Exile to the Stars (The Alarai Chronicles) (33 page)

Sliding
the change drawer under the counter, Zimma watched him walk away. She felt so
confused by what had passed between them the previous night. Jeff had switched
from jeans to snug leather pants, and she followed the movement of his buttocks
as he forced a way through the sand.

“Please
assist me, Zimma. Customers are waiting to be served.”

Jolted
back to the task at hand, Zimma put a ‘may I help you’ smile on her face and
turned to the counter.

Making
his way to the southern fringe of Tradertown, Jeff slogged around the eastern
perimeter in heavy sand and dense foliage. Halfway back to the lake he spotted
a large tent with a contingent of Arzak guards posted out front. Concealing
himself in a clump of bushes identical to large palmettos, Jeff’s nose was
assailed with a familiar stench. Shortly, slaves chained together were
exercised.

“There
has to be something I can do,” Jeff fumed under his breath, “But what? Even if
I bust them out, where can they go?”

He
racked his brain for a solution while continuing to work his way toward the
lake. Unless he could somehow spirit them all onboard the Baktar, it was a lost
cause. Left to their own devices they would either be recaptured or die in the
jungle.

Perhaps
two hundred yards from the slave enclosure he encountered another heavily
guarded tent. After a period of observation Jeff decided it had to be Arzak HQ.
It was the largest tent he had seen and two tents of good size were attached to
the main enclosure. Brass, maybe gold, fittings twinkled on supporting poles,
and the guards appeared to be wearing dress uniforms. He watched a procession
of soldiers enter and leave for a while before penetrating deeper into the
jungle.

Impassable
undergrowth and stagnant pools of brackish water confronted Jeff at frequent
intervals, the insect horde was ravenous, and animals howled and squeaked
without pause. He was close to the lake and ready for a break when faint voices
sifted through the foliage.

Carefully
working closer, he spotted a group of nattily uniformed soldiers in a clearing.
Jeff did a double take. The Arzak uniforms reminded him of those worn by German
SS troops. They were Arzak, but nothing like he had seen up to that point.

One
of the soldiers was pointing north, two were scribbling notes. The fourth was
drawing a diagram in the sand. The one who had been pointing walked over to the
Arzak drawing in the sand, grabbed the stick, and added a few strokes.
Thoughtfully slapping the stick against his breeches several times, he gave a
curt order and they left.

Allowing
plenty of time for them to clear the area, Jeff crept out of hiding to examine
the diagram. Although one of the Arzaks had walked through it, what remained
was so intriguing that he stood there for some time staring at the mangled
lines. They implied so much.

The
night passed without incident and with less tension since Zimma was sleeping on
the Baktar. Upon arising, Belstan commented that trading was so good he
believed they could close shop in another day. Rolling up the booth’s shutters,
he glanced at Jeff.

“What
progress?”

“Good,
but I’m still unsure what it portends. Today I must attempt to gather all
together.” He waved to Zimma, who was approaching in company with several
Baktar crewmen, and set off to explore the western perimeter of Tradertown.

Passing
a shack at the town’s edge, Jeff felt something tug at his blouse. It was an urchin
of no more than eight years. Pulling his saber, Jeff followed the boy behind
the shack. Saafir was waiting. The look on his face brought every sense to the
alert. It was that of a terrified man.

“What
has happened?”

The
Arzak trader gripped Jeff’s arm and spoke in an urgent whisper. “You must leave
soon if you would live. That pig commanding the soldiers must have your
redheaded woman and will kill you all to get her.”

Jeff’s
mind went into overdrive. “When, my friend, when?”

Sweat
trails streaked the dust on Saafir’s face, and his eyes constantly roved the
area. “I do not know! Rumor, snatches of drunken conversation! It is said the
soldiers will leave soon to meet Salchek marching north. It must be this
night.”

Confirmation
had come out of the blue. Jeff was thunderstruck, could hardly believe they
finally had firm evidence.

“I
am forever in your debt, Saafir, but why do you give warning?”

“Because
you love good steel, and the world must know that not all Arzak are craven.
Please tell them. You must!”

He
and the urchin dodged into thick trees behind the shack and were gone. Jeff
waited for a few heartbeats and followed.

“What
do I do now? We’re going to have to haul ass today, but it isn’t even noon yet.
Surely they won’t attack the booth while it’s packed with customers. Shit! I
have got to finish checking this place out!” Jeff headed west at a fast walk.

Several
hours later and breathing hard he arrived at the beach. Jeff put it all
together in his head while hotfooting it back the way he had come. Glancing at
the sun, he decided he had enough time to investigate what appeared to be a
major road coming in from the south. He jogged south for some minutes to make
sure the road was not a dead end. In fact, it became broader and ran straight
as an arrow.

“That’s
the connection with Lukash,” Jeff said. “No doubt about it.” He had been
sitting in a spot of shade to catch his breath. Abruptly, he jumped up to
listen. The sound was familiar but he could not place it. “Maybe a column on
the move. From what Saafir said it’s not likely to be the Salchek. Got to be
more Arzak.”

