The prince was turning purple, but Travis heard a rattling gasp as Nahuatl fought for life. He swore as he reached for his machete and found it gone. He had left it back a camp to lighten his travel load.
Then he spotted a wicked-looking cricket bat with razor-sharp obsidian edges lying in the leaves. What did they call it in Asilyo? A macahuitl? Snatching it up, Travis used it like an ax, severing the vines that encircled the Prince’s throat. As the obsidian edges of the weapon parted the first strands, the hellish plant spasmed, releasing its grasp and retracting into the upper reaches of the tree. Nahuatl collapsed face-down into the leaves.
Dropping the macahuitl, Travis triggered off two quick signal rounds from his rifle.
“Over here! Man down! Man down!” he yelled.
A minute later they were surrounded and Nahuatl was sitting up, taking painful sips from someone’s canteen. He looked at Travis with an expression that was both grateful and tinged with bitterness.
“Vidasesino,” he gasped.
“Does that mean ‘thanks for saving my ass?’” Travis asked Guererro, who was busy listening to one of the Prince’s wing men giving an explanation.
“’Assassin vine’” said Guererro. The Prince began to choke out is own version of what had happened. Guererro explained. “He says he was lured to the tree by a spell.”
“Was it a girl?” Travis asked. Nahuatl nodded.
“We both saw the same thing. What the hell happened to us?”
The Prince’s wing man began to speak rapidly. Guererro struggled to keep up. “The girl you both saw was a spirit of the forest,” he said.
“What the hell?” said Travis.
“Some kind of animal is my guess, rather than a spirit,” said Guererro. “They’ll try to lure trespassing strangers to their deaths.” The wing man then spoke directly to Captain Bainbridge. “Captain, he says they were under a spell and couldn’t help themselves. He says you shouldn’t punish them.”
The Captain was not at all pleased, but he held his temper. “You tell him I said that remains to be seen. I don’t believe in magic spells, but there’s more to this than meets the eye.” He turned to the men. “From now on, you keep a sharp eye on the man in front of you. Anything happens, you grab him and yell for help. Is the Prince ready to move out?” Nahuatl nodded, sheathing his macahuitl and donning his jaguar helm. The team was soon underway.
Travis grinned. His rival had not even so much as said thank you, but that bitter look said it all. Now the Prince owed him one.
Chapter 8
Otto Spielman spooned the broth from his MRE pack and made his plans. He would need his energy. He had been quiet most of the evening since they had put him in chains. Since the news had broken concerning the upcoming assault on Pericu, he was yesterday’s news. Soon, everyone would begin to relax. Their guard would come down. Then he would make his move.
Otto cursed his ill fortune. It was over for him in the Armada Marines, and he knew it. As soon as the cavalry arrived, he would be shipped home for a rapid court martial. The might ship him off to some rock for hard labor, but most likely he would end his life swinging from the hangman’s noose. He cursed Captain Bainbridge for unfairly condemning him. He cursed Derek Driveway for not defending him. He cursed Emil Hardesty for ordering him shackled, shackled! Most of all, he cursed that low-down, cheap-shotting Travis Buckley for getting the best of him. A lowly private in a support platoon, for Christ’s sake. Well, Otto Speilman was not going to swing. The Machai would have a use for highly trained elite soldiers like himself, and before the end, he would erase his shame in Travis Buckley’s blood. He just had to get out of the stockade first.
Otto stared up at the moon through the bamboo grate above his head. They had make him dig it himself with an e-tool, six feet square and eight feet deep. Byers had been lazy. He’d not been looking too closely at what Otto had been doing, hollowing out a small horizontal space in the far wall. It was almost big enough to lie in. As dusk came on and darkness fell, he would show Byers he was far more dangerous than any tiger.
