by Jay Allan
Axe stood still. He was a little dizzy, but he could feel his balance returning slowly. “OK, as soon as Tommie gets back, we’ll head down to that camp.”
Lompoc nodded, but he had a frown on his face. “And do what, Axe?” He sighed hard. “There are at least 40 men down there, and they’re well-armed. There are three of us…and you and Tommie are wounded.”
“I don’t know what we’re going to do, Jack, but we’re damned sure not going to lose them. I don’t know what these invaders want with our people, but it can’t be good.”
And it’s probably downright unthinkable.
* * * * *
“Final headcount is 849. I’d estimate about 200 dead in the raid.” Barkley was holding a small tablet. It was an old unit, crude and outdated. But on Earth 32 years after the Fall, it might as well have been witchcraft. And it was more than enough to do the job of tallying and sorting the captives.
Grax nodded. “I’d have liked a lower death count, but the target was just too big. We couldn’t take any chances.” And not taking chances meant shooting first and asking questions later. “Still, that’s a damned good haul, my friend. How’s the sorting going?”
“Good. Like any group of Earthers, there’s a fair amount of them that are half-rotten. Too much radiation and contaminated food. But I’d say half of them are in good shape. And maybe 80 are prime.” Barkley turned and glanced over his shoulder, where most of the crew were moving unconscious prisoners around. The initial sort had been done roughly, based on a cursory examination, and the captives were divided into four groups. Then the expedition’s two doctors scanned them all more closely, moving a few up or down a category.
The primes were the first group, men and women sixteen to thirty years old, with no signs of long-term radiation sickness and in good physical condition. Eighty was by far the largest number Grax’s people had ever bagged in one place.
“Eighty? Nice.” Grax allowed himself a smile. “The Buyers will pay a top price for them, and a bonus for so many in one group. That alone will guarantee us a healthy profit on this run. All the rest are just gravy.”
“I’d say we’ve got 250 As. They’ll fetch a decent price.” The A rated captives were basically healthy and strong enough to have a life expectancy of five years or longer at hard labor. Some of them had minor impairments that knocked them from the highest level, or they were out of the designated age range. Most of the As were destined for agricultural or factory work.
Grax nodded. “The As alone would be a strong payday, even without the primes. You were right, Pete. It was worth the risk of hitting that settlement.”
Barkley nodded. “Of the rest, I culled out about 200. Too old, too weak. Or ones the doc flagged as sick—mostly cancers and other long term effects of radiation. I detached Waters and a team to put them down.”
“So that leaves about 300 Bs then.” The B class were older and weaker candidates, mostly destined for work in mines and other dangerous activities. Bs had a life expectancy of a couple years at best, which made them considerably less valuable than the As. Still, with the expedition already paid for, the proceeds from the 300 Bs was all profit. And 600 projected man-years of labor had a value, even deducting the costs of transit.
“Yeah. Looks like 309 total.” Barkley smiled. “A damned good haul by any measure.”
Grax returned the smile. “Maybe we’ll recruit some more men after we get paid, and we’ll try to find some other big targets. A couple more like this one, and we’ll retire to some tropical planet and spend our days in a hammock with a couple girls each.”
“Sounds good to me, boss.” There was something in his voice, a hint of nervousness. Barkley had long ago overcome the moral issues of rounding up humans and selling them into servitude. There were enough mercenaries out there killing people for money, after all. But he still had reservations about the Buyers. The strange group ran an efficient operation, and they’d come through on every payment they had promised. But Barkley still didn’t trust them. For one thing, he wondered where their human cargo was taken after he delivered them.
Society throughout Occupied Space was becoming harsher, the lofty ethics and optimism of the immediate post-Fall era rapidly fading away, but there still weren’t many worlds that openly allowed human beings to be held as slaves. And the few that did generally restricted it to convicted criminals and indentured servants paying for transit with a set labor period. Kidnapped people stolen from another world were completely different. Perhaps there were a few small fringe worlds that might welcome such cargoes, but not many. And he knew there were other teams working Earth, sending hundreds, no thousands, of people to whatever world or worlds the mysterious Buyers represented.
