by Nancy Osa
Rob got his answer when he returned to the crafting corner of the room. Some of the gold had been used to make weighted pressure plates, like the one he’d stepped on before. The UBO redstone stores had probably also contributed to the project. As he sorted through the pile of components and crafting ingredients, an ominous picture began to take shape. Gunpowder, redstone, pressure plates, trip wire . . . it looked as though someone were rigging a bomb.
Suddenly, a familiar rattle came from the other end of the tunnel. Rob froze, listening. It was the silverfish saying, Honey, I’m home!
*
Rob’s days spent with Frida hadn’t been for nothing. The survivalist was a master at blending in with her jungle surroundings. Her movements, her clothing, even her skin coloring all furthered her ability to travel undetected. This made her an excellent vanguard—a trooper who could lead out, preserving the element of surprise, or scout an enemy ambush before it could happen. After observing her in her native environment, Rob had learned that, in survival, knowing when to move and when to freeze made all the difference.
He knew those were his only choices now. If he waited until the silverfish got to his hiding place, he’d be toast. If he ran with them pursuing him, ditto. He snatched at the fleeting window of time between those two end points and skedaddled out of the bunker, unable to shut the hidden door in his haste. He streaked through the tunnel as fast as his boots would take him. Once outside, he dropped his torch in a water bucket and made for the fence line.
Like a live shadow, he retraced his steps to his entry point, only to find that the spruce limb was out of reach. He piled some blocks, conveniently discarded near the capitol foundation, to form steps. Then he managed to reach the tree, swing up, and make his getaway.
Back in camp, he had no choice but to remain in his bunk. His borrowed skin might be recognized by its owner, and his own clothing was in use right now. He put an eye to his periscope peephole, but he couldn’t see all the way to the horse pasture, where the troopers were drilling. He gave up and went and slumped down in his easy chair.
Rob wouldn’t be surprised to hear that another layer of the apartment tower had been eaten away that night. The silverfish’s boss seemed to know when people would be nearby and when it was safe to work at destroying the city. Finding the mole might unlock the whole mystery.
A low knock at the door nearly caused Rob to cry out. Without waiting for an answer, the visitor pushed his way in. The man was about the captain’s height and of a similar build—save for the bulbous head. This, of course, was only a jack-o’-lantern. Kim had borrowed Rob’s mask to keep the man’s identity a secret and to make people think he was the cavalry commander. The chaps and vest he wore completed the disguise. For an instant, Rob thought he was seeing himself in the mirror. Then he knew their ruse had worked.
“Swale, old man!”
The farmer removed his pumpkin head and stood there in Rob’s signature duds, smiling. “I ain’t never had so much fun,” he admitted. Rob didn’t know whether he meant the mounted drill or the subterfuge. “I hope it was some help to you.”
“It was. How did Saber do for you?” Rob had known Swale could handle the stallion on the field and loaned him the horse to add credibility to his masquerade.
“Perfect. It’s like he was in on the gag.”
“And the training?”
“Just like you said. I had the troopers take turns calling the drill—for XP, we said—and I just followed along. Running in patterns, slashing at zombies . . . I do think I could make a cavalry soldier, someday.”
Rob knew the adrenaline rush the farmer was enjoying. It was what incited men and women to embrace risk, danger, and death in the name of defending a cause. “Battalion Zero would be proud to have you, Swale . . . if you weren’t so valuable on the horse farm. I hear that’s some fine horse flesh you brought in today.”
“Thank you kindly.” He paused. “Well, I’d best be getting into my costume for the ride home.” He swapped the vest and chaps for another item of leather clothing and balanced a pair of round-lensed sunglasses on his nose. “How do I look?”
The farmer posed in a black leather jumpsuit. Now Rob could see his own reflection in the sunglasses, and he smiled. “Like a Thunder Boy.”
A few moments later, another signal knock came at the door. Kim had arrived, bent on pointing Swale toward a darkened section of minecart tracks. In that get-up, nobody would think twice about him leaving.
