And it was over. Manuka had sunk onto a rock, one leg useless from the wound in his thigh. Gap Teeth had prostrated himself on his knees, head and arms on the ground in a gesture of submission. “No kill,” he whimpered. “I fight for Great Swamp Warrior now. Do work. Make good slave server. You see.”
Jemmo, who had come forward, cast an inquiring eye at Rakki. “He would be useful,” Rakki confirmed. “And him.” He indicated Shingral. “His hurt will mend.” Jemmo nodded at his warriors to spare them.
But they killed Manuka, whose leg would have slowed them down too much; also, one of Jemmo’s war party, whose stomach the Oldworld weapon had somehow gouged from a distance as if by a spear thrust, and who wouldn’t have lasted more than a day or two. Only Screecher was left, glowering fearfully from where he lay propped on an arm, blood running down onto the ground and spreading from the wound in his back. Jemmo stood over him contemptuously and raised his battle mace.
“No!” Rakki said, moving to intervene. “That one is mine.”
Jemmo shrugged and turned to supervise the stripping of the other bodies, keeping the Oldworld weapons for himself to be investigated later.
Rakki pulped Screecher’s body slowly, breaking many bones. But he stopped short of killing him. “So who stinking dog meat now?” Rakki spat as he stepped back. His pride and his rage were satisfied. They left Screecher there in the ravine, for the flies and the snakes and the vermin that the corpses would attract.
There never had been any cache of bullets. Jemmo had come across a few somehow, and all he knew was that Oldworlders would go to practically any lengths to acquire them. Wiping out the expedition had reduced the caves’ defenders by that many. And Rakki had collected much useful information during his two days there.
The Swamp People attacked the caves at daybreak, two days after the ambush—when Jemmo had worked out a plan but before the Cavers would be alerted by the failure of Bo’s expedition to return. They divided into two war parties. The main force, led by Jemmo, assaulted the rampart enclosing the area in front of the caves, while Rakki took a secondary group up via a roundabout route to harass the defenders with rocks and missiles hurled from the heights above, which nobody had thought to keep guarded—one of the vital pieces of information that Rakki had supplied. The Cavers fought desperately, but surprised and with their fighting force depleted, they were overwhelmed. The day was not yet halfway through when the last survivors were driven out into the open, and Jemmo in his red headband, his gory mace slung across a shoulder, swaggered along the line to pronounce his judgments.
Mistameg and his immediate lieutenants were killed, of course, both to eliminate the threat that they would always have represented, and to establish Jemmo’s authority. So were most of the remaining Oldworlders, since Jemmo didn’t understand or trust them. That was why there had been none in the swamplands. He spared a few, including White Head, when Rakki reminded him that some would be needed to show the secret of the weapons that killed from afar. Also the females who were not too old for childbearing.
The Neffer males of fighting age were either clubbed to death or kept to be worked according to Jemmo’s whim, depending on how dangerous he thought they looked. The females were taken as mates and slaves for the victors.
It was the way.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The Kronian Congress of Leaders was headed by a triad consisting of the President, Xen Urzin, and two Deputies. Ranking equally below them were a Legislative Branch, a body of elected representatives called the Assembly of Delegates, and a system of “Directorates” overseeing such primary undertakings vital to the colony’s viability and survival as Energy, Food Production, Life and Environment Support, Construction, and Supply of Materials.
The Artificial Gravity project would have an enormous effect on the future Kronian space effort, and its progress was followed closely by those responsible for general planning and equipment specification in the organizational branch designated Space Operations Executive. Although not termed as such for historical reasons, SOE constituted a Directorate in its own right, reflecting the importance of space developments in the overall scheme of things and its relevance to Kronia’s longer-term aims. As befitted the AG project’s instigator and leader, Pang-Yarbat was the prime contact for the designers and technical specialists at SOE Headquarters, located along with the administrative Offices of Congress at Foundation. Hence, Keene was somewhat surprised when, shortly after returning from Dione to Titan and the Tesla Center at Essen four days later, he received a call from a high-ranking SOE figure by the name of Jon Foy, inviting him to Foundation to discuss aspects of Kronia’s space policy that he felt could benefit from Keene’s input. Also, he had heard the story of Keene’s part in getting his group to Mexico and off the surface, and he wanted to hear Keene’s account firsthand and meet him personally. Keene was happy to accept. It was flattering to think that his name had been earning something of a reputation.