The Seeds of Man

by William C. Dietz

  Voss had assumed that the machines couldn’t operate at night. He was wrong. That became apparent when a drone with a four-foot wingspan swooped in and fired a single shot. The pilot, who was stationed hundreds of miles to the southwest and was “looking” at the scene via a satellite relay, missed the man he was aiming for. But the bullet hit the townie’s horse, which reared and threw him off. Then, maddened by the pain, the animal galloped down the ravine.

  As the first aircraft disappeared into the darkness, another attacked. The motor produced a high-pitched whine as the drone bore in from the south, only this time Hollings was ready for it. As the machine came into range, he and another townie fired their shotguns. The aircraft exploded as it ran into a cloud of lead pellets. Pieces of hot shrapnel flew in every direction. A chunk of metal hit one of the scouts in the temple and killed him instantly. A townie was wounded.

  Meanwhile, all hell was breaking loose to the north as the townies launched an attack on the Ronin. That was good, but not good enough, as Voss learned when a horse and rider skidded down into the ravine. Voss could barely make him out in the gloom. “They’re on to us, sir. A whole lot of Ronin are coming this way.”

  “How many?”

  “It’s too dark to tell, sir. Fifteen? Twenty? Something like that.”

  “Tether your horses,” Voss shouted. “Get up on the edge of the ravine. Prepare to fire, but wait for my command.”

  Kovo ordered the wounded man to remain with the horses as the rest of them scrambled up the slope. The element of surprise had been lost, so the fuel truck was out of reach now. Voss knew that. All he could do was try to discourage pursuit and make a run for it.

  There was a thunder of hooves as the Ronin came closer. They were determined to catch up with the raiding party before it could escape. So they rode hard, saw the edge of the ravine, and were starting to rein their horses in when Voss shouted, “Fire!”

  Tongues of flame stabbed the night. Horses screamed as shotgun pellets struck them. The rattle of assault weapons was a sharp counterpoint to the overlapping booms that the shotguns made as the townies opened fire. Horses went down, Ronin were blown out of their saddles, and screams added to the din.

  But the battle wasn’t one-sided. Slugs threw up divots of dirt all around, and the man next to Voss fell as he gave another order. “Grenades!”

  Bombs flew through the air, exploded among the enemy, and cut the survivors down. “Back to the horses!” Voss shouted. “We’re pulling out.”

  They rode hard. And even though Voss feared that one or more drones would swoop out of the darkness, none did. Maybe the machines were being employed elsewhere—or maybe there was a limited number of them. Whatever the reason, the raiders were able to make their way back to Geneva without suffering additional casualties.

  A cluster of old buildings had been taken over and were being used as a makeshift headquarters. A bedroom in an old house had been prepared for Voss’s use. It was furnished with campaign-style furniture including a bed. After splashing some water onto his face and eating a sliced beef sandwich, Voss went out to make the rounds.

  The cavalry company had paid a heavy price, and since Voss had been forced to abort the raid, the deaths were for nothing. Only sixteen of the hundred men had survived, and half of them were wounded. They were quartered in an old barn, and Voss made a point of speaking with each and every one of them before meeting with Kovo, then falling into bed.

  The knocking sound came seconds later. Or that was the way it seemed, until a glance at his watch confirmed that more than two hours had passed. And the sun was up, judging from the light that was leaking in between the hastily hung curtains. Voss sat up. “Come in.”

  Kovo entered the room, hat in hands. “Sorry to bother you, sir . . . but I have news.”

  Voss put his feet on the floor. “What kind?”

  “Both kinds, sir. The good news is that the missile launchers arrived. I sent them up to the gun positions.”

  “Excellent,” Voss said as he pulled his pants on. “And the bad news?”

  “The enemy tractors are pushing forward with the Ronin right behind them.”

  Voss buttoned his shirt. “And the drones?”

  “There have been a dozen sightings.”

  “So Hashi knows about the cavalry units positioned east and west?”

  Kovo nodded. “Yes, sir. The Ronin sent cavalry to protect their flanks.”