To complete the ploy, Rob put his own clothes plus the jack-o’-lantern mask back on and joined the crowd that was just breaking up at the pasture. He let the battalion cluster around him as he shook hands with spectators. The settlers had been impressed.
“Wonderful demo, Captain.”
“Fine display of riding.”
Rob nodded his pumpkin head, telling one woman the mask made him feel like just one of the troops when he had others play captain. “All the new recruits wear them,” he explained.
“Well done, Private Rob,” Stormie joked, in a tone of voice that said she hadn’t been fooled.
“Troops!” Rob called. “Fall in for final inspection.”
As the last of the crowd dispersed, Rob took advantage of his heavy mask to give his friends a quick recap of his activities—without anyone else being able to hear him or read his lips.
“I’ve discovered who is causing havoc in the city. It’s a griefer, all right. With an army of minions, just like Lady Craven. But somebody is feeding this guy inside information. Someone who can get to us battalion members, the job offices, and probably the computer network, too. It’s not safe to talk.”
“Is it that Volt, sir?” Stormie guessed.
“Is it endermites, like Aswan said?” Kim pressed.
“Precisely, who are we dealing with?” Jools asked quietly.
Rob gave them a serious look through the eye holes of the jack-o’-lantern. “I don’t know who, but I think I know what. I asked myself what could live underground, eat wood, and collect gold. While I believe it’s silverfish doing the damage, someone is controlling them. It’s their boss we’re after.”
Turner wanted a clear target. “Is it a man?”
“Maybe. But a man with the heart and mind of a tunneling insect.”
Frida appeared disgusted by the prospect. With a fierce expression, she said, “Then let me squash him, sir.”
*
Rob instructed the troopers to act as though they knew nothing about the source of the troubles in Beta. He hadn’t mentioned being detained by someone who was intimidating potential biome delegates. He would have to pursue that lead himself, but he did ask his friends to keep their eyes and ears open for a mole.
“I should have known!” Jools lamented. “Moles live underground, too. And what better way to transmit information to other underworld scum than to use a mine as headquarters?”
“Frida, Turner,” Rob said. “One more thing, before you leave for the flower forest: I want you to plant some bogus intel.” He directed them to have a word with their significant others, being sure to say that a griefer’s den had been discovered. “Oh, and tell Rose and Gratiano where you’re going, and that it will take several days.”
The vanguard and sergeant appeared uncertain of this tactic, but Stormie approved. “That should smoke out the mole, sir.”
“Or at least rule out the innocent,” Frida protested, and Turner nodded stubbornly.
“Okay, Bat Zero, this is it. Say no more until we find out who’s leaking intel. And that had better be soon.” Rob pictured the crafting area of the hidden room he’d found. If someone was building a bomb, exposing the mole couldn’t happen soon enough.
CHAPTER 13
NOW ROB DIDN’T DARE LEAVE THE VICINITY, and he hated to let Frida go. But she was right: someone had to interrogate the pumpkin farmer and work the truth out of her. She and Turner could perform a few more errands on their way south. With the sergeant at arms as backup, Frida would be as safe as she coul
d be—on the trail, at night, in hostile territory.
It might not be any safer here in camp. Rob gave a long look toward his bed before turning in on the floor that night. He lay there, hoping he had made the right series of decisions. Leaking the silverfish plot was risky, but no one on the outside knew that it was the captain who had located the mob boss’s underground lair. Anyone could have done it. Leaving that bunker door open might turn out to be a happy accident.
Rob was fairly certain he was on track in baiting Rose and Gratiano. They had been awfully chummy lately, and one or the other—or both—of them could be part of the intelligence network. They had certainly put themselves in places that made them privy to details. For once, it wasn’t the candid cowboy whose loose tongue had caused the battalion grief.
