Black Sword (Decker's War, #5)

by Eric Thomson

  “Understood.”

  “As to the second lesson, don’t go around volunteering your life story. We prefer to see newcomers work hard and fit in by doing, not speaking, and that leads me to the third lesson.”

  “Work hard and earn a place in the community?”

  “Yes. We punish transgressions swiftly and harshly. Repeat offenders are expelled and forced to live a life of solitude. Unless they’re insane enough to head for the hills.”

  *

  Talyn found a by-the-hour hotel near the commercial docks and paid for the rest of the night. Once behind closed doors, she changed her appearance and identity once more.

  She planned to leave Harambee aboard the first available flight to Rabanna, the largest city within skimmer range of Desolation Island, although it lay well inland from the Southern Ocean. She had planned to shift her base of operations there anyway after tracking down Decker. But since he wasn’t in the Correctional Service database, there was no longer any point in staying near their HQ.

  With luck, she’d have a good head start before the staff at her previous lodgings found the bodies of the two intruders. Once they did, they would connect them to an aging brunette with a sharp nose whose credentials identified her as a citizen of Pacifica. That woman no longer existed.

  Talyn emerged from the hot-sheet inn at daybreak as a sultry blond with a valid ID issued by the government of Celeste. She took a taxi to the spaceport and booked her passage on the morning suborbital run across the equator and into the dark heart of the Southern Continent.

  The ever-present news feeds in the terminal spoke about everything but a double homicide in the seedy part of Harambee. After a short wait, she boarded with her fellow passengers as no more than another unremarkable traveler with a quiet conscience.

  Hopefully, the clean break she’d made would leave the opposition in enough disarray to allow for her disappearance. Once in Rabanna, she would reinvent herself one more time and then vanish among the local population, to wait for Zack’s signal, no matter how long it might take.

  She carried enough funds in anonymous, untraceable creds from the operational reserve to last for some time. And just to make sure, she had laundered them before leaving Caledonia, in case they weren’t as untraceable as she might wish. The idea that she couldn’t trust anyone still rankled, but there was no getting around the facts. This operation, like the three earlier ones, had been betrayed from within.

  *

  Delia Ward found Zack sitting on a bench outside the infirmary’s front door, basking in the morning sun a week after his provisional acceptance into the community.

  She settled beside him and studied his craggy profile. “How are you today?”

  “Well enough to make me feel like a feather merchant.”

  “You heal with commendable speed, but I wouldn’t endorse participation in foot races just yet.”

  “Foot races, no, but I’d like to earn my keep.”

  “Earn your keep? Or is there something else?” Delia asked in a gentle tone.

  Decker kept his eyes on the shimmering waters of the lagoon, framed by the open gate at the far end of Valla’s main street.

  “What makes you think there’s something else?”

  “You’re different from the others, Zack. They come here defeated by life, struggling to accept this new existence. But not you. I’ve seen how you watch everyone and everything, analyzing every bit of data, storing it for future recall. You say little, but you listen a lot. It gives me the impression you’re looking for something or someone.”

  “Professional deformation, love. I used to be a Pathfinder. We’re the ultimate recon troopers and the ingrained habits of half a lifetime are hard to shed.”

  Ward chuckled softly.

  “You strike me as a good man and a bad liar.”

  “That’s because you don’t know me.”

  “I know enough,” she replied, “and not just from touching your mind while you were unconscious. One advantage of being an empath is that you learn to read people without using the talent. I’ve had several days already to peruse a few chapters of the book titled Zack Decker.”

  He snorted.

  “So I’m an open book now? You mind-meddlers are hilarious.”

  Delia reached out and patted his knee.

  “I’m glad I can amuse you. Just know you can share any burden with me. Or not, as you may wish, but I sense you don’t belong here, with us.” When he opened his mouth to speak. She squeezed his leg. “No, not sensed in that way. Our deal stands. As I said at the beginning of this conversation, you’re different from everyone else in Valla, or who’s come through Valla on their way to the other settlements.”

