“One thing I do notice, though,” Ryan commented as they left the Salvation sector. “They all blame different villes for the damage, just as the woman from Haigh blamed someone else.”
“Could be bluff,” Crow replied. “Could be that they want to blame someone else to cover themselves. Could be they want to blame someone else just because they’re different.”
“Yeah, and it could be that no one there actually knows anything about it,” J.B. countered.
Crow looked at him shrewdly. “Ideas?” he asked simply.
J.B. shrugged. “Not yet.”
But the Armorer continued to think about it as they traveled around the rest of the camp. They had already seen the work sites, and knew the layout. It was hard for anyone to hide there, and so the sabotage had to be perpetrated at a time when everyone not involved on the task would be safely out of the way. There was too much risk of anyone being seen during daylight and working hours, as not only were there sec patrols but also it was highly unlikely that any of the individuals involved would want to sabotage their own areas of work and so put their own jack bonuses at risk. Other areas and other workers’ bonuses, maybe, but only a stupe would do that to himself. And J.B. was sure that this was not the work of a stupe.
So if the sabotage couldn’t be done by day, then it had to be done by night. By necessity, the sec patrols at night were concentrated on the camp, to stop any fights that may break out inside. This left the work site relatively open to attack. But the problem any saboteurs would then have was in getting out of the camp, going about their tasks, and getting back into the camp without being seen—if not by the sec, then by someone from a rival ville. The fact that no one seemed to have any definite facts, within such a closed hothouse atmosphere, made J.B. wonder if Baron Silas and his sec men were looking in the wrong direction.
As this passed through his mind, he wondered if he should talk to Ryan about it, so they could begin asking questions. But one look at the one-eyed man riding next to Crow dissuaded him. It wasn’t that the Armorer didn’t trust the Native American, it was more that he didn’t want anything of his notion getting out—particularly to Baron Silas—until such time as they had a chance to investigate its validity.
Besides, there were still four sectors of the camp with which to become familiar.
Crow led them into the sector that housed the workers and their families from the ville of Dallas. It was immediately obvious to all that Baron Silas had deliberately planned the camp so that the poor folks of his original home ville would have their noses rubbed in the dirt by being placed next door to the richer constructions of his new ville. For the Dallas camp was dirty and disheveled, and the women and children who were on view seemed downtrodden. They had no life or energy and appeared to be almost completely disinterested in the mounted party as they rode down the small streets of the camp. Their huts and tents were hovels that hung loosely together, constructed of materials that the other villes would have thrown away, and completely devoid of color under a mantle of dust.
“I fear these are least likely to be our culprits,” Doc murmured as they passed by almost unnoticed.
“Could be that they want revenge,” Dean argued.
Doc shook his head sadly. “No, my dear child. These are people with the fight knocked out of them. They just want the scraps from the table—though they do appear to be the kind of whipping boys who would be singled out for blame, should it need to be apportioned.”
“No one believe it,” Jak interjected. “Smell of fear, being chilled. Quarry,” he added dismissively.
“I’d agree with you there,” Crow said, listening intently. “Thing is, for a variety of reasons everyone I’ve shown you so far would be too obvious. Dallas is too downtrodden. The people of Water Valley and Running Water look too different to hide easily. Haigh is too strictly run, and Mandrake is too damn loud to do anything except out front.”