire to survive made him grit his teeth and hold on.
He tried to bring the rifle around so that he could fire—the SIG-Sauer would have been better at closer range, but there was no chance he could unholster it in time—but only succeeded in getting it across his chest.
Just as well. As he fell back under the impact, his assailant driving into him, the rifle across his chest acted as a barrier. The man had a knife, and it pricked at Ryan’s clothes and skin as the man slashed wildly, the rifle shaft taking the brunt of the blows. Close up, the attacker’s eyes were fogged with pain, wild and despairing. He knew this was his only chance of survival.
The man reeked of fear, sweat pouring from him, making his flesh slippery, his ragged clothes damp and heavy. For a moment, the two men were frozen in position as Ryan’s push upward met the resistance of his opponent’s weight on the down.
With an effort that made stars of light burst behind his good eye, he heaved and pushed the man to one side. As he did so, he rolled with the momentum and came up onto his haunches, thighs straining and his calf burning like a hot knife had been thrust into the muscle.
Ryan dropped the Steyr at his feet, his hand snaking down to the scabbard on his thigh where he kept the panga. The wickedly razored blade slid from its sheath with ease, sitting comfortably in his hand like an old friend. He took a step forward.
The wounded man had landed on his back and was flailing, arms and legs pumping as he desperately tried to right himself. He still grasped the knife, but was in no position to make use of it. Tears of fear or frustration trickled down his face. Blood still seeped from the wound in his shoulder, a black patch of lost fluid staining his camou vest.
“You or me,” Ryan whispered, cleaving down with the panga. It bit into flesh, jarred against bone. From the injured shoulder the panga slashed across the throat, rupturing artery and vein. Gouts of blood spurted rhythmically, growing fainter as life receded.
Ryan stood over the man for the few seconds it took him to buy the farm. He had to be sure the enemy was down permanently. It gave him no pleasure to chill a wounded man. It was necessity. All the while, he kept alert to what was going on around him.
When the blood was just a trickle, and the eyes were glassy and sightless, Ryan turned away and retrieved the Steyr. His calf ached, but already the pain was ebbing, and more bearable. It wouldn’t impede him.
But what about the others? The firing was now sporadic, most identifiable as blasters used by his people. There was little other sound. Battle was almost at a close.
Cautiously, he made his way across the line they had drawn. Krysty had chilled two men and a woman. Two by clean shots, one by a gouge in the side and a broken neck that lay at an unnatural angle. Farther on, J.B.’s area was clear: four corpses, all drilled by the mini-Uzi a testament to the shooting powers of the Armorer.
By the time he reached the area where Mildred had been, he found that he was the last to join the group. Jak and Doc had joined Krysty and J.B. in moving toward the middle of the line. Krysty was pleased to see Ryan.
“We all through here?” the one-eyed man asked.
“Me and Doc get seven between us.” Jak shrugged. “Mildred took three, Krysty three, J.B. four. How about you?”
“Just the three,” Ryan replied, “but one of the bastards just wouldn’t lie down and buy the farm.”
“Always one,” the Armorer muttered. “Make that twenty. Not bad odds, I guess. Headed toward the ville, too. So where did they come from?”
“Dunno,” Ryan mused, “and now isn’t the time to wonder. We can do that later. There might be more of them, and they’ll be pissed at what we’ve done. Let’s head toward the ville. At least we know we’re expected there.”
There was a general agreement, and with barely a backward glance, the group moved in the direction where they knew Arcady lay.
ARCADIAN SAT LISTENING to the observation post report on the skirmish that had taken place. When it had concluded, he sat back and thought for a moment.
“Let them pass through to Sector Eight,” he finally stated. “They’ve shown their mettle, I think. They’ve also saved us the trouble of mopping up the rebels this time around. Team Four, do you copy?”
“Baron?”
“Follow them as far as Sector Eight and let them get a look around. At the first sign of any interaction, from either side, you move in with backup and apprehend. I want them to get a flavor of that sector. It may serve them well.”
He sat back, satisfied by his plan of action. If things continued in this manner, he had found some useful personnel to add to his team. And they, too, would see it that way.
Eventually.
WITH J.B. ON POINT, the group headed in the direction of Arcady. Taking a reading with the minisextant was almost an impossibility, given the canopy of mangrove that still covered them. Despite that, they had a sure enough sense of the direction to know that they would come across the edge of the ville eventually. Ryan figured they’d covered at least two-thirds of the distance, although the maze and the subsequent firefight had made it difficult to look back and make an accurate assessment.
For Ryan, it couldn’t come soon enough. Allowing Mildred and Krysty to take positions ahead of him, the one-eyed man had dropped back, finding the pace punishing as his calf ached and throbbed. He could still walk, bear weight on it, so it wasn’t a bad injury, but it was enough to slow him. He needed to rest the leg, and let Mildred get a good look at it.
But not now. The undergrowth was still too thick, and hacking their way through was slow. They were all exhausted but knew that this wasn’t a good time to halt. The companions might have to fight others, and they were probably being followed.