  “And you’re determined to figure out why, right?” He turned his head towards her.

  “I can’t resist the allure of a mysterious stranger who stumbled out of the rain forest with a band of cannibals on his heels, defiant to the last.”

  Her playful tone brought forth a smile, but he said, “Don’t fall for me, sweetheart. It never ends well for those who do.”

  Then his eyes returned to their contemplation of the lagoon.

  “Now that was a true statement if I ever heard one,” she said after a moment of silence. “You’ve seen a lot of heartbreak, haven’t you?”

  “I’ve had plenty of fun too.”

  Hera Talyn’s sardonic smile flashed before his eyes. They weren’t exactly in love, in spite of their intimate relationship. She couldn’t really feel that sort of emotion, but they were good together nonetheless, and he missed her.

  “Another true statement, but I won’t pry.”

  “You wouldn’t have had much time to do so, anyway.” He jerked his chin at Matt Hikaru, walking towards them with a determined step. “That looks like a man on a mission.”

  “Good morning, Delia, Decker.” The village headman raised a hand in greeting. “And how is our patient?”

  “Impatient,” Ward replied with a smile. “And a good morning to you, Matt. Zack is brimming with energy and chafing at the confines of my little realm though I wouldn’t have him carry heavy weights or walk any distance yet. Joints, especially the ankles, take a while to regain strength.”

  “Excellent. Since he claims to be a former Marine, I thought we might induct him into the militia today and see what he can do with the weapons at our disposal. Another veteran trooper to man the ramparts is always welcome when the wild ones feel the urge for a little rape, pillage, and plunder. After that, we’ll see where he can best contribute until he’s fit to work the fields or the fishing boats.”

  Using the cane Delia had given him, Decker climbed to his feet.

  “With pleasure. My ass is about to sprout roots from sitting all day like a bump on a log.”

  “Don’t overdo it,” Delia warned. “Otherwise, you’ll be back on that ass of yours for a few more days.”

  Decker sketched a mock salute at the healer. “Aye, aye, sir.” He grinned at Hikaru. “Lead on, McDuff, to coin a phrase.”

  No longer a curiosity, the Marine exchanged polite nods with the exiles they met along the way to Valla’s guardhouse, by the inland gate. Decker had been pleasantly surprised at the settlement’s cleanliness, notwithstanding its preindustrial level of technology. He had expected to find squalor and misery instead of a well-organized community.

  “You see a lot of attacks?” Decker asked, walking with a cautious gait beside the shorter exile.

  “Two or three times a year, whenever the wild ones decide they’re strong enough to take us on. Or when they’re desperate enough for those things they can’t or won’t make for themselves.” He shrugged. “It never works, but we can’t afford any laxness, and their numbers seem to grow. A few weeks ago one of the smaller settlements to the south of us was almost overrun in the middle of the night. Probably a different gang than the one that chased you out of the jungle. But they seemed stronger and better organized than anything we’ve seen since the first crazies were dr
opped on the central plateau ten or so years ago.”

  “Meaning it’s a recent phenomenon?”

  “Yep.” A grimace split Hikaru’s beard. “The folks who’ve been here longer than I can’t remember ever hearing about wild ones before then.”

  “And so you need trained troops ready to fight at the drop of a cred.”

  “That’s right, and we never seem to build up any sort of long-term strength, what with the better ones reenlisting.”

  Decker came to a sudden halt.

  “Reenlisting? What do you mean?”

  Hikaru stared up at him with an air of incomprehension.

  “You aren’t aware?”

  “Aware of what?”

  “The Marine Light Infantry Regiment recruits former military exiles from Desolation Island. I figured a guy like you would know the Corps has convicts wearing its uniform.”

  “I knew that besides taking hard cases from other regiments, the Marine Light Infantry combs prisons for suitable recruits. But exiles? Apparently, that’s a well-kept secret.”

