by George Olney
"Only our satellites are far more advanced, multifunctional, and a good bit smaller than yours, mistress," Grae commented absently, finally finishing whatever he was telling the terminal to do and commenting on yet another unspoken thought. "For instance, this is where I think he is going."
Frenchy studied the screen again, ignoring the fact that Grae had replied to a comment she'd only thought. Now the screen showed a schematic, not a picture. There was a straight line in dull red on the schematic, with three yellow points on it, one point at each end of the line. The third was less than half way along it.
Grae pointed to the bottom point. "That's Red's dig. The middle one is our friend. The third point is the closest station along the route he's heading. It's not officially registered and not really supposed to be there. Illegal construction at some time in the past or more likely it was erased from our records. I'm betting that's Baltan's hideout and our boy is running for home."
"Any way we can find out?" she asked.
More keystrokes. The terminal picture changed yet again and this time hundreds of little dots overlay the schematic. "We've been putting nannybugs in all of the deserted or unused stations we found in this general area. I was going to review them for activity in a little while, but I think a general scan isn't necessary, not if this is our target. I'm going active at that station and see."
Frenchy watched, fascinated, as the picture changed once more. This time they were looking down at a large open room full of some very hard characters, none of whom looked like they were on the side of the angels. The sound quality was pretty good, too. Frenchy decided she loved nannybugs. Beat the hell out of hiding in a closet looking through a peephole. Just about then, one of the characters called out, "Hey, Baltan."
One of the others looked up in response. Frenchy didn't bother listening to the conversation, since it was being recorded anyway. Instead, she concentrated on Baltan's face when Grae had the bug's camera zoom in on it. She memorized every feature. This guy was a boss slaver and she wanted him bad.
She was going to get him, too.
She tuned back into the scene, instinctively staying quiet as though the men on the other end of the transmission could hear her. It took a few minutes of listening, but she began to get a sense of what was happening.
Grae put it into words. "The survivor of that snatch team has reported and basically said they were shot to hell by just Red and Justa. Baltan doesn't like that. What we're going to do depends on what Baltan decides to do next. If he's smart, he'll take his losses and write Justa off as a bad idea. If he's not too smart..."
Baltan wasn't. In fact, he was mad as hell, which may have influenced his snap decision. His voice came clearly across the bug's link. "Damned if I'm going to let that happen! Nobody outfights me! Tell Hazz to stop and lay up where he is until we get there, then we're going back and take that girl. We'll do it differently this time and when we get her she'll regret she ever saw a spring rifle. Load up! We're moving!"
Grae looked up at Frenchy with a wolfish expression on his face. "Baltan and his whole gang are going back after Justa, right where we can get them."
Frenchy's expression wasn't wolfish. It wasn't worried, either. More predatory, in fact. "Maev and Evan are still here at the Hold. I'll call her and tell her to get both of them ready to go stomp some roaches."
Grae nodded. "We'll take a sled to Red's dig. We ought to be there long before Baltan and his boys arrive. Plenty of time to fix up a nice surprise for these characters."
"Yes, dear," Frenchy replied with sultry sweetness. "I'll call Maev."
#####
Baltan lay on the ridge and surveyed the little mesa about four hundred yards in front of him. This was the same ridge where Loris and his team had sat their gorts and observed the prospector's camp, but he wasn't about to repeat the mistake of being seen too soon. He had all six of his available men and plans for a careful stalk, followed by a swift strike. That was more effort than he usually used in grabbing a woman, but - to his irritation - it was necessary this time. This was the only woman he knew about at the moment and the money she was going to bring was necessary. Besides, he had no intention of letting the bitch think she could fight off his organization and get away with it. Grabbing her was going to be a pleasure.
Carefully scanning with his distance lenses, he marked the position of his targets. The woman was busy with something at the full sized camp at the base of the mesa. The prospector was still digging near the center of the mesa's flat top. One difference from Hazz's report was that there were now two tents on the mesa. Another was that there was a small makeshift corral near the camp holding seven gorts. Four of those used to belong to his men, Baltan thought with a touch of anger quickly suppressed.
