by Nancy Osa
Rob wondered if she knew that the harvest they’d forcibly taken from her had gone toward Bluedog’s criminal pursuits. This time, though, they were paying for the exchange. At her invitation, the riders tied up their horses and took in the maturing pumpkin crop.
After talking business, the farmer pushed her sun hat back on her head and hiked up her coveralls. She punched a thumb at Turner. “You’re the growing boy who likes my pie so much. You must come up to the house for some.”
Turner had helped himself to more than his fair share of pie on the last visit. He slid his eyes toward Rob, then back at the farmer. “Well, thank you kindly, ma’am. I am enjoyin’ a growth spurt these days.”
The woman wheeled off for the clapboard farmhouse at a pace that left the limping sergeant in the dust.
“Frida? A hand here?”
The vanguard, remembering Turner’s earlier appalling behavior at the farm, ignored him and kept marching. By the time he caught up, the farmer had already shown the others her flower garden and ushered them inside.
They sat around a plank table, enjoying slabs of pumpkin pie and goblets of flower water. Rob felt the life flow back into him, and he drifted off in a mellow daydream. A snippet of conversation brought his attention back to the table.
“. . . you folks heard that the syndicate is building a new city?”
“Huh?” Rob sat up straight. “You mean, the UBO. The UBO is building a capital city. To unify all the biomes.”
The woman appeared certain. “No, no. It’s those nice syndicate folks who were protecting my land from those awful griefers. A messenger come riding by a while back, wanting donations to the cause.”
Frida eyed Rob, then asked the woman, “You didn’t give them anything, did you?”
“Well, I give ’em a load of squash, and fifteen emeralds.”
“Did ya now?” Turner said, suddenly more interested in what she had to say.
“Weren’t much. But it was all I had.”
Turner put down the piece of crust he was about to eat. “Say, ma’am. You wouldn’t want to donate to our cause, too, would ya? We’ve got a heck of a city goin’ up—”
Rob cut him off. “We’ll pay for the pumpkins, fair and square,” he said firmly, rising from the table. “Who was it you said came by looking for charity, ma’am?”
“Now let me see . . . what was his name? Bolt? Colt?”
The troopers glanced at each other, showing no signs of recognition.
“Volt! He called himself Volt. Said he’d be back.”
Frida patted the woman’s shoulder. “I wouldn’t give him any more resources, though. I hear your biome is going to join the UBO.”
The woman absorbed this information. She smiled. “Well, isn’t that lovely?”
*
The troopers rode off, back toward the cold taiga, digesting the news along with their pie. Aswan had mentioned that the syndicate had gone underground. The thieves looked to be keeping a low profile as they refilled the treasure chests that the battalion had emptied for them.
“You don’t think they’re really planning to stake a claim on the Overworld, do you?” Kim asked. She knew that anything the rogue griefers had told the farmer was suspect.
“I think nothing’s changed,” Rob answered. “I’ll bet they’re still stealing loot in Lady Craven’s name, and taking a large cut of it, plus whatever favors she might grant them.”
“D’you think Precious was in on it?”
“Maybe. I don’t think she’s got the guts to pull off anything big on her own. She’s working for somebody else.”
“She didn’t want to steal our horses to trade,” Kim realized.
“Not for the gems they’d bring,” Frida agreed. “They’re more valuable to us than to her.”
“That’s it,” Turner said. “Somebody knew takin’ our horses would cause a spiral effect on the Beta project. No horses, no food hauled back. No vittles, no workers.”
Rob frowned. “So, whoever hired Precious . . . and this Volt character, is in league with the griefer army. We still don’t know whether Lady Craven is directing them, or where she is.”
“Or who might be leaking information from the jobsite,” Frida said. “That’s our Achilles’ heel.”
“Speakin’ of heels . . .” Turner scowled. “I could use a potion right about now.”
“We could hit Spike City for the night, and you could trade for some healing elixir,” Kim suggested.
“I would . . .” the sergeant said dubiously, “but I’d have to borrow some scratch until I get paid.”