It was with some relief that J.B. noted the undergrowth beginning to thin out in front of him. It became easier to make a path and suggested that they were within reach of Arcady.
The Armorer slowed, raising a hand. “Easy. Ville’s coming up.”
Despite tired limbs and aching eyes, the knowledge that they were within striking distance of their target added vigor to their step. It also caused them to prime blasters and resume vigilance that torpor may have blunted. After all, they had no idea whether Arcady would present as friend or foe.
The last mile was torturous, and seemed to stretch out forever. Each step, although taking them closer, seemed to be removing them. The next patch of thick vines and brambles to be cleared should reveal a distant ville, but revealed…nothing more than vines and brambles, interspersed with twisted bark.
Jak, at the rear of the party, was keeping a sharp eye for those who had been on their tail before they reached the maze. But there was no indication of anyone following in their wake. Which, in itself, was unsettling. The companions had been tailed for a reason, so why had that stopped? He said as much, in a few terse words.
“Could be that they’ve got ways of following us without having to get close,” Ryan mused.
“If this baron is as, ah, advanced as the fat man suggested, then it could be that he has some old surveillance technology that is useable,” Doc interjected.
“Could be. Could also be that they don’t need to follow us now, ’cause we’re right on top of them,” Ryan added.
“I hope that’s right,” Mildred murmured, casting an eye over Ryan’s leg. From the way he was walking, she knew that he needed to rest it soon.
J.B., hacking at the undergrowth, was finding it easier and easier. The vines and brambles were dwindling, leaving just the thick grass between trees that were now becoming more and more evenly spaced, as though the untamed forest had, at this point, suddenly become tamed and laid out to a plan. Moving aside a tangle of vine, the thick oily leaves sticking to him as he parted them, the Armorer saw that ahead lay a patch of sparser grassland, dotted with only a few trees.
And there, in the shadows of late afternoon, were the outlines of a few tumbledown buildings. To the rear of them lay not the outline of distant trees, but that of taller buildings, stretching back as far as could be seen.
“At last,” J.B. breathed, almost to himself.
“THEY’RE IN SIGHT of Sector Eight,” the observer whispered into his handset.
“Good. Keep them in full view. Wait and see what happens when they meet the natives. I want to monitor their reactions. But you must—I repeat, must—intervene if there is any chance of revelation.”
“Copy,” the observer whispered. “All teams, converge on Sector Eight, be ready for takedown.”
THE FRIENDS MADE THEIR WAY across the open ground toward the buildings with caution. It might be easier to traverse, but by the same token it was also exposed. They would need to stay alert, as there was no place to hide.
At first sight, the buildings in front of them seemed deserted. Windows that were little more than holes cut in sheets of rusting metal, or framed by ill-cut wood that was only vaguely fitted into salvaged cinder block and brick, were black holes showing no signs of life within. It was almost as quiet here as it had been in the undergrowth. In the far distance, the indistinct sounds of movement—vehicles, masses of people, the clamor of a ville’s early evening routines—could be picked out. But here, it was as though this rough pesthole had been set up for some ill-defined purpose and then deserted.
“Triple red,” Ryan murmured. It was perfunctory, as they had all primed and cocked as soon as they emerged into the open. “Jak, I can’t see any sign of life from here. You see or hear anything?”
The albino youth shook his head. “Hard with noise in distance. Not much here. But they behind us. Far, but there.”
“Okay. We move in, recce and see if we can find shelter if it really is empty. If not, then…”
“Business as usual,” Mildred murmured.
“Right,” Ryan agreed.
By this time, they had reached the outermost buildings. Procedure was simple: while the majority of the group checked and covered the surrounding area, two would take the entrance to a building, one covering the other as they swept the interior.
Ryan, not trusting his leg, let J.B. and Krysty take the sweep. The first two buildings—even to call them that was an exaggeration, as they seemed to be barely standing—were empty. There were signs that people had lived here until recently, but had now departed: rotting food, soiled bedding and dirty rags that passed for clothing.
“Where did they go?” Ryan murmured, casting a searching glance at the seemingly deserted shanty ville.
“Mayhap they were frightened of us?” Doc suggested. “Or, more pertinently, afraid of those we recently fought?”
“That’s a good idea,” Ryan said softly. “Thing is, if they think we’re those bastards, then what will they have in store for us?”
“Caution should most definitely be the watchword,” Doc replied.
Proceeding in such a manner, they took in a number of buildings. All of them had the look of the recently deserted.
“It’s like they ran scared,” J.B. said with a shake of the head. “How do they manage to survive if that’s what they do?”
“Perhaps that’s how,” Doc answered. J.B. grimaced. “Can’t run forever. Bound to catch up with you sooner or later. We all know that. Besides, if this is Arcady, then where are the sec that we heard so much about?”
“Probably on our tails,” Mildred muttered wryly. “Still out there, Jak?”
“Yeah, someone,” the albino teen said, looking into the clearing between the mangrove and shanty.