The man had to be taken out first, even though the girl was at ground level. He was just too good with a gun. Then they'd surround the girl and keep her busy while a couple of the boys worked their way around the back of the camp and grabbed her. Turning his attention to the land leading to the mesa, he marked out a clump of brush within about a hundred yards - long spring rifle range - of the camp that would allow them a spot to divide and start to move in on her. There was a small gully near the clump that would screen the boys doing the grabbing until they were within five or ten yards of the prospector's camp, close enough to make a rush.
Sounded like a plan.
He slid back down the rear of the ridge out of sight of the camp and motioned everyone close. Once all of his men were assembled, he laid out the operation. "We're going to crawl for a while until we get to some brush between this ridge and their camp. The camp's where the woman is. The man's still on the mesa top. Chose, you take him out from here with the musket. Belvis, you take Slope and Taxis when I tell you and use the gully to get close. We'll keep her distracted. You three grab her.
"Okay, let's move."
As the other six moved out on their stealthy way, Chose took the bolt musket from his saddle scabbard and crawled back up to where he'd have a good shot at the prospector. His bolt musket was about the same size and configuration as a standard spring rifle, but it fired the same plasma bolts as his pistol. It was normally used as a hunting weapon on other worlds, but was relatively uncommon on Lycanth, where the human inhabitants tended to prefer being up close and personal with various forms of deadly wildlife.
Chose settled into position and took a look through the musket's magnifying sight system. Hm. The prospector wasn't digging anymore. He was just sitting on the edge of his hole, his back towards Chose. He was apparently studying something closely, because he wasn't moving, at least not a large enough movement to be visible through the sight. Easy shot.
Chose looked away from his sight and watched as Baltan and the others got to the brush clump. Baltan waved back. Time to make the shot and get rid of that damned pain-in-the-ass prospector. Good sight picture. The target still hadn't moved much if at all. Careful squeeze of the trigger... The musket bolt slapped the prospector's body down in the hole. The guy was dead. Dead.
At least, that was Chose's opinion when things stopped working as anticipated.
Chose was still in position, adding his musket bolts to the pistol fire from the three men in the brush up ahead. None of them were trying to hit Justa, simply trying to keep her down and occupied until Belvis and the other two could grab her. He was concentrating on his shooting until something cold and metallic (a spring rifle muzzle, in fact) touched him just behind his ear.
"I really don't have to take you in without an extra hole in your head," Maev's soft voice told him.
Frenchy was at the far end of the gully, her bopper in hand, choke set on wide spread. Her psi sense let her feel where Grae and the others were and what they were doing. The locator button clipped to her leathers let everyone else know the same thing about her.
At the moment, they were all simply waiting for Baltan's guys to execute some brilliantly conceived plan, not that the slaver boss really had much of an option. Grae
could read terrain as well as Baltan and it was no trick to figure out what the jerk was going to do. That let Grae seed the area around the mesa with nanny bugs, all reporting to the receiver on his belt. They were also getting satellite reports on a constant basis. The only question was how many of the slavers would go where. That was why Frenchy, not the best at crawling through the brush, was located at the end of the gully where she didn't have to move, just wait for the bad guys to come to her. Her bopper was another reason why she was there. The thing could handle any number of hostile idiots once they arrived. Maev, Evan, and Grae were out there in the brush with Baltan and the other low lifes.
Frenchy took a deep breath as her psi told her three slavers were working their way along the gully to her. She was a little scared. Perfectly normal in the situation. She was also thinking about having to kill someone again. Not a good thing in her mind.
She reached slowly up and touched the badge on the left breast of her leathers. She was an Enforcer and these were slavers. This wasn't the first time she'd dealt with low rent scum like these, but now she was official - and dealing with them was her job. She'd try to capture them first, but if they tried to make trouble... well, that was their problem. She stopped worrying about killing them and told herself to get back to the work at hand.