  Voss buckled the gun rig around his waist. “How about the howitzers? Does Hashi know about those?”

  “No, sir. Not so far as I know.”

  “Well, that’s good news. Not that it matters. The element of surprise would be nice, but it isn’t critical. Have someone fetch Odin.”

  “He’s ready, sir.”

  “Thank you. And one more thing. Let’s take Miss Silverton with us.”

  Half an hour later, Voss, Sara, and a small party of mercs were stationed on top of a knoll, where, thanks to a bright green flag, the townies, gun crews, Ronin, and drones could see them. The fact that they were on horseback made the group that much more visible.

  The gesture was part bravado and part common sense. The idea was to encourage the townies, show the gunners what to avoid, and provide Voss with a good view. The drones could attack, but if they did, Voss was counting on mercs to keep the machines at bay. “So,” Voss said as the black tractors entered the maze of traps that cut across the valley. “How will the battle go?”

  Sara was wearing a custom-made outfit that consisted of a frothy white blouse, a brown jacket, tan riding pants, and knee-high boots. The chains weren’t practical in that situation. And there was little chance of escape, since a merc had hold of the twenty-foot-long tether that was connected to Sara’s horse. She squinted into the harsh sunlight. “I told you. Thunder will roll, a steel rain will fall, and blood will flow like a river.”

  “That’s obvious,” Voss responded. “Kovo could make that prediction.”

  Sara turned to look at him. Her eyes were slightly out of focus. A gust of wind tugged at her hair. “You will win, and you will lose. That is all I can see.”

  Voss was about to respond when a merc shouted, “Here they come,” and Voss brought the binoculars up to his eyes. From a distance, the Ronin seemed to rise and fall like waves in a sea of black. There were at least a thousand of them, many with swords waving in the air. Voss spoke without lowering the glasses. “Send the cavalry in.”

  In spite of what had occurred the night before, the townies were brave. Voss had to give them that. Or were they afraid of him? Not that it mattered. Out they went, cutting into the ranks of Ronin waiting to face them, firing as they rode. The knoll was at least a mile from the melee, but Voss could hear the crackle of gunfire and see swords flashing in the sun.

  The Ronin on the east side of the valley gave under the weight of the assault, a hole opened, and the townies poured in. Voss said, “No!” but it was too late. The hole closed, and the townies were surrounded and effectively cut to pieces.

  The action on the west side of the gap was different. The townies rode in, slid off their horses, and began to fire from cover as teenage boys led their horses to the rear. The black-clad Ronin went down in successive waves as they rode into the hail of bullets, and Voss knew why. Hollings was in command—a man worth recruiting if he survived.

  Meanwhile the rest of the Ronin, at least five hundred of them, were going straight up the middle. They looked like an army of black ants as columns of riders followed scouts through a maze of ditches and pits. Voss turned to Kovo. “Order the guns to fire.”

  Kovo spoke into a microphone. A minute passed. Then a loud boom was heard, followed by another, and one more. Widely separated puffs of smoke appeared in the hills off to the west. As they passed over Voss’s head, the shells made shrieking sounds, followed by thunderous booms as they landed. Columns of dirt mixed with dimly seen bodies, and parts of bodies shot up into the air as two rounds fell in among the Ronin. The third fell short
and exploded harmlessly. “Tell that gunner to correct his aim, or I will go up there and shoot him,” Voss said grimly.

  Kovo spoke into the mike, but Voss couldn’t hear him as a shell rumbled overhead. It was stupid to stay on the knoll. He realized that now. A short round could kill him and the rest of the command party. But he couldn’t leave without losing face, sending the wrong signal to his troops, or both. So Voss sat tall in the saddle and did his best to look unconcerned as the shells continued to fall.

  The howitzers were capable of firing four or even five rounds per minute in experienced hands. But that wasn’t the case here. Voss figured the guns were putting out one round per minute on average. Most of the shells were on target, and the barrage was taking a toll. One tractor was a smoking wreck, another was badly damaged, and it was only a matter of time before the rest took hits. He was winning!