Technically, it didn’t matter where the captives went after he and Grax were paid, but there was still something about it that nagged at him.
* * * * *
Andre Girard crept through the heavy woods, moving slowly, cautiously. He was anxious, impatient, but decades of field service had taught him you could be quiet, or you could be fast, but not both. And he had no idea who else might be prowling around in these woods.
He’d checked out the village. Vance’s information was correct. The place had been attacked and burned. He’d scoured the wreckage for clues, but he’d come up with very little. He was fairly certain some of the population was still alive somewhere—or at least that they’d been taken someplace else before they’d been killed. He’d found bodies—and ashes and bits of bones where others had been consumed by the flames—but nowhere near enough to account for the population of the settlement.
It didn’t look like Jericho’s meager wealth had been plundered. The village didn’t have much, but Girard imagined that farming tools and stored grain would be valuable to any group wandering around post-Fall Earth. Yet it was clear the storehouses had been well-stocked before the fires took them. Why would raiders from another settlement leave so much food behind? And why would they take the people instead of slaughtering them? It was just more mouths to feed.
Girard never underestimated Roderick Vance, but when his friend had asked him to come to Earth and investigate the distress call he’d received, he’d wondered if Martian Intelligence’s long time master had finally become a touch too paranoid. But now he was thinking differently. He had no idea what had happened here, but there was definitely something wrong. This was more than just warfare between rival settlements.
He crept along, following the trails leading south, and he stopped dead in his tracks. There were footsteps, and disturbed earth where bodies had been dragged. And there were trails left by heavy tracked vehicles. As far as he knew, none of the surviving settlements on Earth had any trucks or transports left, and even if they did, they didn’t have fuel to run them. Now Girard was sure Vance was right. Something very strange was going on here.
He slipped off to the side, back into the cover of the woods. He was dealing with something different now, and he had to be careful. Anyone who had a dozen or more transports could have other equipment too—binoculars, scanning devices, even drones.
He continued south, following the trail slowly, making sure to keep hidden as he did. It took him an hour to cover a kilometer, but Andre Girard had a lifetime of discipline, and he made certain each step was silent. There were dozens of ways to give a position away—a broken twig under foot, stepping on dried leaves, rustling branches as you passed. But Girard moved like a phantom, silent, invisible.
Another kilometer, another hour. The tracks continued in the same direction. Whoever he was following, they’d made no effort to hide their trail. Why would they? Who would they be hiding from down here? Still, he had a disapproving smile on his face. Girard believed in strong tradecraft, even when you didn’t think you needed it. Especially when you didn’t think you needed it. That’s usually when you got in trouble.
He stopped suddenly. He’d caught a sound, something off in the distance. He couldn’t tell what it was, but it didn’t soun
d like something from the forest. He crouched down, still, listening. Yes, there was something ahead. He moved forward, his pace even slower than before, creeping toward the faint noise.
It became louder and more frequent. There was definitely something ahead, and whoever was there, they weren’t trying to stay hidden. He swung off to the side, giving a wider berth to the camp as he moved around it. He found a good spot to hide, and he stayed there, motionless, listening. It was dusk already, and he decided to wait for dark to investigate further. He’d done his homework as always. It was overcast, and the moon would only be a sliver. A dark night. Perfect for scouting.
* * * * *
Axe was sitting against a tree, looking toward Jack and Tommie. The three of them had been hiding on the outskirts of the enemy camp for three days now. There had been a lot of activity, but the raiders had stayed in place. They appeared to be keeping the captives sedated, but Axe was pretty sure his people were still alive. The raiders were carrying still bodies around with a lot more care than they would have put into corpses.
