The phibs watched in amusement as Rebo churned his way across the deep end of the chamber to a set of stairs that led up onto the stage. The runner was wearing a pair of cutoffs, but still felt naked as he padded across the platform and left a trail of wet footprints to mark his progress. There were nine mayors, including Pontho, and all had seats at the oval table. None wore anything more elaborate than a genital pouch, and some were completely naked. Five of the politicians were female, which meant that four were male, all of whom appeared to be older rather than younger. There was a raised bench on which guests could sit, but the norm chose to stand. “It’s my pleasure to introduce Jak Rebo,” Pontho said. “Some of you have expressed concerns where Lord Arbuk’s new ironclads are concerned. They are by all reports powerful vessels that could interfere with an attack on Buru. . . . However, thanks to military expertise acquired on other planets, Citizen Rebo is ready with a plan that could neutralize the threat. Citizen Rebo?”
Rebo didn’t have any military expertise, not really, but knew it wouldn’t be a good idea to say that. So, with all eyes upon him, the runner proceeded to outline his plan.
“As you know, Mayor Pontho’s agents report that three steam-powered warships are presently being constructed about twenty miles inland from the coastal city of Esperance, and will be ready within a matter of days.”
That was the projectionist’s cue, and the map appeared on the ceiling, where those who were fl?oating on their backs could see it, as well as on all three of the walls around the stage. But unlike the maps used ashore, this one ignored all but the most important roads to focus on the capillary-like network of streams and rivers that fed the oceans. A pistol-shaped electronic pointer had been left for Rebo’s use. After pointing the device at the wall, the runner pressed the fi?ring stud and was immediately rewarded with a red dot. It slid up to the point where the name esperance marked a large bay. And there, fl?owing into the harbor, was a narrow fi?nger of blue. “This is the Otero River,” the offworlder said. “What I propose to do is lead a party of raiders upstream, march a mile overland to the point where the ironclads are being constructed, and destroy them before the locals can transport them to Esperance. Then, with the steamships out of the way, we can attack Buru.”
It was a simple plan, but still worthy of another hour’s debate, and Rebo was back in the water fl?oating on his back when the fi?nal decision was made. A fi?nding that ultimately had more to do with a widely shared desire to destroy Arbuk’s warships than any particular enthusiasm for the offworlders, their talking snake, or the system of star gates they were so obsessed with. “Thank you,” Pontho said sincerely, as the results of the unanimous vote were announced.
“You won’t be sorry.”
Rebo wasn’t so sure about that, but hoped it was true, and let his hand stray to the good luck amulet that he wore around his neck. Except that the object wasn’t there, and hadn’t been for some time, even though he was going to need it more than ever.
Norr, who knew the runner pretty well by then, and could
“see” the doubts that swirled around Rebo, took his hand in hers. Nothing was said, and nothing needed to be. The end of the journey was near, and if they could survive the trials ahead, a much more pleasant journey was about to begin.
The village of Wattl
Inu Harluck was drunk, or had been, back before he stumbled out of the Evil Eye tavern, entered the adjacent stable, and passed out. It was a blissful state, and one that the fi?sherman-pirate preferred to remain in for as long as possible, which made the pain that much more annoying. But there was no escaping it, so Harluck was forced to surface and open his eyes. Shaz saw the man’s eyelids fl?utter, uttered a grunt of satisfaction, and removed the knife tip from the local’s neck. A single drop of blood welled up to mark the point where the surface of the drunk’s skin had been broken. “It’s time to wake up,” the combat variant said contemptuously. “There’s money to be made.”
What little light there was emanated from a lantern that was hanging a good ten feet away. So, as the fi?sherman looked upward, and saw the man-shaped image shimmer, he began to fl?ail his arms and kick with his legs in a futile attempt to escape what could only be a spirit. A murdered phib, perhaps, returned from the depths, ready to cut his throat. But when Phan threw a full bucket of water in his face, Harluck’s head began to clear. “Who are you people?” the pirate spluttered.
“And why pick on me? I ain’t done nothin’ to you.”
“No,” Shaz agreed, “you haven’t. But this is your lucky day. . . . We want to hire you, your crew, and your boat. Not the cutter—but the sailboat. The one you stole from the phibs.”
“I didn’t steal it,” the local objected hotly, “I found her. Empty she was, just drifting, pretty as you please.”
“That’s not what your brother-in-law told us,” the combat variant responded. “But save it for the local constable. We don’t care how you came into possession of the boat. What we do care about is an early start. So stand up, pull yourself together, and round up your crew.”
Harluck stood, made a futile attempt to brush some of the fi?lth off his clothes, and looked from one person to the other. He had scraggly hair, furtive eyes, and a pointy chin.
“I don’t believe I caught your names.”
“I’m Shaz,” the variant replied, “and this is Phan.”
“Well, Citizen Shaz,” the fi?sherman said offi?ciously, “my services don’t come cheap.”
“No,” Shaz agreed sardonically, “I’m sure they don’t. This coin was minted elsewhere, but it’s solid gold and worth more than you would normally make in a year.”
Lanternlight refl?ected off the crono as it arced through the air. Harluck intercepted the gold piece and weighed the object in the palm of a callused hand, before running a cracked nail across the face of a man who had been dead for more than two hundred years. Then, not having detected any lead, the pirate tucked the coin away. “So what kind of contraband are you smuggling?” he wanted to know. “And where are we headed?”
“There isn’t any contraband,” Shaz replied evenly. “As for our destination, that’s the island of Buru.”
The pirate turned pale. “Buru? No, way! The phibs will kill us.”
“Maybe,” the combat variant allowed. “But that’s the chance we take.”
Harluck looked from one hard face to the other. “What if I say ‘no’?”
“Then I’ll kill you,” Phan replied cheerfully. “Take your pick!”
Both of the strangers thought that was funny and laughed out loud. Harluck wanted to run, but knew they would catch him, and cursed his miserable luck. Because even though the gold coin lay heavy in his pocket—there wasn’t much chance that he would live to spend it.
The city of Esperance
Viewed from water level, out in the bay, the city of Esperance glittered like a necklace of diamonds laid across a piece of black velvet. It was nighttime, and had been for hours by then, but most of the city’s residents were still up and blissfully unaware of the raiders who had already penetrated their defenses. Fortunately for them, the sleek webfi?ngered commandos had no designs on the city itself. Their goal lay twenty miles upriver, where a short hike would take them to the village of Prost, where three warships rested on specially made rail cars, waiting for their trip to the sea. Like young people everywhere, the phib warriors were eager to begin the journey.