  “Drones are attacking the guns,” Kovo announced. “But the missiles brought two of them down.”

  Voss looked west but couldn’t see anything. That was when Sara spoke. “Look left!”

  The warning came just in time. A dozen Ronin had been able to work their way through the maze on foot. And now, with the enemy leader in sight, they swarmed up out of a brushy ravine, firing as they came.

  Kovo was snatched out of the saddle, and a second merc fell. Voss fired his pistol as a Ronin charged him. The bullet smashed into the mercenary’s face but failed to kill him. He fell, but his right boot was caught in a stirrup. The Ronin’s horse dragged him away.

  Meanwhile Sara grabbed hold of the lead that controlled her horse, gave a jerk, and felt the rope come free as the merc assigned to guard her took a slug in the chest. Sara kicked her horse into motion and rode straight out into the area where the artillery shells had been falling. But the guns were out of ammo by then.

  Voss caught up with Sara, grabbed her reins, and brought the roan under control. Only then did he turn to look south. The area in front of him looked like a moonscape. Craters overlapped one another and a carpet of black-clad bodies littered the battlefield. Beyond that, what remained of Hashi’s army was in full retreat, the irony being that the guns were out of ammo, and had the Ronin pressed forward they would have been able to clear the maze and enter the valley beyond. “What will you do now?” Sara wanted to know.

  “Chase them,” Voss said grimly, “all the way to Sage. I need a buffer.”

  “So,” he said, as their eyes met. “You were wrong. You said I would win, and you said I would lose. I won.”

  Sara smiled. “Ah, but it isn’t over yet.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Idaho Falls, Idaho, USA

  It had been raining on and off all morning, and Tre could sense that the all-too-brief summer was coming to an end as he stood at the edge of the pit and peered down into the muddy depths. Two weeks had passed since the garbage mine had been liberated, and a great deal had changed, not the least of which was the fact that all the mine’s diggers, sorters, and haulers were employees rather than slaves and free to leave whenever they wanted to go. And hundreds had. That was a loss in a way, but an advantage too, since every one of them would be singing Crow’s praises. And word of mouth was very important in post apocalyptic America.

  But some, about three hundred in all, had elected to stay and work for Crow. He had promised to feed them and pay a bullet a day in exchange for their labor. More than that, Crow planned to use whatever profits there might be to further what he called the New Revolution.

  That sounded good to Tre. Real good. But as with so many things Crow came up with, very little thought had been given to how things would work. The mine was valuable—so who would defend it? Now Crow had employees to feed. Where would the food come from? Which food lord should he form an alliance with? Once the word began to spread, more people would come. How many was too many? Tre was troubled by those questions and many more.

  Crow had a tendency to become annoyed when Tre mentioned such problems, but that was the nature of their relationship. And, because Crow had a tendency to assign Tre responsibility for any issue he raised, the younger man was fast becoming the de facto second in command—a position he hadn’t asked for, didn’t want, and was seemingly stuck with.

  Meanwhile, rather than focus on the mine the way Tre wanted him to, Crow was talking about a return to Star Valley. And that, Tre had decided, was something he would object to. So he turned away from the pit, walked the short distance to the headquarters building, and went inside. The lobby had been colonized by Knife, Bones, Smoke, and the others, so it was a mess. The only person present was Freak, who rushed over to take Tre’s arm. “Berry patch,” she said brightly, and beamed up at him.

  “Same to you,” Tre said as he freed himself. “Where’s your bow? Someone should guard Crow.”

  “Milk cans,” Freak replied, and left to get her bow.

  During the weeks since the bandits had taken control of the mine, Kimble’s extremely tidy office had been transformed into what Bones called the Crow’s nest. It was an untidy jumble of papers, weapons, and filthy clothing. Tre entered to find Crow looking his way. “There you are. Henry, this is Tre . . . He thinks it would be crazy to attack Voss right now. Tell him why he’s wrong.”