He closed his eyes for a minute. Jack had cleaned out his wounds with a gusto that almost brought tears to his eyes. Axe considered himself fairly tough, but his friend had dug into him like an interrogator hard at work. But when he was done, the projectiles were both removed, and the wounds were thoroughly washed and neatly bound. They still hurt like hell, but Axe couldn’t argue with Jack’s skills. There wasn’t a sign of infection, and he was beginning to heal.
“What are we going to do?” Axe’s voice was heavy with frustration. For three days they had managed to stay undetected, but they were no closer to figuring a way to liberate their people. Indeed, it seemed more hopeless than ever. “They’re not going to stay here indefinitely, Jack. We’ve got to make some kind of move. Soon.”
“What?” Lompoc stared back at his friend. “I feel the same way you do, Axe, but what the hell can we do? Taking a risk is one thing. But if we make one move on that camp, the three of us will be dead or captured in seconds.” He paused. “There’s just no way.”
“I can’t let them just take her, Jack.” Axe shifted uncomfortably. Lompoc’s work had passed medical muster, but Goddamnned if it still didn’t hurt.
“Ellie wouldn’t want you to get yourself killed for no reason, Axe. You know that.” He paused. “A risk is one thing, even if it’s a crazy one. But suicide is something else. And you know we have no chance to break our people out. None. And they’re still unconscious, which means even if we got to them, they can’t help us. How could we get them out? Unless you think the three of us can kill 40 heavily-armed men.”
“I’m expendable, Jack.” He stifled a cough. “What have I got left? Six months? At most? But I can’t let them just take Ellie…all our people…away.”
“But you’re still…” Lompoc stopped abruptly and swung around, reaching for the machete hanging from his belt.
“Now don’t do that,” a voice said from the thick brush. Girard moved slowly out of the dense foliage. He was barely visible in the darkness, but they could see the pistol in his hand, pointing at Lompoc. “I’ve been listening to you boys for a while, and I think we can get along very well.” He moved out into the open, off to the side where he had a good view of all three of his new acquaintances.
“Who are you?” Lompoc’s voice was calm, disciplined.
“Let’s just say I’m a friend. One you guys sorely need.” His eyes darted to the blade at Lompoc’s side. “But until we know each other better, what do you say you put that down.”
Jack’s hand was still on the machete’s handle. He moved slowly, unhooking the belt that held the weapon and letting it slip to the ground. He was staring at the new arrival, as if scanning for weakness.
“Now, I take it you three are survivors from Jericho.” Girard sat down slowly, his gun still in his hand.
“How do you know about Jericho?” Axe felt his stomach tense. Is this guy one of the raiders?
“I know about it because you sent us a message. I’m from Martian Intelligence. My name is Girard. Andre Girard.” His eyes focused on Lompoc. “And, if I’m not mistaken, you’ve got some tradecraft.”
“I was an agent before the Fall.” Jack glanced at his two companions, a nervous expression on his face.
“Alliance Intelligence?” Girard nodded without waiting for an answer. “Of course…one of Gavin Stark’s people.”
Lompoc turned and looked over at Axe. “Hardly that. Stark was well above my pay grade. I was just a junior agent.” He took a breath and turned to face his friend. “Axe, I’m sorry I never told you. I…I was just…”
“Forget it, Jack.” Axe’s voice was warm, with no hint of condemnation. “It’s been thirty years, and we’ve all struggled to survive together. That’s all that matters now. Besides, I already had you pegged as Manhattan Police which, trust me, would have been just as bad to me. And I was a gang leader. I killed a lot of people. We’re all living new lives now, so let’s leave the old baggage where it belongs. In the past.”
Lompoc smiled. “Thank you, Axe.” There was relief in his voice. He turned toward Tommie, who just nodded with his own smile.
“I’m glad everyone has decided to stay friends,” Girard said, “because I just scouted out that camp down the way, and we’ve all got a problem. It looks to me like your people have fallen into the hands of a group of slavers.” He paused, taking a quick breath. “You ever run into any locals with trucks and equipment like that?”