Byers arrived back at the pit, zipping up his pants. If Hardesty knew he was taking an unrelieved piss break, the old man would have his guts for garters. Fortunately, everybody else was gone. The camp was deserted as all personnel were in Asliyo preparing the supply train for tomorrow’s departure. He had drawn the unwanted duty of dealing with crazy Otto Speilman. Not to worry. Underground was right where he was headed when the Stellar Armada was finished with him. He peered down between the grate to make sure everything was all right, then jumped back and swore. The pit was empty, yet the grate was secure. There were no signs of forced exit. “Damn it, Otto! Where the hell are you?” he whispered. Maybe Otto was down there curled up in a corner. He had to be sure before he called for help and admitted he’d blown it. Byers undid the catches and swung the grate aside. He dropped the small bamboo ladder into the pit and clambered down into the dank hole.
He turned on his light and scanned the pit. No sign of Spielman. Just as he turned to go back up the ladder, he was showered with an explosion of dirt and rocks. His light went out, clattering into the mud. A length of shackle chain was thrown around his neck, pulling him tight against the hulking apparition before him. The nightmare figure was covered head to toe in mud. All that stood out were the mad white eyes and the leering smile. Hands as big as hams crossed the chain around his throat, choking off his air and blood.
“Boo!” cried Otto.
Ressa crept down the jungle path, making sure no one heard her leave. As far as Josso knew, she was spending the night at Juana’s house. He was due to depart with his mule train the next morning. Everyone was going – Josso, the warriors, all the remaining visitors, even their female soldiers! She liked some of the Bandit girls, like Penny and Jenna, but found the rest somewhat off-putting. They walked and talked and dressed just like the men, and their hair was too short for her tastes. Nevertheless, the fact that they would go and she would be left behind was intolerable. She might not be a warrior, but she could certainly find a way to make herself useful in camp. She would appeal to Sergeant Hardesty. She would beg, she would plead, she would even seduce him if she had to. If she could make the sergeant her ally, she was sure she could manipulate the old man into changing his mind. She always had before.
Otto could not believe his good luck. He’d been able to break into the weapons locker and steal a rifle, some ammo, and enough food and water for several days. He’d even been able to sneak it all this down to the beach where the one remaining raft was moored. To accomplish all this without raising the alarm was quite an achievement, but on his last trip back to camp he’d found one of the native girls waiting for him! Nothing like a hostage. She was sure to provide some fun later on. She froze when she saw him striding up the path with a good-humored smile on his mud-streaked face. “Habla ingles?” he asked her. She bolted, but she wasn’t getting away this time. Before she could yell for help he clipped her on the chin. As her eyes rolled up and she fell forward, he ducked and lifted her easily onto one shoulder. Too easy. Whistling, he carried her back down the path towards the boats.
They traveled north along the coast for several hours, making good time. The boat’s electric motor was not the best in the world, but it allowed him to make headway against the strong southerly current. He also hadn’t expected quite so many dangerous rocks, reefs, and shoals. He had to be doubly careful or he would rip the bottom out in no time. Fortunately, the constant crash of waves against the coast and his excellent night vision enabled Otto to hug the shoreline while the night lasted.
Ressa sat huddled in the bottom of the boat, afraid to move or speak. For a long time the anglo had ignored her, intent on steering the boat, but finally he looked down.
“I know you speak English, bitch, so don’t mess with me.”
She gazed back at him noncommittally.
“You know Pericu? This place where the other anglo soldiers are holed up?”
When
she didn’t answer a second time, Otto took out his field knife and showed it to her. The moonlight didn’t reflect off the carbonized surfaces, but it did glitter along the razor edge.
“Where? How far?” he asked again.
Ressa told him.
The dawn was well above the horizon when Otto decided to cut the motor. He estimated they’d done well, perhaps come fifteen or twenty miles up the coast. Another twenty would bring them to the massive delta of the great river. An equal distance beyond that, around the horn of a limestone promontory, lay an almost perfect natural harbor, home to the ancient city. They were all alone now. Time for some fun.
“You know,” he remarked, “I always thought you were cute.”
