The airlock door cycled, revealing a roughly-clad Zant. "Ha!" He shouted. "I'm Zant Jenfu from Selfa, and I'm here to show you Jumbos how to have a Gathering!"
There was a loud chorus of laughter, shouts and hoots of derision. Aircraft might be met with suspicion and superstition; but bragging from a man dressed like them, they understood!
"I'm from off-world," Zant continued after slipping down the boarding ladder, "and I've got steel. Now, who has the sourest beer and the ugliest women around here?"
More shouts and laughter greeted his question, and suddenly Zant was among the crowd. But they didn't edge away. Offworld or not, they understood this man, and it was obvious he understood them.
"Oh," he shouted as though just remembering, "There's a trader in the ship, too. He has a lotta stuff from down south, and even some star weapons!" He grimaced theatrically. "He's a town man, but try not to hold that against him!"
And with that, Zant and a crowd of onlookers moved away toward the tents and canopies of the traders. Many remained, of course. Explorer was a magnet. No one arriving for the Gathering could miss the huge, shiny air/spacecraft, and it became the mandatory first stop as more and more visitors arrived.
When the Head Forester appeared in the hatch, a surprised murmur ran through the crowd. Apparently the man was well-known, but thought to be rather cowardly. That he had arrived aboard the star men's ship apparently impressed the mountain people, and to his surprise he was greeted with smiles and friendly slaps on the back. He hurried away, embarrassed by his sudden popularity and the flurry of questions.
Cale set up a display of his trade wares, though he left the star weapons aboard the ship for the moment.
"What do you do here, star man?" The question was surly and suspicious. Cale glanced around to find a large man with a full beard, dressed in leather standing with hands on hips.
Cale smiled. "I am sent by good King Rajo. He told me that among the mountain men I might find a few people brave enough to fight the evil star men from the south."
The man just looked at him stolidly. "Even here we know of the star men of the south. They kill, but cannot be killed."
Cale shook his head. "That is not true. They cannot be killed with Jumbo weapons, but we have star weapons, which we will give to any brave enough to use them."
The man's eyes lit with interest echoed in the eyes of the dozen or so onlookers. "You offer weapons?
Cale nodded. "His Majesty, King Rajo, in his wisdom has told me to seek people brave enough to hunt and trap the star men like dangerous animals. His town men think too much on 'honor'. But the star men will not meet the King in 'honorable' combat; instead they hunt the king's men by stealth, killing from hiding and then running away. Our good King thinks that there may be some brave men in the mountains who would like to hunt star men, as they hunt the king's men."
The man nodded, his suspicious glare dissipated. "We have heard that these star men kill with light, and that they plan to take all of Jumbo, to rule with an iron fist."
"That is true," Cale admitted, "and there is no defense against the light weapon except to not be seen. It will even penetrate a thick tree. They also have armor that will stop a bolt from the heaviest crossbow. But we have fast-firing crossbows with exploding bolts that will kill them, and we have a weapon called a 'rifle' that launches a metal pellet with such accuracy as has not been seen on Jumbo since the Old Time. We have bows that are shorter and stronger, yet easier to draw than your own, and arrows that will penetrate a man, though not the armor of the star men. We also have exploding arrows that will penetrate their armor. We have bombs that can be thrown, and knives and axe heads of materials that will hold a shaving edge for years. All these the King will give to those who will use them against the star men."
"Show us these wonder weapons," the man demanded.
"I will be demonstrating them every day of the Gathering when the sun is high. In the meantime, though, please wait here a moment."
He ducked into the ship and snagged a ferroceramic axe, and then rushed back outside. He dare not leave his trade goods unattended for long.
The axe was more properly termed a 'light battle axe' or by its ancient name, 'tomahawk'. Tonio had mounted the axe head on a hardwood handle some two feet long. Cale slammed it into the top of the half-log table. The man's eyes widened when he saw how deep it had gone. He wiggled it loose from the table, and examined the head.
"This is not steel," he said accusingly.
Cale smiled. "It is called ferroceramic. It is very sharp, and will hold its edge for years, though it will be very difficult to sharpen at that time. We also have knives of the same material."