Rob rolled over and sighed. It just went to show that dabbling in romance could be more dangerous than an honest fight. But, even his survivalist friends, who should know better, sometimes gave in to the need for human companionship. As a veteran range rider, though, the captain knew how to get the next-best thing.
He couldn’t sleep, so he got dressed and slipped out of the bunkhouse. The horses mumbled under their breaths as he quietly lowered the drawbridge and let himself into the pasture. First Saber, and then Redstone, drifted up to greet him. The two horses battled for his attention, so Rob ended up simultaneously scratching their shoulders, saying nothing, using only their language to communicate.
Soon Redstone’s head drooped, and she lowered herself on folded legs to snooze some more. But Saber seemed to sense the captain’s need for camaraderie. He stood staunchly by Rob’s side, even when the scratching stopped. The night sky was shrouded in low clouds, leaving only Saber’s hind white socks clearly visible.
Then Rob sensed movement outside the pasture fence, and the horses began stirring. He heard a low growl, followed by a short, quick, piercing cry—and then silence. Something other than grazing animals was feeding out here. Rob stuck with Saber as the horse gave a few quick turns, following the stallion’s ears to the source of the commotion.
The filmy clouds pulled apart, leaving enough moonlight to reveal two four-legged creatures running through the grass. They’re coming this way! Rob took his cue from Saber, whose muscles had coiled but who stood his ground. When the pair of animals was nearly at the pasture boundary, Rob made out a familiar diamond marking on their heads. These wolves were friendly. Saber’s keen sense of smell told him so, too.
“Psst!” Rob called to the visitors once Saber had relaxed and given the rest of the horses the all-clear.
The canines raised their heads, stopped, and then resumed a slower approach. They halted just on the other side of the moat and fence. Before Rob’s eyes, their forms began to quiver. They lost definition, hovering somewhere between wolf and shapelessness. Then their outlines grew taller, more definite . . . and more human.
As the two players donned their respective skins, Rob greeted them in a low voice. “Crash. De Vries. What are you two doing out here?”
The miner pulled her pickaxe from her inventory and pretended it was a bow, which she loaded with a make-believe arrow.
“Hunting, eh?”
De Vries nodded and whispered, “We didn’t want to freak anyone out.”
The rare shape shifters might easily have frightened a settler into sounding an alarm or taking up arms. Their wolf forms had benefited the battalion in the past, but also put the brother and sister at risk of retaliation by superstitious or ignorant people. Seeing them now made Rob realize that he had missed a valuable surveillance opportunity.
With the building and mining past their busy stages, Rob felt he could ask another favor of the pair. He couldn’t share all the specifics, but he could put their alternate skins to good use. “Why not patrol the build site at night for us? I’ve got a line on a possible mole but don’t want to scare it off. We need a guard that will allow our troopers covert access to the mines.”
Crash licked her lips. It seemed that only live prey satisfied her wolf side, and she’d be glad of the chance to nab the odd small animal.
“I’m tired of sleeping, anyway,” De Vries said. “When should we start?”
Rob thought about it, absently petting Saber. “Let me announce it tomorrow. If innocent folks know wolves are roaming, they’ll stay away—and griefers won’t mind what they say around you, or suspect you of protecting us.”
Satisfied, they went their separate ways.
*
As Rob had predicted, Rose Manor lost another floor overnight. He set the builder—in his human form—to the task of raising the apartment towers and replacing their wooden foundations with cobblestone. Rob wanted no more delays between now and the city’s move-in and inauguration dates. They were literally in a race against time. While the captain could not yet divulge that someone was crafting a time bomb, he felt every second ticking away.
So, forced to wait anxiously for Turner’s and Frida’s return, he passed the time by helping the construction crew lift the high-rise buildings and poke shims underneath. De Vries was in his prime human element supervising the momentous labor.