“We’ve used up our expense account on these goods,” Rob said shortly.
“Don’t look at me, Meat,” Frida warned Turner.
“Kim? How’s about you spot me a few gems?”
“Sorry, Sarge. I’m saving up for something special.” She paused. “Why not just change your spawn point, like the captain asked? Does it really matter where in the world a man like you hits the ground? There’ll always be work for a weapons expert such as yourself.”
“Not if someone switches game modes behind my back. Windin’ up in Peaceful mode’s my biggest nightmare.” He shuddered. “Nah . . . a man’s spawn point oughta be kept private.”
“Even if other people’s lives depend on it?” Kim prodded.
Turner maintained a sour silence.
Rob needled the mercenary, “And, don’t forget about Rose. She’s reason enough to return to Beta, even if the rest of us aren’t.” He realized what he’d said and cast a guilty glance at Frida up ahead. If there was anyone the cavalry commander would not want to lose—in this life or the next—it was her.
CHAPTER 10
RATHER THAN BRING MORE PRESSURE DOWN ON himself, Turner suffered the remainder of the trip back to Beta without complaint. The squadron rode on through the night, fending off the usual hostile mobs. Rob preferred a sure fight to a meeting with questionable strangers any day.
Although they didn’t stop as they passed Spike City, Rob noted that the dislocated minecart tracks had been repaired and rerouted to the village’s back door. He half-expected to see the Thunder Boys zoom past. But the only disruptions on the journey north-and-upward came from zombies, a few skeletons, and two lost-looking endermen. The cavalry team skirmished their way toward dawn, avoiding contact only with the neutral endermen. Rob finally felt his energy drain away. When morning broke and the riders could see Beta in the distance, the group fell into a tense quiet, unsure of who—or what—they would find there this time.
To Rob’s amazement, they rode into a city buzzing with happy industriousness. People literally whistled while they worked, and no one appeared to be idle. As folks spied the cartloads of wheat and pumpkins and inventoried meats that the squadron carried, joyous cries went up.
Then, suddenly, the pack train was surrounded. Frontrunners in the crowd grabbed onto the wagons before they rolled to a stop. One settler frantically emptied his hotbar, intending to stuff it with stacks of food.
“Not so fast there, compadre!” Turner addressed him. “This ain’t no self-service buffet,” he warned, reining Duff back toward Rat’s flank.
When the villager ignored the order and reached for a pumpkin, Turner dropped the reins and drew his two diamond axes from their shoulder holsters. The sharp blades glistened in the morning sun. Both men engaged in a standoff as wrist and axe stopped just short of contact. Then the settler gingerly withdrew, giggling nervously.
Turner puffed his chest out, axes still aloft. “Now, that was funny. Sharpest tool known to man nearly meets . . . meat.”
The settler slunk away.
Turner glared at the others in the crowd who were all cringing. “Anyone else?” There were no takers. “That’s what I thought.”
The crowd parted and the pack train continued to the center of town and stopped at the community well. Rob was pleased to see an iron golem chained to it, on guard. Without any prompting, those assembled formed an orderly line, just as Jools
and Stormie caught up with the incoming party.
“That’s it: queue up!” Jools called. “Everybody gets a ration, as soon as I take stock.” He pulled out his computer and began to log items into his spreadsheet.
“Wonderful to see you, Bat Zero!” Stormie greeted them more cheerfully than the last time Rob rode in. She must have good news, he thought. About time.
“Everything going well, Artilleryman?” he asked as Frida, Kim, and Turner nodded hello.
“Coming up roses, Captain, since y’all left.”
Turner frowned at her. “You sayin’ we’re the bad luck charm?”
Stormie drew back, puzzled.
“He’s got an owwie,” Kim explained. “Feeling sorry for himself.”
Now Turner gave her a dark look. “I’ll be in my quarters,” he grumbled and turned Duff back toward the gate.
Meanwhile, Jools finished his list and let the settlers in line pass by, taking half a stack of their choice, for a snack to hold them and their families until the cook’s bell.