There were small noises coming from around a bend in the gully about twenty yards off. She already knew what those noises were and she could feel what those bastards were planning to do. Not today, guys! As the three slavers worked their cautious way around the bend and were fully in front of her, she stood up, bopper pointed at them from her hip. "Enforcement Arm! Freeze!"
Unfortunately for them, the three slavers didn't take the big blonde in front of them seriously. With varying speed and skill, all three went for the bolt pistols at their hips. Not smart.
As their hands landed on their guns, Frenchy simply pulled the trigger on her bopper. THUMP.
Small bushes, shattered rocks, bits of terrain, various messy slaver parts, etc. got scattered over the far wall of the gully.
The mess was pretty bad, but Frenchy ignored it as she calmly walked up the gully through the remains of the three slavers. She'd seen it before and she wasn't going to let scorch marks, rubble and blood bother her - much. She wanted Baltan. She wanted the boss of this gang. Wanted him badly.
When she came around the corner, she saw Baltan and his two remaining men prone, pistols in position to fire at Justa. They weren't shooting at the moment. Apparently, the sound of her bopper had disrupted things, because Baltan was half sitting up with a "What the hell?" look on his face. Said face got very pale as he saw her, still calmly walking in his direction. Or maybe it got pale because she had her bopper aimed directly at him and his other two bastards. Or maybe it was because her face reflected her feelings and said someone had best get ready to die.
Very slowly and carefully, Baltan laid his pistol on the ground at arm's reach and again, very slowly and carefully, stood up with his hands in the air. The other two slavers copied every movement he made, especially the slowly and carefully part. "Don't shoot," Baltan said in a cautionary voice, "we give up."
"Like hundreds of Tribal girls did for you, asshole," Frenchy replied, her voice showing no emotion.
"I don't need my gun for you." Then she casually reached back over her right shoulder and slid her bopper into its holster. Equally casually, she pulled her throwing ax from its own holster on her right thigh. Once her ax was in her hand, she held it in a low guard position as she leaned onto the balls of her feet. Her body posture wasn't threatening, just prepared to act in a split second.
Baltan's eyes widened in momentary amazement then he sneered as he reached back in turn and drew his long sword, settling into a guard position with the point towards her. Frenchy decided he'd stopped giving up. Good.
"Just what in the hell makes you think you won't need your gun, bitch?" He snarled.
Frenchy jerked her chin slightly, indicating something behind Baltan. "Him."
Baltan spun, to see both of his men standing with their hands up, nervously eyeing the stutter gun pointed at them, held in the rock steady hands of a really strange looking character. That scene only held his attention for an instant before his eyes settled on someone a whole lot more ominous.
The someone was a really big man in tribal dress with a patch over one eye and wearing another Enforcement Arm badge, standing there and calmly regarding him. The big man holstered his pistol and, reaching back, drew his own long sword. "I'm the him," he said. "I'm Grae. Grae of the Yellow Knife."
Baltan took advantage of his slightly twisted body position to spin and make a lightning quick slash at Grae's chest. Grae simply leaned casually back out of the way then gave Baltan a cold smile with absolutely no humor in it.
The first time Frenchy watched Grae go after a slaver with his long sword she didn't understand what she was seeing. Now she did and this was one fight she really wanted to watch. She kept a small part of her attention to where Evan was securing the other two slavers, but her main focus was on the two big men circling each other with deadly concentration, long swords at the ready.
The next flurry of action was too fast to follow, but Grae was back in guard position and Baltan was bleeding from a long slash on his cheek. Grae's cold smile was still in place.
Another flash of steel, a clang, and the slash was on Baltan's arm this time. Grae was unmarked.
Baltan started to raise his sword for an overhand slash.
Grae moved first and Baltan's sword was flying in a spinning arc to land on the ground a couple of yards away.