“No, never.” Axe answered first. “I haven’t seen an operational truck in twenty years, and they’ve got at least a dozen. And weapons like none I’ve ever run into.”
“They’ve got military-grade hardware,” Lompoc added.
“Yes, I saw some myself,” Girard said. “Not what I expected to find. This is a well-financed operation, not another band of wandering survivors.”
“They’ve got our people, so we’re stuck in this, but what do you have to do with it?” Axe’s question was pointed.
“We received your distress call. Let’s just say I was sent here to see what happened.” He paused, glancing in the direction of the slavers’ camp. “And I still don’t know, at least not completely.” He turned back toward the others. “But if you’ll all work with me, I intend to find out everything. And maybe we can save your people in the process.”
* * * * *
“Alright, let’s move it. We lift off in two hours, and we need this cargo stowed for transit.” Grax stood and watched as his men began placing the sedated captives on cargo sleds. Dragging them around was tedious, but it virtually eliminated security concerns. He just didn’t have enough people to guard over 800 prisoners and still do everything else that had to be done. “Get the Primes loaded first.”
“The last of the Primes will be secure in a few minutes.” Peter Barkley was walking down the lowered hatch of one of the landers. He’d been running around all morning preparing. As soon as the two big ships hit ground, he got his crews moving. Barkley was second-in-command after Grax, and he was in charge of the loading operation.
“The sooner we lift off the better.” Grax knew his people were strong enough to deal with any wanderers who happened by their camp, but the ships had been visible for hundreds of kilometers, and he would be happy to be in the air and bound for Eris before the spectacle attracted too much attention. The stealth ships were an amazing development, but even their advanced technology couldn’t mask the massive output of the landing engines.
“Couldn’t agree more.” Barkley looked back over his shoulder. “Another five or six hours should do it, Boss. Then we can get the hell out of here and sell this load.” He paused. “You know, Rufus, I’ve been wanting to talk with you.” He sounded a little uncomfortable.
“What is it, Pete?” The two had run a dozen missions together, and Grax always expected his number two to discuss anything with him.
“It’s the boys. Some of them, at least. They know we’re looking at a huge s
core here, and I’ve heard a lot of talk…grumbling. A lot of them want to get their shares and take a break. They’ve got money burning holes in their pockets, and taverns and whorehouses on their minds.”
Grax sighed. “How bad is it, Pete? Really?”
“I think we’ll lose over half.”
“That bad?” Grax sighed. “Any ideas?” He knew crews like his were temporary by nature, ragtag groups of society’s castoffs, like pirates of the old wooden ships era on Earth. But Grax could feel the increasing pressure for more captives from their mysterious employers. He could see the bounties increasing. It was time to make as many big scores as possible—enough to disappear and retire in luxury somewhere, for good, not just for a wild, drunken blow off. He understood that, and he knew Barkley did too. But how many of the crew couldn’t think beyond a six month blowout of drinking and getting laid—that was another question.
“We can try to bribe them with bigger shares if they stay.” Barkley’s tone was hesitant. Men drawn to professions like slaving didn’t tend to part with their profits easily. “I know it’ll come out of our end, but it’ll cost us more if we’re laid up for half a year recruiting a new team.”
Grax exhaled hard, staring at the ground for half a minute. Finally, he looked up at Barkley. “Alright, Pete. Do it. Talk to the ones you think have the most influence, the ones that can convince others to stay. Anybody who signs on for another years’ service gets a double share.” His face was twisted into a scowl. That was going to cost him a ton. But it was still better than being out of business right now.
“I’m on it, Boss.” He looked around. “We wouldn’t want to miss another trip to this little slice of paradise, would we?”
* * * * *
“There is a way, at least a chance. But it’s risky.” Girard’s eyes panned across his new companions, but they settled on Lompoc.
The three Jericho refugees had gone into a near panic when the landing ships put down. They’d been worried about keeping up with the raiders if they took off in their trucks—they hadn’t imagined their enemies’ destination was in space. They’d just about despaired of saving their people when Girard spoke up.