  Henry was probably in his thirties but looked twenty years older. He had beady eyes and leathery skin. The combination was reminiscent of a snake. And when he spoke it was with a voice so hoarse there was clearly something wrong with him. “Half of Lord Voss’s mercenaries are escorting food caravans east,” Henry said. “That was before Lord Hashi attacked him from the south. Voss had no choice but to take three hundred militiamen and ride south.”

  Tre looked to Crow and back to Henry. “And the rest of the mercs?”

  Henry’s eyes blinked rapidly. “About a quarter of them followed the militiamen. A backstop, so to speak. The rest were left behind to keep the slaves in line.”

  “And you know these things because?” Tre inquired skeptically.

  “He knows those things because I pay him to know those things,” Crow interjected.

  Tre looked into Crow’s eyes and saw the challenge there. Crow wasn’t the best planner in the world, but he was an excellent strategist. The attack on the garbage mine had been his idea, not Tre’s. Nor was the younger man privy to all of Crow’s machinations. Henry was a good example of that. “Got it.”

  Crow’s expression softened. “Thanks, Henry. Here’s your pay. Stay safe and I’ll see you soon.” Tre saw a full box of ammo change hands and realized that Henry was more than he appeared to be. The scarecrow look was a carefully calculated ruse, and the spy probably had a large stash of ammo somewhere.

  Henry took the box, said, “Thanks,” and left. Freak blew him a kiss on the way out. “You’ve got that look again,” Crow said as he sat in what had been Kimble’s chair.

  “What look?”

  “The ‘I have a stick up my butt’ look. You heard Henry . . . This is the perfect time to attack.”

  “No,” Tre said firmly, “it isn’t. We need more fighters.”

  “I recruited fifty of them. Twenty-five for Knife and twenty-five for this mission. You know that.”

  “I also know that they aren’t trained,” Tre responded.

  “Oh, yeah? Well, you weren’t trained either,” Crow replied. “These people are survivors. They know how to fight.”

  “But will they follow orders?”

  “We’ll train them on the way.”

  There was a moment of silence as both men stared at each other. Tre spoke first. “You’re right. Voss is gone. That constitutes an opening. But for what? You can’t take Star Valley and hold it with thirty people, and you know that. So level with me. Why now?”

  Crow looked away for a moment as if to maintain his composure. When his eyes returned, they were as steely as ever. “Voss has my sister.”

  Tre thought he had misunderstood. “He has your what?”

  “He has my sister, Sara. He keeps her in his house.”
/>
  Tre stared. “So this is about your sister. That’s why we fought for this mine?”

  “No. I wanted to attack the mine for all the reasons we discussed in the past. But the raid would put the hurts to Voss, provide us with food for the winter, and free my sister.”

  Tre nodded. “Thank you. I’m in.”

  They left the next morning. The rain had stopped by then, but a cold wind was trying to find its way in through the duster Tre was wearing. The band included Crow, Tre, Fade, Smoke, and Freak, plus a force of twenty-five recruits. That added up to thirty people, a ridiculously small army for the job at hand. But Crow believed that good intelligence plus the element of surprise and superior weaponry would be sufficient. Tre hoped he was correct.

  The recruits were mounted on horses that had been captured along with the garbage mine, and all of them were unarmed. There were two reasons for that. First, the overseers’ best weapons had been given to Knife’s newly created security force because it was important to protect the mine.

  But there was a second reason as well. Crow wanted to spend a few days with the newbies before giving them guns, especially in light of the fact that there were so many of them, a very sensible precaution to Tre’s way of thinking.

  The training that Crow subjected the recruits to was invented on the spot but effective nevertheless. Individuals were dispatched to find a common everyday item, such as a hammer, and given six hours to not only accomplish it, but also catch up with the rest of the group. The exercise tested their resourcefulness, navigation skills, and level of commitment—because they could take their horse and run if they chose to, which Crow thought was preferable to harboring a person he couldn’t depend on.

  Another exercise involved appointing a leader and sending a group of six people ahead to construct the camp that the entire group would stay in that night. After Crow caught up with them, he would wander through the encampment, pausing every once in a while to discuss the finer points of camouflage and defense.