She cringed under his wolfish gaze. When he grabbed her ankle, Ressa shrieked. Laughing, he tried to haul her into his embrace, but Ressa had grown up with five brothers. She lashed out with her other foot, catching him in the throat. In an instant, she was on him, spitting curses and clawing for his eyes. He slapped here hands away and tried to crawl on top of her, but, wriggling like an eel, she drew them both over the top of the side pontoon. Furious, he kept trying to pull her back down to the bottom, but he went too far and overbalanced. With a squawk, Ressa dragged them both over the side into the water.
As soon as Otto let go, Ressa darted clear. He came up sputtering with rage, but he calmed down quick when he saw the current beginning to carry the raft away. He saw her dark head bobbing like a seal above the waves, then it disappeared. Otto made his decision. He had bigger fish to fry. He turned, and with a few powerful strokes, regained the raft. There was no sign of the girl anywhere.
Chapter 9
In a room once used as an audience chamber sat a stone chair. The chair had been crusted with gold and jewels, but over the centuries vandals and treasure-seekers had stripped it bare until only the stone remained. Today, the new ruler used the chair for similar purposes. He wore a dark suit much like any modern executive might wear, save that a large gold chain bearing a ruby pendant hung around his neck. A cruel hand bearing a similar ruby ring tapped on the chair’s arm. Wrapped about his shoulders was a dark, silk-lined cloak, and above that cloak was a voluminous hood that kept his face hidden.
Flanking the seated figure was his huge bodyguard dressed in black leather. A flight helmet with a dark visor only exposed the lower half of his face. The bodyguard meant to be intimidating to anyone who came near the Prelate, and he succeeded admirably. An optio entered, bowing. “The report you ordered, eminence,” he sniveled.
The Prelate replied in a low, contemptuous voice that filled the listener with dread. “How goes it with the doctor?”
“He grows impatient, eminence. He says the compound is ready, but he requires new test subjects. The lizard men no longer suffice. He says only human subjects will do.”
“And how goes the harvest?” The voice was imperious.
“Better, eminence,” replied the optio. “We will reach the half-billion quota within ten days. What we have has already been placed in cryo-storage for transportation.”
“Good!” purred the Prelate. “If you can find some local human subjects for the doctor’s experiments, perhaps I will not have you slice out your own tongue.”
The optio grinned mirthlessly, revealing a very bad set of teeth. “Very good, my lord. Then I will speak to serve you another day.”
“You serve the empire, dolt.”
“Indeed, my lord. It seems the solution to the problem has fallen right into our hands.”
“Speak.”
“A man has surrendered to us. A soldier of the Stellar Armada.”
The Prelate leaned forward in displeasure. The cruel hand became a claw. “You reported the battleship destroyed!”
His optio cringed. “Apparently the defense platform failed. Apparently there are survivors.”
“Order the man who programmed that platform dismembered.” The Prelate felt calmer now.
“Immediately, my lord.”
“This messenger. He has some word he wishes to convey?”
“He claims not to be a messenger. He asks to see the commandant. He says,” the optio looked sideways for a moment, “that he wishes to enter your service. He wishes to serve the Machai.”
The Prelate was speechless for the briefest of moments. Then he laughed a short, brutal chortle. “Bring him!”
A few minutes later Otto Spielman was brought before the Prelate. He came to the point of attention and executed a smart salute. Then he bowed deeply from the waist.
“I understood you were here to rescue the doctor. Now he tells me you wish to join us? Why betray your comrades?”
“They betrayed me, your honor,” replied Otto. “Now I’m just looking for the highest bidder.”
The Prelate laughed. “Indeed! Then, enter into the service of the Machai, and be welcome.”
“Thank you, sir!”
“Follow my man and obey him. Your new life begins now.”
“Yes, sir!” Otto was ushered out.
The Prelate spoke to his optio one last time. “Obviously a spy. Find out what he knows, particularly about the other survivors. Wring the truth out of him. Then, take him where he wised to go all along. Tell the doctor he has his subject.”