The man was still looking at the head. "It's very sharp," Cale warned. But the man ran a thumb across the blade. His eyebrows raised as his light touch drew blood.
"How much?" the man asked.
Cale shook his head. "They are not for trade yet. Until the enemy is defeated, his majesty has decreed that only those who wish to use them against the enemy may have them. If we defeat the enemy, it is possible such weapons and tools will become available for trade. But for now," he repeated, raising his voice so all the onlookers could hear, "his majesty has ordered us to give these weapons, at no charge, to those brave enough to hunt star men instead of bears."
Suddenly the man whirled and let fly, throwing the axe at a nearby tree. Several onlookers jumped away cursing as the man walked to the tree in which the axe was embedded. He examined the blade carefully, gauging its penetration before grunting as he worked it loose.
He returned with a big smile. "I am the best hunter in the mountains," he said. "I am the best drinker, and the best wencher."
"And the best liar," came a voice from the crowd. The man spun, and surveyed the crowd menacingly. Suddenly he roared with laughter. "Yes," he cried, "that too!" He turned back to Cale. "I will return for your demonstration, trader. It would be interesting to hunt new game."
Within an hour, Cale's tomahawk was joined on the table by a double-edged fighting knife, a crossbow bolt, and an arrow, all of ferroceramic. Many thumbs were nicked that day, and in fact, throughout the Gathering.
By noon, a large crowd had gathered outside Explorer. Cale had managed to trade for a small cart, which he loaded with star weapons before pulling it to the archery range used for contests, some more sober than others, by the Gathering's visitors.
To a large extent, he duplicated previous demonstrations, using Santiagan body armor and the strongest local archer and crossbowman to convince the watchers of the effectiveness of the armor, and then demonstrating the repeating crossbows and the exploding bolts and arrows. This time, though, the target sported a Santiagan helmet as well, showing the audience that even the bolts and arrows from the star weapons would usually bounce off.
The big finale was to bring out the electronic target and the rifle. He backed up another fifty yards before demonstrating the weapon's accuracy.
"The metal pellet will not penetrate the body armor," he said, "so accuracy is vital." He asked for a volunteer, and was unsurprised when the big bearded man pushed his way through to the front.
He was incredulous when he looked through the scope, and Cale had to repeatedly assure him that Hiraf, the king's own wizard, had pronounced the star weapons free of magic.
"You must hit the target in the face to score a kill," Cale said. The big man nodded and lowered his head to the sight. As usual, everyone jumped at the rifle's 'crack'. The big man rubbed his shoulder for a moment before crowing, "Ha! The covering of the face shattered! It was easy."
Cale had him and a few others fire at the neck of the electronic target, and soon there were dozens of men walking around, rubbing their shoulders and bragging of their accuracy.
Twenty men volunteered after the demonstration. "Come back at sundown. I will show you some things, and give you each a rifle, bow or crossbow, as well as a knife and an axe head."
Sixteen showed up at sundown, and four were
drunk. Cale refused to deal with the drunks, telling them if they still wanted to volunteer, they should show up the next evening.
He gave the remaining twelve the same briefing he had give the hunters in the south, pointing out the best "kill" areas, and warning them about lasers and thermal and capacitance alarms.
He gave out eight rifles and four pneumatic crossbows, complete with two power cells and a supply of bolts. Of course, each received one of the fighting knives and an axehead.
Zant came stumbling back well after midnight, obviously drunk and disheveled. Cale handed him a "sober-up." Zant glared at it. "Hate these things," he muttered, but he swallowed the capsule.
"Ugh," Zant said after a minute. "Why can't they make a 'sober-up' that doesn't include a hangover?"
Cale grinned. "Because then you'd never learn not to get drunk."
Zant shook his head. "No, that can't be it." He straightened. "Okay, so how'd you do?"
Cale told him. "Yeah," Zant said, tenderly fingering what promised to be a monumental black eye. "I met your big man. Sheol of a left hook. Best liar in the mountains, too."
Cale nodded, smiling. "So he told me." The grin faded. "So, did you learn anything besides the fact that you can get drunk here?"