Whole spruce trees had been moved downhill and “planted” in the ground around the apartment buildings to act as sturdy cranes. These were equipped with wooden pulleys that Crash crafted from Rat’s old cart wheels, and those were slung with seemingly miles of spider-string ropes. The rope nets were draped over the wooden towers to enable hoisting from the ground. Rob joined the volunteer army of settlers that grabbed ropes, stretched them taut, and waited for the signal from De Vries.
The builder had made his calculations, pitting weight and force against height and gravity’s resistance. He’d checked the day’s temperature, humidity, and wind speed. He’d considered the number of workers and their physical capabilities, and even inquired what they’d had to eat that morning. Every base covered, he gave the order: “Three . . . two . . . one: pull! Pull! Put your backs into it!”
Rob and dozens more men and women tugged, letting their weight do most of the work. At first, nothing seemed to happen. Then, little by little, the buildings began to move. They rose like a logging operation in reverse—trees going up instead of being sawn through and knocked down. Rob could only see directly in front of him, but could sense the towers rising as one.
“Shim crew: now!” cried De Vries, and then, a moment later, “Rope crew: halt!” Next, he urged them to gently—ever so gently—relax their holds and let the weight of the buildings settle the ropes and, finally, the structures themselves.
An enormous cheer went up from the spectators. When the crews were released, Rob and the others stumbled backward to view their handiwork. There sat the three towers, neat as huge wooden pins, sitting on cross-logs to await their new foundations. That work would be done just a swiftly, with Crash overseeing the stone stacking. The settlers were one step closer to home.
“Congratulations, sir!” Stormie praised the captain’s effort.
“Same to you, Artilleryman.” She had served on the shim crew. “But don’t thank me yet. Removing this temptation is only part of our job,” he said more quietly.
“Well, then, I take it back: un-congratulations. Until further notice.” She grinned. “Good to be working with you again, anyway. What’s next?”
Rob could always count on the adventurer to be watching the horizon. “The settlers’ lodgings are nearly secure. I guess it’s time to see whether our mole has taken the bait. Let’s find Jools and Kim, then dial Aswan.”
Jools and Kim were already in the conference room, working on a web page for Beta. “Someday I imagine this place will be quite the tourist magnet,” Jools said.
Kim put a fist to her chin. “We need a catchy tag line. Like . . . Beta: Best of All Biomes.”
Jools thought it over. “Or, how about Beta: Making Overworld History Daily? You like to travel, Stormie. What d’you think?”
“Quartermaster, another time,” Rob interrupted. “Get Asw
an onscreen. Let’s see if he’s learned what we told our . . . friends.” At this point, Jools’s personal online connection seemed more secure than the one set up for the city network.
Shortly, his computer screen showed the leather worker’s lively face. “I was just about to contact you, Captain! Following the previous communication route, I intercepted another exchange late last night.”
“You’re working overtime, Delegate.”
“My ears never sleep,” Aswan said, flashing several gold teeth.
His intel was not news to the assembled battalion members. Aswan repeated what he’d heard: that two of their cavalry mates had ridden out of Beta to the south at midnight. They were bound for “an alliance contact” in the flower forest and would return in a few days.
“It would appear that somebody wants to know when Battalion Zero is together as a unit,” Jools interpreted. “Or, when the city’s guard is at less than full strength.”
“And the source, Aswan?” Rob asked.
“Same as before: in or very near Beta. That’s as close as I can get.”
“If you get any closer on anything, let us know.” Rob motioned for Jools to sign off.
Again, they were immediately summoned by Gaia. Jools connected, and this time, the genial priest looked alarmed. “I fear that something big is coming your way,” she warned. “Someone has extended the Spike City rail tracks off to the east. We received a report from trappers coming from cold beach. They followed the minecart tracks to see where they went, and they just . . . end. At the ocean.” She transmitted images that the trappers had captured as proof.
This stunned the four troopers. “And no one saw this extra track being laid?” Rob asked.
“No. Before they took the job with you, my boys replaced the rails and capped off the ends at our village. We woke up the other day to find they’d been tampered with.”