  “It’s also a relatively recent phenomenon, from what I’ve been told.” They resumed walking, Hikaru with a steady stride, Decker with a cautious hobble. “A recruiting team comes to the island every six months and tours the settlements. They take those who can still fight and want their old life back or at least a form of it.”

  “A risky proposition,” Decker replied in a thoughtful tone. “The Marine Light Infantry gets the dirtiest counter-insurgency jobs and has the highest casualty rates in the Corps. Convicts have a fifty-fifty chance of making it through their first five-year hitch unscathed.”

  “Your kind doesn’t seem to mind the odds. Of course, the recruiters don’t take everyone who volunteers. They appear to favor those who used to be in combat units, folks like you, for example, only they like them younger. But it’s enough to keep us looking for fresh militia recruits every time a new exile contingent lands.”

  “Do you lose a lot to the Marine Light Infantry?”

  “Some. The last Pathfinder who came through here left after a few weeks. That was almost a year ago.”

  An unexpected surge of excitement coursed through Decker’s veins, though he remained outwardly impassive.

  “Do you have a name?” He asked in a matter-of-fact tone. “I’ve met most of them at one time or another.”

  “Redmon. Ariane Redmon. Difficult to forget her. She came down from the central plateau as well but didn’t have a platoon of cannibals nipping at her ass. Although like you, she no longer had her tracking microchip. She’s a heck of a character. Actually, her story wasn’t that much different from yours, now that I think about it.”

  “Not one of my buddies, but I know of her. Good Marine.”

  “She was something all right. Delia seems to take a shine to your sort. Spoke for her at the council too.” He stopped short of the open gate and pointed at a dark wooden door cut into a stone building. “Here we are.”

  Sixteen

  “Delightfully, um — primitive,” Decker muttered as he took in rack after rack of weapons and shields that would have seemed familiar to any soldier of the late Roman Empire. Then, in a louder tone, he asked, “No firearms, not even of the chemical kind, I take it?”

  “The powers that be won’t allow anything beyond muscle-powered weapons. And even if they did, the little mining and smelting we do wouldn’t come near to producing what we’d need. The closest we have to rifles are slingshots, and it takes a long time to become proficient enough to matter. We hunt with bow and arrow, and when it’s time to fight...”

  Hikaru waved at racks holding spears, shields, and a variety of primitive bladed weapons.

  “Considering the wild ones own nothing as good as this, and don’t have our discipline or numbers, we’ve not felt a need to reinvent black powder muskets.”

  “Until the day they have the numbers and develop discipline. It only takes a charismatic psychopath dumped into the interior by the Correctional Service. Then you’ll face the beginnings of a real problem. Considering the cost of warehousing that sort, if they’re not interested in a mind wipe followed by a lifetime of monasticism, I’d say it’s bound to happen one day.”

  “Aye.” Hikaru nodded, a grim frown pulling at the corners of his lips. “And with the Marine Light Infantry taking our best prospects...”

  The headman gave Decker a thoughtful glance.

  “I suppose you’ll try to join as well.”

  “Maybe. When are they due?”

  “In a month or two. Just enough time to nurse you back to health, but we’ll exact our payment in the form of hard work, fear not.”

  “I’ll give everything I can. After all, I owe Valla a debt, and I always honor my debts.”

  Hikaru sized the Marine up and grunted.

  “We’ll make you work all right. Now, how familiar are you with any of this?”

  Decker gave a non-committal shrug.

  “I know what they are and how they work, but I haven’t used any of them.”

  “I’d have called bullshit if you’d said anything else. No one’s used this stuff before landing on Desolation Island. A big guy like you shouldn’t have any problems with the longbows or getting a bit of distance with a spear. Although we mostly use the latter to poke rather than throw.”

  Decker let his eyes roam over the neatly hung weapons. A predatory smile replaced the earlier grin as a fragment of memory from his study of ancient warfare surfaced.