“Come see the new developments,” Stormie urged the captain.
Rob let Kim and Frida take the remaining supplies and horses down to camp, while he and Jools joined the artilleryman, whose bright mood was infectious.
The after-effects of damage and fatigue that Rob had experienced on the trail were forgotten as the comforting feeling of being on home turf returned. His step showed a definite spring as he and Stormie walked down the developing main street, which was looking far less war-weary than it had before. Cobblestone paving and transplanted shrubbery refined the scene, while the adjacent building projects had moved beyond the skeleton stage. Solid foundations and rising walls hinted at what the actual finished structures would be like.
De Vries emerged from the job office and headed toward the cavalry mates.
“Farm’s back online,” Stormie pointed out as the builder caught up with them. Leafy green seedlings and a sparkling waterfall had replaced the black tar pit Rob had last seen there, lending a hopeful air to the entire site.
“But how—?”
“You can thank the Thunder Boys,” Jools replied before Rob could finish forming the question. “Preliminary run on the new rails. Swale replaced the baby plants in exchange for the first ride.”
They set off toward the hillside, which marked the city’s eastern boundary. The commercial center was still only plotted out. But the new high-rise apartments were almost finished, Rob saw as they neared the rising cliffside. De Vries bubbled with pride at their design.
“Backed against the hills, these buildings will make very secure shelters,” the architect explained. “They’ll face a lovely park here”—he pointed at the open space at their front doors—“and the view! It’s an eye-popper.”
It would have to be, at twenty blocks higher than the steep hillside. The towers would certainly rival the finest ice-spike condominiums. Rob goggled at the skyscrapers.
“There’s a penthouse with your name tag on it, Captain,” De Vries offered. “And one each for the judge and colonel. You fellows have earned it.”
Rob ducked his head in shame, appearing more modest than unworthy. “Aw, I’m more of a stars-and-bedroll kinda guy, anyway,” he mumbled.
“Well, I’m not,” Stormie cut in.
Rob eyed her. “Since when?”
“Oh, lately,” she said, nonchalantly. “Sleep in a bed these days, sir.”
Rob stopped short in the street. “You—what?”
“Sleep in a bed now,” she repeated. “I need the money.” She was obviously teasing him.
This only made Rob feel more guilty. “I’ll see your pay is drawn up at once,” he said.
She shook her head. “I’ll take it end of the month, same as normal, Captain. Now that my arsenal is built up, I’ve got everything I need.” She waved at the men and women working on the nearly completed apartment dwellings. “Seein’ these people move in and get comfy’ll be payment of its own.”
*
Stormie’s new role, bringing people together, seemed at odds with her facility for blowing things up. Yet—Rob had to admit—her heart was in the right place, just as his own passion proved to be elusive. What was it Colonel M had asked him to do? Delve into his reasons for loving his old work, his old life. . . . Rob hadn’t had a moment alone to work all that out.
He was about to excuse himself and seize that moment when Jools and De Vries asked him to tour the minecart roundhouse and high-rise interiors.
Rob said, “I’ll take a rain check. Saber and I need to get some rest. It was a . . . demanding trip. You’ll get my full report at tomorrow’s meeting. Then I can devote my attention to your creations. Meanwhile, Jools, tell me: how are you handling our Thunder Boys? So the suspense won’t kill me.” He managed a tired smile.
Now the quartermaster scrutinized the captain, who did appear to need a lie-down. “Suffice it to say, sir, that we’ve had a meeting of the minds.”
They exchanged satisfied glances, and Rob wandered off, bound for cav camp. In just a few days, the settlers would be able to vacate the tent city. Until then, though, privacy would be at a premium. To get it, Rob realized he’d need a disguise.
On his way out of the build site, he liberated a torch from the farm and a pumpkin from the official stores, and quickly crafted a jack-o’-lantern. He stuck it on his head. Then he removed his chaps and vest and tucked them under his arm, returning to camp in his shirtsleeves and jeans—utter anonymity.