Zant grinned. "I sure did! They have something here called 'winter wine'. They take regular wine and set it outside during the winter. When ice forms, they skim it off and throw it away. Do that a dozen times or so, and you've got something much better than beer!"
Cale shook his head. "I meant about our mission here, idiot."
Zant's grin hadn't faded, but now he sobered. "I know. Well, there's a lot of general resentment about the star men, but they're not really very excited about it. All they know about the star men is rumors and stories." He shrugged. "I'd bet at least some of your volunteers will never lift a finger, unless something happens locally. But the hunting will be very good this year."
They discussed it far into the night, but could think of no way to motivate their volunteers. "I guess we'll just have to hope that if something happens up here, they'll do the job," Zant said. "Bein' true to your word is real important up here, so we can at least hope they'll fight."
Two days later they had their first victim of a star weapon, when a ferroceramic blade sank to its hilt in the chest of a man stabbed in a fight. The rumor was that he'd been trying to steal the knife from a drunk who hadn't been quite as passed out as he seemed. "Fair fight" was the almost universal verdict.
Despite his experience with pirate gang violence, Cale was shocked by the death. Zant, though, was philosophical. "The man was a thief," he shrugged. "Somebody was sure to kill him before the week was out. This isn't Angeles, you know."
But the next night was the breakthrough. Cale was training some volunteers when one of them spoke up. "Yep," he said at a picture of a man wearing Santiagan body armor, "Looks just like them fellers I passed on m'way here."
Cale jerked. "You saw someone that looked like this? Around here?"
"Well," the man replied, "They was dressed like traders; didn't have that purty uniform, but they had the armor and the helmets, all right."
Cale sent a volunteer to bring back Zant. In the meantime, he questioned the man more carefully. By the time Zant got there, the man had grasped the idea of a map as a picture taken from above. A frustrated Cale was forced to sit through the man's excited oohing and aahing and recognizing his home valley.
Thankfully, Zant arrived before Cale completely lost his patience. Zant had had the foresight to bring back a jug of what passed for beer in northern Jumbo. He pulled up a seat and began talking to the man in a friendly, meandering way that sent the frustrated Cale out of the ship.
An hour later a beaming trapper left Explorer, happily clutching Zant's jug. Cale raced back inside. Surprisingly, Zant was sober as a judge.
"Here's the story," he said. "He was coming to the Gathering, but his hunting hadn't been so good this winter. So, he didn't have a lot of time, but he was hoping to bag some meat animals he could use for trade.
"There's this little box canyon a little less than a day's walk, here." He indicated the spot on the map. "You can see it's a box canyon; only one entrance and steep walls all around. He went to it because he'd hunted it before, and the animals have no way out except past him.
"But there was already someone there. He was frustrated but curious. What would anyone but a hunter want there? So, he crept around for about an hour, trying to figure out what they were up to.
"They had guards posted on both sides of the entrance, but the rest of them had a kind of camp set up. There were four trader's carts, but three of them seemed empty. There were twenty-two of the men, counting the guards. All of them had body armor, helmets, and 'funny-looking' weapons. He says it looked like they were just sitting, waiting for something."
"This is it!" Cale cried. "It's got to be the General."
Zant nodded. "I agree. I think he's been infiltrating people north from Gorby and through Terjo using the foothills of the mountains. They must be waiting for the last of the troops."
"Who might arrive at any moment," Cale finished. "It looks like we're going to get to test out our volunteers after all."
Zant nodded. "I don't think we've got time to notify king Rajo and wait while he organizes his militia and marches here." He grinned. "This is gonna be fun! We spread the word and we'll get a lot of volunteers. This isn't something happening to the south; this is enemy in their territory."
Cale shook his head. "You're crazy. We have sixty-three untrained woodsmen, most of whom joined up for the free weapons, to handle twenty-two trained spec ops troops with lasers. And you call that fun?"
Zant nodded again. "Yep. And so will our woodsmen. Now, let's put together a plan, and then we'll start rounding up the troops. I hate to interrupt a Gathering, but it'll be worth it."