“But if this is Arcady,” Krysty said, taking a look around, “then why is it like this? People living in shit? I thought Arcadian was a good baron, giving his people a good life. And a rich baron, who could afford it.”
“That’s what fat boy led us to think,” Ryan mused. “And this certainly doesn’t look like any part of Arcady we saw. Unless the baron likes to let outlanders see and think one thing…”
“I suspect it may not be as clear cut as that,” Doc mused. Then, to answer questioning glances he added, “Come—keep watch, but please…”
He led the main body of the party into three separate huts. In each, he merely said, “Observe, please,” before leading them out. Jak kept watch while Doc did that. Finally, the old man led them back to the point from which they had started.
“So what were we supposed to be looking for?” J.B. asked, puzzled.
Doc smiled, his strong white teeth giving the smile a sardonic edge. “I think Krysty hit the nail on the head, as the old saying goes. She talked of people living in shit. But they do not. Shit, piss, the kind of buildup of human ordure that we usually see in a shanty like this. Where is it? Where is the smell?”
Doc paused while they took this in: he was right. While not as sweet-smelling as it could be, there was only the smell of unwashed bodies lingering in the air. The dirt roads and paths were barely muddy.
“Fireblast!” Ryan exclaimed as it suddenly hit him. “Those huts have got latrines in them, and there’s a faucet stand in the corner of each.”
“Running water? Sanitation? What kind of a slum shanty has that?” Mildred posited. “That’s insane. If they have that, then why do they live like this?”
“We may discover that if we unearth any of them,” Doc mused. “They are supplied with water and sanitation. Moreover, those clothes may have been ragged and dirty, but they had been made that way by those who wore them. They must have plentiful clothing, otherwise why leave it behind? Have you known that before? And the food—that, too, must be plentiful, as there were many scraps. Ever known people in a seemingly poor shanty ville like this leave food lying around in such a manner?”
“But if they’re not really that poor, then why live like this?” J.B. queried.
“I suspect that we may find out, if we stay around here long enough,” Doc answered cryptically. “There are machinations afoot here that are hidden to us. Perhaps intentionally.”
“Worry ’bout later,” Jak said. “Got company.”
He indicated a direction farther into the shanty ville. Ryan waved his companions back into the shelter of two huts that stood on either side of the dust road. Checking that nothing was coming up from the rear, they assumed defensive positions—Ryan, Krysty and Jak on one side, with Mildred, Doc and J.B. taking the opposite point—while waiting for whatever was headed their way.
When it came, it was somewhat of a surprise. Slowly, moving with a caution that was edged with fright, a group of raggedly clad people moved from the shadows of far-flung huts. Despite their clothing, they were far from ill-nourished. In truth, some of them were paunchy to the point of obesity. They moved almost as one amorphous mass: men, women and children, all jockeying for position. No one wanted to be in the lead, and those who found themselves thrust to the front were quick to try to fall back, pushing against those who came up behind them. It made their progress slow and shuffling. The fear and fright was so strong coming off them that the companions could almost smell it.
The two groups of three exchanged bemused glances across the distance between them. It was difficult to know what to make of this. If these people were really that scared, then why had they come out of the shadows?
Ryan took a calculated risk. He could see no blasters among the crowd jostling slowly toward them. He stepped forward, cradling the Steyr nose down in a relaxed grip. But not so relaxed that it couldn’t be brought into play easily and quickly.
As he emerged, the group of ville dwellers stopped suddenly. It was almost as though they cowered at the sight of him. Some even flinched, as though he was about to fire on them. When he stood his ground and did nothing, some of them looked up.
“You’re…you’re not going to take from us?” a man said haltingly.
“Why should I?” Ryan asked. “Is that what the others do?”
Mutterings shot through the crowd. He could make out some of it. They were talking about him, and not about who “the others” might be.
A woman stepped forward and pointed at him, yelling, “He only got one eye” and laughing before running back into the crowd, many of whom were now giggling.
“The others,” Ryan repeated. “Who are the others?”
Many of them looked at one another, as though they found the one-eyed man beyond their comprehension. The man who had spoken first said, “Others take stuff, want to hurt us. I think they like that bit. It’s not nice.”
Ryan was taken aback. “You don’t try to defend yourselves?”
The man shrugged. “They go soon enough. Then other others come and help, but sometimes they don’t. Mebbe you know them? Mebbe you got more stuff for us?”
A satisfied murmur rippled through the crowd, and they moved forward. Ryan took a step back, not because he thought they would attack, but because for one moment it seemed that they might overwhelm him.
His people took that as their cue to step out into the open. Their presence caused the approaching mob to stop momentarily, before gasping in amazement and moving forward. Before any of Ryan’s people had a chance to draw breath, the ville dwellers were milling around them, touching them and asking questions.
“You know others?”
“You have stuff?”
“Why you so white?”
“Why you so brown?”
Yet none of them waited for answers to the questions they posed before babbling on about something completely different.
Ryan looked, bewildered, over the heads of the milling throng to where he could see Krysty. She shrugged. She was as confused as he was by their behavior.