Chapter 10
Ressa peeked out from behind the rock. The coast was clear. She’d had to swim underwater the whole way to shore, but Otto had given up on her rather quickly. As she watched him speed away, she counted her blessings and forced her tired brain to think.
They’d traveled all night. Never having been in a motorized vehicle before, she couldn’t judge the distance accurately. She had to rely on what she knew of the layout of the land to make her next crucial decisions. They were still south of meinoscuro, the great swamp formed by the alluvial fan of the river delta, and that was good. That meant she was deep in lizard man territory. That was bad. Ressa pinned her hopes on two things: the causeway, and her father. The ancient roadway that had made the jungle passable was fairly close. Five, maybe ten miles, due east from the coastline. With any luck, she might actually link up with Josso’s northbound party. Even if they missed, she would be able to get home eventually. All she had to do was make her way through the heart of a forest full of predators, dangerous fauna, and lizard men. Simple enough.
She stared down at her bare feet, pondering. Standing in the wet sand was easy enough, but even though her soles were tough, she couldn’t afford to get them punctured or wounded. There were all kinds of jungle parasites waiting to find a way in. Perhaps she could fashion some sort of replacement for her sandals from leaves and vine, or maybe her skirt.
Next, Ressa found a small stick, which she planted in the sand. She made note of the end of the shadow, marking the sand with an X. While she waited, she searched the cuplike leaves of the nearby foliage. It rained every day in the jungle; sometimes twice a day. After a careful search, she found several that still contained small amounts of rainwater. She drank as many as she could find. That would keep her going until she found a steam or other source of fresh water. As for food, well, there were fruits and berries she knew how to find, and beetles and grubs were good sources of protein. She might even catch a small lizard or two. She’d chewed up one raw as a child on a dare. Nasty, but hunger was likely to improve the taste this time.
The shadow had moved a few feet. Ressa marked the end again with another X in the sand, then drew a straight line between the two. Now she had a semi-reliable indication of where east and west lay. She knew the direction she had to go to find the causeway. Once inside the forest canopy she’d have to use other methods. Losing her direction would be fatal. Nevertheless, she resolved to remain positive and focused on one thing at a time. Find a stream. Ressa mouthed a quick prayer to Madrios, crossed herself, then bounded into the jungle.
At dawn, Bainbridge ordered the men out of their fighting holes. Sleeping in a hole in the ground wasn’t the worst thing he’d endured during his enlistment, but Travis al
ways worried about what might crawl into bed with him off the forest floor. He’d been lucky so far. The Prince and his companions slept above ground in lightweight hammock webbing that could be easily rolled up and carried the next morning. Maybe he could suggest some things to the captain today.
Travis wolfed down his rations as fast as he could and listened to the duty assignments for the day. They always seemed to taste better in the field. Maybe it was the extreme hunger caused by the increased caloric burn from the forced march. Maybe he was just learning to love the damned things. He must be losing it.
“Buckley, you’re on the Prince’s detail this morning. You’ll scout until lunch, then rotate out. Got it?” Bainbridge glanced at Nahuatl for confirmation.
“Sí, el capitán,” said the Prince, “I understand.” Travis’s suspicions were confirmed. As Ressa had said, the noble families still taught their children English, and Nahuatl was from the top of the line. The company moved out.
Travis got to spend the first half of the day far to the head and to the left of the group, scanning the sun dappled dimness for any signs of enemy movement. As they moved steadily northward day after day, evidence of their enemy had become apparent. The closer they got to the swamp, the more spoor they found.
A rustling sound ahead caused him to raise his rifle. No lizard man, just an Askuran forest deer passing; a doe. His trigger finger itched. He laid the sights of this M1B in the target zone just behind the doe’s lead leg. If only he was home right now. He hadn’t gotten a deer his last season home before the Armada. Travis grinned, but didn’t fire. What a time to be on the job.
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