The next morning Cale and Zant began rounding up their charges early, so they could catch them sober and hung over. They explained the plan, and the volunteers hurried off to gather their weapons. Most of them were grinning.
Zant set off with the volunteers, while Cale had Tor-Jen fly a high-level pass over the canyon with hi-def cameras. The images from the civilian-grade cameras were slightly fuzzy, but they were clear enough to reveal a standard military hostile-country 'cold' encampment. No fires would be permitted, and only cold rations served.
Images from the thermal sensors indicated that there were twenty-two people in the camp, including the two sentries at the mouth of the canyon. Cale sent the images to Zant's tablet.
The pass also revealed three closely-grouped thermal images about a day's march south of the box canyon. Cale decided they were the latecomers that the early arrivals were awaiting.
"Makes sense," Zant said when Cale told him about the additional troops. "Ochoa-Mariden's a book soldier, and 25 is a nice, typical round number. We'll take care of them after we deal with the main force."
Cale was also scanning for the comm frequency the soldiers were using, but having little success. Apparently the troops had excellent comm discipline. Finally, just before the scheduled attack, he happened upon a transmission he was sure was from the box canyon.
"Base, Gate"
"Go Gate"
"Nothing, out."
"Roger, Gate. Out."
The cryptic messages brought a relieved smile to Cale's face. If this really was from the canyon, it could give them valuable warning of impending actions.
Zant and his people arrived, and began fanning out around the walls of the box canyon. Like the experienced hunters they were, they simply melted into the underbrush. Each of them carried a signaler tuned to a slightly different frequency. When they found a place with good concealment and a clear sight line, each of them would transmit a single click, and Zant's master unit would would blend them into a single report.
When the last of the hunters had 'clicked in', Zant sent a single click to the two tasked with taking out the sentries befo
re they could warn the camp. Each of them was armed with a crossbow and exploding bolts, and the muffled 'crack's were nearly simultaneous.
Each of the hunters sent a single click, and Zant called Cale. "Come," he said cryptically.
Explorer lifted off and headed for the canyon. Zant had located a flat area just outside the canyon, and Explorer settled onto it. Cale flipped his comm to the frequency he'd discovered.
"Raiding party," he said, "You are surrounded. You have one chance to surrender, ending in 10 seconds . . . 9 . . . 8 . . . 7 . . . 6 . . . 5 . . . 4 . . . 3 . . . 2 . . ."
Exactly at "1," a laser bolt flashed toward one of the sentry posts. There was a crackle of rifle fire, and the lower-pitched "crack" of the exploding bolts and arrows.
Explorer was the cork to keep the bottle sealed, and Cale swept her infantry-model quickfirers through the opening, as much to keep the intruders back as to kill anyone.
"Command, Base" Came the voice on the canyon frequency.
"Go Base."
"Niner Niner. I say again Niner Niner."
There was a brief silence. "Understood, Base. Good luck."
The click when the transmission ended had a chilling finality to it. Cale knew that 99 was a code that said "all is lost, save what you can and escape if you can." The officer commanding in the canyon expected to die, along with all his men.
"Zant," Cale sent, "The canyon just sent a 99 to their command."
Zant's voice was casual. "Too bad. But what would we do with 25 prisoners anyway?" He keyed his own transmitter. "The enemy has refused to surrender, and will fight to the last man. Take 'em out, boys."
"That isn't what 99 says," Cale protested.
"99 says 'escape if you can,' nothing about surrender." Zant replied coldly. "Their choice was to surrender or die, and it's more of a choice than they'd give us."
Apparently the hunters agreed with Zant. When the last man was killed by an exploding bolt, faint cheering echoed around the canyon.
Five riflemen had failed to move fast enough after firing, and been killed by lasers. Three more had self-cauterizing laser burns. The others wandered among the corpses of the soldiers, gathering weapons, helmets, and even body armor, clothing and shoes. Cale frowned, but he did not protest. He knew that looting the bodies of the dead after a battle was a tradition thousands of years old. The hunters wouldn't even understand his objection.
The Privateer 2: AN HONEST LIVING Page 29