“Hector,” she began in a tone that immediately made him look up, “I want to ask you something. We heard something about a tribe that camps near here and keeps itself to itself.”
“Could be,” he replied carefully.
Mildred pursed her lips. “A tribe where the women are the fighters—small, don’t wear many clothes… beat the living shit out of men twice their size.”
“Yeah, I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t know who you were talking about,” he answered, amused.
Mildred nodded. “We’ve come across them before. We were allies, but got separated. It’d be good to meet with them again, if we knew where they were camped…”
Hector shook his head. “I don’t get out enough to know for sure, but I do hear they’re in the more densely wooded parts, southwest of here. That’s what I’m told.”
“That’s very interesting,” Mildred said slowly. “Maybe we should check that out. One other thing. We were allies because of a group—real heavy blaster freaks—who lived underground. We got separated trying to follow them. I don’t—”
Mildred stopped dead. Hector was looking at her with an expression that could only be described as fear.
“I don’t— No, I know nothing about anyone like that. And if you don’t want to find yourself having accidents in the middle of the night, I really wouldn’t go around asking about things like that too widely.”
With which the ville healer turned and walked away from Mildred rapidly, leaving her staring after him with a thoughtful gleam in her eye.
THE MIDDAY SUN was beating down on the plowed fields. Dean, Jak and the rest of the ville workers who toiled the lands had broken for food and drink, and were gathered in the shade afforded by the side of the stables housing the plow horses.
“Best part of the day,” one of them said as he took a long drink of water before passing the canteen to Jak.
“Now then, I always figured that the best part of the day for you was when you spent your paycheck in the gaudies by night,” commented an older, more weather beaten farmhand.
The first—a young man, little older than Jak or Dean, and as whip thin as the former—laughed. “That’s the night,” he said between bursts. “I was talking about the day.”
The comment caused a general wave of good humor, and Jak gave Dean a swift glance. Was this the right time to raise the matter?
“Yeah, I hear it can get real wild here after dark,” he said carefully. “My dad is on bar sec, and although he hasn’t seen them yet, he’s heard about these wild women that live outside and only come in to trade. Apparently they can stand up in a fight with any man and best them.”
The young farmhand whistled. “Whoa, yeah. I seen them in action, all right. Real tiny, most of them. But they can chill any man that tries.” He shook his head. “I heard they live down to the south somewhere, but—” he shrugged “—I’m just glad I don’t have to deal with them!”
In the general good humor, Jak judged it was time for him to take things a stage further.
“Ryan and J.B. also tell us about fighters with weird shit clothes, wear helmets and fight with odd blasters. They hear these pass through—”
The good humor suddenly ceased, and a cold silence descended on the party. Slowly, all of the farmhands except Jak and Dean rose to their feet and headed off to their work without another word—with the exception of the young farmhand, who turned back for a second.
“Just a word, friend,” he said to Jak. “You and your people shouldn’t talk of that. There are those around here who would rather forget.”
He left Dean and Jak to exchange glances and ponder the meaning of his cryptic words.
J.B. AND RYAN WERE ALSO finding it hard to get a reaction. On their sec duties along the strip of bars and gaudies that formed the main drag—and the main trade—of Crossroads, they had asked a few questions of both their fellow sec and also of passing trade convoy workers who had befriended them in the bars. So far, all they had asked about was the Gate, and the response had been the same as that received by their companions: the Gate tribe was looked on as an oddity, hard to best and fair to trade, but content to keep themselves to themselves. Consensus seemed to put their camp out to the south or southwest of the ville. But things had been different when they had tried to bring up the matter of the Illuminated Ones. Deliberately keeping their descriptions vague, they had both noticed that those who passed through either knew nothing, or had only heard a few wild rumors, and those who came from the ville were quick to shut up and claim to know nothing.