"I know that place-" I started to say, turning to Janol.
"Quiet!" he said, holding up a finger. Around us, everybody else had fallen still. Up near the front of our group a single voice was talking.
"it's a truce table."
"Have they called?" said the voice of Kensie.
"No, sir."
"Well, let's go see." There was a stir up front. The group began to break up and I saw Kensie and Padma walking off toward the area where the air-cars were parked. I shoved myself through the thinning crowd like a process server, running after them.
I heard Janol shout behind me, but I paid no attention. Then I was up to Kensie and Padma, who turned.
"I want to go with you," I said.
"It's all right, Janol," Kensie said, looking past me. "You can leave him with us."
"Yes, sir." I could hear Janol turn and leave.
"So you want to come with me, Mr. Olyn?" Kensie said.
"I know that spot," I told him. "I drove by it yesterday. The Friendlies were taking tactical measurements all over that meadow and the hills on both sides. They weren't setting up truce talks."
Kensie looked at me for a long moment, as if he were taking some tactical measurements himself.
"Come on, then," he said. He turned to Padma. "You'll be staying here?"
“It's a combat zone. I 'd better not.” Padma turned his unwrinkled face to me. "Good luck, Mr. Olyn," he said, and walked away. I watched his blue-robed figure glide over the turf for a second, then turned to see Graeme halfway to the nearest military air-car. I hurried after him.
It was a battle car, not luxurious like the OutBond's, and Kensie did not cruise at two thousand feet, but snaked it between the trees just a few feet above ground. The seats were cramped. His big frame overfilled his, crowding me where I sat. I felt the butt-plate of his spring-pistol grinding into my side with every movement he made on the controls.
We came at last to the edge of the wooded and hilly triangle occupied by the Friendlies and mounted a slope under the cover of the new-leaved variform oaks.
They were massive enough to have killed off most ground cover. Between their pillar-like trunks the ground was shaded and padded with the brown shapes of dead leaves. Near the crest of the hill, we came upon a unit of Exotic troops resting and waiting the orders to advance. Kensie got out of the car and returned the Force-Leader's salute.
"You've seen these tables the Friendlies set up?" Kensie asked.
"Yes, Commander. That officer they’ve got is still standing there. If you go just up over the crest of the slope here, you can see him - and the furniture."
"Good," said Kensie. "Keep your men here, Force-Leader. The Newsman and I'll go take a look.”
He led the way up among the oak trees. At the top of the hill we looked down through about fifty yards more of trees and out into the meadow. It was two hundred yards across, the table right in the middle, the unmoving black figure of the Friendly officer standing on its far side.
“What do you think of it, Mr. Olyn?'' asked Kensie, looking down through the trees.
"Why hasn't somebody shot him?" I asked.
He glanced sideways at me.
"There's plenty of time to shoot him," he said, "before he can get back to cover on the far side. If we have to shoot him at all. That wasn't what I wanted to know. You've seen the Friendly commander recently. Did he give you the impression he was ready to surrender?”
"No!" I said.
"I see," said Kensie.
"You don't really think he means to surrender? What makes you think something like that?"
"Truce tables are generally set up for the discussion of terms between opposing forces," he said.
"But he hasn't asked you to meet him?"
"No." Kensie watched the figure of the Friendly officer, motionless in the sunlight. "It might be against his principles to call for a discussion, but not to discuss - if we just happened to find ourselves across a table from one another.”
He turned and signaled with his hand. The Force-Leader, who had been waiting down the slope behind us, came up.
"Sir?" he said to Kensie.
"Any Friendly strength in those trees across the way?''
"Four men, that's all, sir. Our scopes pick out their body heats clear and sharp. They aren't attempting to hide."
"I see." He paused. "Force-Leader."
"Sir?"
"Be good enough to go down there in the meadow and ask that Friendly officer what this is all about."
"Yes, sir."
We stood and watched as the Force-Leader went stiff-legging it down the steep slope between the trees. He crossed the grass - it seemed very slowly - and came up to the Friendly officer.
They stood facing each other. They were talking but there was no way to hear their voices. The flag with its thin black cross whipped in the little breeze that was blowing there. Then the Force-Leader turned and climbed back toward us.
He stopped in front of Kensie and saluted. "Commander," he said, "the Commander of the Chosen Troops of God will meet with you in the field to discuss a surrender," He stopped to draw a fresh breath. "If you'll show yourself at the edge of the opposite woods at the same time; and you can approach the table together.”
"Thank you, Force-Leader," said Kensie. He looked past his officer at the field and the table. "I think I'll go down."
"He doesn't mean it," I said.
"Force-Leader," said Kensie. "Form your men ready, just under the crown of the slope on the back side, here. If he surrenders, I'm going to insist he come back with me to this side immediately."
"Yes, sir."
"All this business without a regular call for parley may be because he wants to surrender first and break the news of it to his troops afterward. So get your men ready. If Black intends to present his officers with an accomplished fact, we don't want to let him down."
"He's not going to surrender," I said.
"Mr. Olyn," said Kensie, turning to me. "I suggest you go back behind the crest of the hill. The Force-Leader will see you're taken care of."
"No," I said. "I'm going down. If it's a truce parley to discuss surrender terms, there's no combat situation involved and I've got a perfect right to be there. If it isn't, what're you doing going down yourself?"
Kensie looked at me strangely for a moment.
"All right," he said. "Come with me."
Kensie and I turned and went down the sharply pitched slope between the trees. Our boot soles slipped until our heels dug in with every step downward. Coming through the lilacs I smelled the faint, sweet scent - almost gone now - of the decaying blossoms.
Across the meadow, directly in line with the table, four figures in black came forward as we came forward. One of them was Jamethon Black.
Kensie and Jamethon saluted each other.
"Commandant Black," said Kensie.
"Yes, Commander Graeme. I am indebted to you for meeting me here," said Jamethon.
"My duty and a pleasure, Commandant."
"I wished to discuss the terms of a surrender."
"I can offer you," said Kensie, "the customary terms extended to troops in your position under the Mercenaries' Code."
"You misunderstand me, sir," said Jamethon. "It was your surrender I came here to discuss."
The flag snapped.
Suddenly I saw the men in black measuring the field here, as I had seen them the day before. They had been right where we were now.
"I'm afraid the misunderstanding is mutual, Commandant," said Kensie. "I am in a superior tactical position and your defeat is normally certain. I have no need to surrender.”
"You will not surrender?"