  “What if I can suggest a way to step up your long range throwing game? That should give a down payment on my debt to Valla.”

  “Oh?”

  “Ever heard of an atlatl?”

  “A what now?”

  “Ever heard of the Aztecs? People who lived on Earth, more precisely in the Americas until they were almost wiped out about a thousand years ago?”

  “Can’t say I do.”

  “The atlatl is a dart-thrower these Aztecs developed. It basically multiplies the force with which a spear is thrown, giving it more energy and higher speeds.”

  “You said you’ve never used these primitive weapons before, yet you know about this atlatl? What’s the story?”

  “I’m a Marine Master Gunner, among my other sins, and the course curriculum has us study weaponry going way back in history. It’s to help us understand how we evolved to where we are. That’s why I said I know what the stuff in your armory is and how it works.”

  “Huh.” Hikaru scratched his beard, frowning. “How come Redmon didn’t bring it up when we inducted her into the militia?”

  “Because she wasn’t commissioned from the ranks, like me. Only noncoms take the master gunner course and come out with enough minutiae concerning weapons to bore an entire planet. Officers learn a different sort of trivia, much of it not nearly as useful as nuggets of knowledge about stone-age armaments.”

  “Fair enough. We can talk about your Aztec wonder weapon later. Right now, I want to see you pull a bowstring.” He pointed at the rack holding the largest of the three bow types on display. “Take one of those and a quiver of arrows.”

  Hikaru grabbed a bundle of spears, and then led him through the gate and around the village to an archery range marked by hay bales displaying targets made from woven tree fronds. Red stakes driven into the ground at regular intervals marked the firing lines. They stopped in front of the closest set of targets.

  “You said you know how a bow and arrow works. Let’s see if you can translate theory into action.”

  Decker examined the bow for a few moments, then gripped it solidly with the left hand, arm outstretched. He tested the string by pulling it back as far as he could with the right until the side of his thumb rested against his cheek. He felt a stab of pain in his shoulder where the arrow had struck him during his escape.

  “Solid pull,” he said, carefully releasing the tension with a controlled gesture.

  “Is that a professional opinion?” Hikaru asked in a dry tone.

&nb
sp; “Merely an observation. How many of your guys can use this type to good effect?”

  “A couple. Most prefer the medium sized bows. Try it for real this time. There’s more to archery than strength.”

  “No doubt.” Decker reached for the quiver and pulled out an arrow with a pointed wooden tip, hardened by fire, like the one that had given him his newest scar. He nocked it and pulled back, aiming along the missile’s shaft at the closest bulls-eye, a mere ten meters away.

  He breathed in, let his aim settle on the target, then he released half of his breath, followed by the arrow. It struck the bale but missed the target.

  Without waiting for Hikaru to comment, the Marine nocked another arrow and fired again, and then one more, both in rapid succession. The second did no better than the first, but the third struck the edge of the target. A fourth hit near the third, and Hikaru moved them to the twenty-meter range, where Decker missed again.

  “Not bad for a noob,” Hikaru commented in a grudging tone when the quiver was empty. “Most newcomers are all over the place. I’d say target practice for a week or two, and you’ll be no worse than the average around here. If you like that bow, you can take it. Every member of the militia keeps his issued weapons at home. That way there’s no screwing around in the armory if the alarm is raised. You want to show me what you can do with a spear?”

  “Sure, but it won’t be anywhere near as pretty as this.”

  “We’ll see. Come on, I’ll help you retrieve your arrows, but only because you’re still not fully mobile and I have other things on my plate today.”

  Decker’s estimation of his skill with a spear proved to be correct. He could put a good amount of energy into his throw, but his accuracy was a mere fraction of what he’d achieved with the bow.

  “I think I’ll be better off using these as pig-stickers if the jungle assholes ever try to climb over the walls.” He rolled his aching shoulders as he hobbled forward to retrieve the missiles.