The mission had, indeed, been hard on the horses—long climbs over the extreme hills, the fall into the pit trap, and errant swipes by zombies. Rob decided to take Saber out for a restorative stroll, for both of their sakes.
The stallion snorted when the pumpkin-headed captain entered the pasture, but settled down upon catching his true scent. Rob clipped a lead rope on his horse, and the pair crossed the drawbridge without any special notice. Then they headed for the edge of camp.
When they reached the area where the battalion had lain in wait for skeletons some nights before, Rob removed his disguise. “Alone at last,” he murmured to Saber, allowing him to put his head down and graze at will. Grass grew in tufts at this elevation, but the steep terrain discouraged other grazing animals from spawning here. Saber’s rhythmic pull and chew on the grass soon lulled the cowboy-at-heart into the calm mood he’d sought.
Rob let his mind slide backward—past the Beta project, before the battles with Lady Craven and Dr. Dirt, before his sudden drop into the ocean—and into his old “normal.” Those days had begun and ended with a herd check and had been colored by Mother Nature’s terror and beauty. He’d never sought that life—he had been born into it. Shown the way by folks who’d gone before him . . . folks who’d simply assumed it was the life for him. Funny, Rob mused. Ya think everyday normal will never end. He marveled that humans are both blessed and cursed by an inability to see around the next corner.
Saber, tugging on the rope, led Rob a few more paces toward the line of rocks at the edge of the flat clearing. He noticed the ground harden beneath his feet, and then he heard a distinctive click! He’d stepped on a pressure plate.
Rob froze. There was no telling what the device might trigger.
Saber, wanting some morsels that were just out of reach, pulled at the lead rope again. Rob had no choice but to drop it and let the horse go.
Before he could call out or come up with another course of action, he heard noise—a chittering sound he’d heard before, like the silverfish made. Do endermites make that sound? he wondered, alarmed. He dared not turn around for fear of disturbing the pressure plate.
Then he heard breathing—human-type breathing—and the hiss-clicks stopped.
“I’ve been waiting to find you alone,” came a low voice so calm, yet so full of crazy, that Rob’s blood ran even colder.
“Wh-what d’you want with me?” He tried not to shake in his boots. A thin trickle of sweat ran down his back.
“Hyeh, hyeh, hyeh . .
.” A quiet, evil laugh met Rob’s ears.
No one was witnessing this. No one but he could hear what was going on. Even the happily grazing Saber had wandered far enough down the dry runoff path that he didn’t notice an intruder or whinny in alarm.
“Don’t move, now,” the unidentified creature said.
Rob fought for control. What would he have done in his old world? There, he’d always had an example of bravery to follow: Jip swimming against the current to turn a wayward calf; Pistol using teeth, and hooves, and his strong neck muscles to stun and fling away a striking snake. At the very least, when faced with near-impossible danger, they’d refused to show fear.
Rob grasped for that weapon now. “Who are you?” he demanded. “You’ll never get away with this,” he added, sounding much more certain than he was.
“Getting away doesn’t interest me,” Rob’s captor remarked. I’m perfectly comfortable in this nice, new city that you’re building. It’s you who’d like to get away now.”
“Let me go! Or a dozen armed and armored soldiers will have your head,” Rob threatened.
“Hyeh, hyeh, hyeh . . .”
That laugh! Nothing could be more terrifying than a laugh with no humor in it.
“Your city will stand—as a target,” promised the kidnapper.
“For who?” Rob demanded as sweat soaked through his clothing.
“For every dark force in and under the Overworld. Unless . . .”
“Unless, what?”
“Unless you cease your plot to take over the biomes.”
“Our plot? We’re here to unite the biomes, not conquer them,” he said, angry now. Battalion Zero’s message had been clear all along: the only acceptable Overworld was a free Overworld.
“You lie.”
“I never lie,” Rob fibbed.
“Here’s what you will do. You will stop trying to enslave the poor village people of these biomes. And you will tell no one why.”
“Or, what?”
