“This the second time we’ve been here and found traitors,” the lieutenant said through clenched teeth. “The children go into chains, and we chill everybody else.”
“Even the local baron?”
“Him first.”
“Yes, sir.” Thor grinned, checking the longblaster at his side.
STANDING QUIETLY in the hatchway leading to the lower deck, the slave said nothing and turned away so she could smile. Excellent. Let the norms chill one another. The fewer the better. As soon as the Peteys reached shore, she would dive overboard and swim for the jungle. She knew the formula for black powder, plus a lot of other weapons tech, and when the people faced norm soldiers again, they would be on equal footing.
“Half reverse,” the pilot said into the speaking tube, and the boat noticeably slowed its approach to the dock. “Quarter speed…full reverse! All stop.” The motors cut, and the Petey drifted into the slip like fingers into a glove. It bumped once against the wag tires edging the wood pylons and stopped as the bow softly crunched against the clean sandy beach.
While the crew attached the mooring lines, Thor worked the bolt on his longblaster and Brandon strode onto the dock. His clothing was amazingly clean, the white shirt and pants almost spotless, and had no patches. The shirt was unbuttoned halfway down, exposing a hairy muscular chest covered with ritual scars in a graduated delta pattern. A black leather belt was draped loosely across his wide chest in the manner of a bandolier, the loops full of shiny brass cartridges, and a huge revolver jutted from the holster.
Tucking his thumbs into the belt, Brandon checked the derringer hidden behind the buckle and bumped his left boot against the sandbags to make sure his stiletto was in place. Fine.
“Ahoy, Cold Harbor ville!” he shouted through cupped hands. “Open your gate and bring me Baron Langford at once! By order of the lord baron!”
There was no response from the people moving on the brick wall. Were they loading cannons? Impossible. Nobody would dare to shoot at the sec chief from Maturo Island!
“Last chance!” the lieutenant shouted.
Again, nothing.
“Master gunner!” he said over a shoulder. “Launch a Firebird. That’ll get their attention.”
Puffing a green cigar, the grizzled man removed it to blow a smoke ring. “Into?” he asked.
“Over. This time.”
“Aye, aye, skipper.”
Going to the launch pod, a sailor touched a loose fuse with the glowing tip of the seaweed stogie. It sizzled briefly, then the Firebird in the nest shook and leaped away on a spray of flame and smoke. The people on the wall gasped, and went out of sight. Only a few remained.
“Langford is dead!” a ville sec man shouted back.
“Bullshit!” Brandon shouted over the waves on the beach. “Bring him to me right now, or I’ll blast that wall apart. Ya got ten seconds!”
Hastily a dozen voices shouted it was the truth, more pleading for clemency.
“What do you know, some stud aced the monster of Cold Harbor,” Brandon said, addressing the crew of both PT boats at the dock. “Must be one big son of a bitch. Thor, ace the man as soon as we know who he is. Don’t want to have to fight anything that sent Langford into the ground.”
“Consider it done, sir,” the sergeant said, wrapping the shoulder strap of the Weatherby .30-06 around his forearm to help steady his aim. The antique was cumbersome, heavy to carry and slow to shoot. But when one of its soft lead rounds hit, it was as if they had been struck by lightning. It didn’t matter how big and strong the baron was. One shot and it was all over.
“Now open that gate!” Brandon ordered, placing his fists on his hips and radiating supreme confidence.
Suddenly a frightened face appeared on the wall. “Mercy, sir!” the sec man begged. “We had no idea the crazy bitch was making black powder! She said gunpowder. We didn’t know what it was until too late!”
“Shut up, fool!” another sec man snapped, and cuffed the first across the mouth. “You on the beach! Leave, or die!”
“We’re not going into chains!” another added fiercely.