"Go ahead and pick it up, asshole." Grae's dry voice gave his calm words a menace that said flatly that Baltan was dead as soon as his hand touched steel.
The shock on Baltan's face clearly said he realized Grae was playing with him. Instead of trying for his sword, he spun and started to dash off. Frenchy's thrown ax slashed the back of his thigh and collapsed him helplessly on the ground with a pained scream.
"Thanks, mistress," Grae told Frenchy as he pulled bindings and a first aid spray from his belt pouch.
Frenchy nodded, her expression still deadly as she watched Grae tie up Baltan and spray the slaver's wounds closed. "I figured this motherless bastard had some information we wanted," she replied.
She walked over and picked her ax up off the ground, then approached Baltan. By this time, the slaver was on his back with his hands bound behind him and his ankles tied. She stopped and regarded the restrained man with the same look she'd give a dead snake. Then she pointed the still bloody head of her ax at his eyes, getting a terrified reaction. "Look at me, asshole," she snarled. "You're only alive because you know some things we want to find out. I'm not a frightened captive. I'm the Enforcement Arm. So is my man. You'll tell us everything we want to know or I'll take out your eyes. Before I chop you into little pieces. Unlike you, I don't believe in abusing a helpless person so I'll set you free first.
"Do you want me to let you free?"
Baltan violently shook his head. No talking. He was so frightened all he could do was make strangled sounds.
"Going to talk?"
Violent nodding.
Frenchy took a small cloth from her belt pouch and cleaned her ax's head. "Too bad," she said as she holstered her weapon. "I really, really want you, Baltan. But I'm the law and we have to do things according to the rules. Just don't let me hear of you making any trouble, or I'll come looking for you. Wherever you are, I'm going to find you. Got it?"
Baltan got it. He wouldn't move until an Arm sled arrived and picked the four surviving slavers up for a date with Interrogation.
Frenchy nodded. A good day's work.
About then, she heard Red's excited voice yelling, "Found it! Dammit, I've found it!"
She turned to look, and there was Red, down off the mesa and heading for her and the rest of the crew at a full gallop. Justa was behind him, doing her dead level best to keep up and grinning from ear
to ear as Red - also grinning - waved a metallic object over his head while he ran.
Red slammed to a stop in front of Frenchy and thrust the object under her nose. Leaning back slightly, her eyes nearly crossed, found herself looking at what appeared to be a silvery metal statuette, the subject of which was an amazingly impossible cross between an octopus and an ostrich. "Red," she asked with real presence of mind in the situation, "just what in the hell is that?"
"It's what we've been looking for!" Justa, newly arrived and breathless, gasped out in excitement. "It's one of them!"
"Damned if I know, but she just might be right!" Red blurted. "Looks like there's writing on the base. We'll have to work on deciphering the text, but this is it! This is our Granddaddy!"
By now, Grae was also standing with the other three. "I've never seen anything like that figure," he commented calmly. "You think it's from the original star faring culture you've been theorizing?"
"Oh, hell YES!" Red yelled. "It's Zandoc! Zandoc made if not a representation of one of them!"
He settled down slightly, but he was still excited. Frenchy took note of the fact that Justa was just as excited as he was. "I found it in the bottom of the hole, just under the surface. After I put the dummy you gave me in place so those idiots could shoot it, I was crouching there with nothing to do. There was a little bump on the top of the soil, so I began to scoop some of the dirt away and this beauty came up! Took me twenty minutes. Had to show Justa first, then we came and got you folks."
Several things occurred to Frenchy. First, Red appeared totally oblivious to gun fights when he was in the grip of archeological fever. Second, he was damned lucky the gunfight was finished when he came charging down the mesa, his very distracted guard - Justa - following and just as wrapped up in an amazing discovery.
Grae was his usual calm, low key self as he gently took the statuette from Red and examined it closely. "Hm. Off hand, Red, I suspect there's going to be a real upheaval in academic circles."