Jeff’s
first impulse was to sprint for camp in warning yet something rooted him in
place. He listened intently and identified the sound—it was the clanking of leg
irons.

“More
slaves. That explains why the ones in Tradertown have not been moved out to the
ships. The Arzak want to wait until the last group arrives before jamming them
into cargo holds. There has got to be something I can do!”

Jogging
toward Tradertown he suddenly swerved off the road by a hill. Jumping a ditch,
Jeff cursed under his breath.

“What
is it that’s bothering me? What’s the point of this? I’ve got to get back!”

Worming
his way up the hill through thorns and saw grass, he found a spot that allowed
an unobstructed view of the road. He sucked on a cut thumb and swatted insects
until a column of slaves shuffled into view.

“Ten,
twelve, umm—looks like eighteen slaves and six guards.”

Jeff
scrambled down the hill when the way was clear. He set out in pursuit planning
to press on by the slaves. It was getting on in the day and his anxiety for
Zimma’s safety was nearly intolerable. Drawing no more than suspicious glances
when he passed the column, Jeff darted quick glances at the slaves. They were
emaciated, showed raw whip scars through caked dirt, had long beards and
smelled like a pit toilet. His stomach turned in helpless sympathy.

Disturbingly
long shadows reminded Jeff of the need to move, and he increased his pace to a
jog. He hadn’t gone far when the same baffling sense slowed him to a fast walk.

“What
the hell is going on? It might have something to do with those slaves, but
they’re no different than the others I’ve seen. I’ve got to get back before
that asshole hits our booth!”

Entering
Tradertown, internal conflict had slowed his pace to a crawl again. Snarling,
“Dammit to hell!” Jeff turned off the road into some shade and waited for the
column to catch up. The first slave was nearly abreast when he took a casual
pose.

Slave
after slave shuffled by to the clanking of chains and leg irons. He had no
reaction to any of them other than excruciating pity. Some gibbered insanity,
others pleaded for water, most were silent shells with nothing in their eyes at
all. They passed one by one until he could not bear the sight. Turning to
leave, a rasping croak stopped him in his tracks.

“Jeff?”

The
clanking stopped and Jeff whirled around. Several guards were mercilessly
whipping a slave that had fallen. One look at the slave next in line and a
firestorm of emotion exploded. Jeff felt lightheaded and leaned against a tree
trunk to keep from falling.

God,
not him! It can’t be him! Not here! Nearly a double, but someone else! Jeff
gripped a tree limb hard enough to crack it. A mental probe burned away
disbelief. It was Carl Jorgenson.

“Jeff?”
Carl lifted his arms in supplication.

His
wrists were shackled to a chain around his waist. When his arms stopped, Carl
looked down with a confused expression. He tugged at the chain and began to
cry.

Jeff
experienced a terrible form of epiphany. There was no world or meaning other
than the moment and Carl’s tears, but he could do nothing. Given to action,
drawn by risk, confident of his ability, yet he could not even touch his best
friend. The slave that had fallen was on his feet and one of the guards laid a
whip across Carl’s shoulders with a sickening crack.

“Get
moving, dog, or you’ll get more. You stop like that again and there’s no water
tonight.”

Carl’s
eyes went blank and he lowered his head. Emotional agony tore at Jeff’s heart.
The limb snapped off in his hand, but he did not draw the Colt. Then they were
gone.

Hurrying
to their booth, Jeff tried to make sense of it. “Carl must have been near Hoodo
Pass when the earthquake struck. If I got tossed here, why not him? But how in
hell did the Arzaks get him?” One thing was certain. If Carl didn’t leave on
the Baktar, neither would he.

Only
Belstan was present when he entered the booth. “Where’s Zimma? On the ship?”

Belstan
briefly looked up from counting the day’s proceeds. “No, a customer mentioned
some trade goods on the other side of the bazaar that drew her interest. She
would not be denied. I sent one of the crew as escort rather than have her
venture out alone.”

“Oh,
shit! How long ago? Quickly!”

Jumping
to his feet in alarm, Belstan knocked the table over and spilled a pile of
coins onto the floor.

“A
short span only. Why? What has happened?”

Jeff
had the Colt out. He briefed Belstan while slipping the sixth round into place.
“I’m going to get Zimma. What you can’t carry in one load to the launch must be
left behind. Pull away from shore and wait. Their commander will move any time
now.” Jeff got directions, scooped up spare cartridges and tore out the back.

Tradertown
was in deep shadow. Vendors were closing up shop and customer traffic had
thinned out to nothing. He frantically searched the location Belstan had given
him. It was deserted except for shop owners. The proprietor Zimma had gone to
visit recoiled when he saw Jeff’s expression.

“Yes,
she was here, then was invited to look at more goods over there by someone’s
servant.”

The
trader’s finger pointed in a direction that made Jeff’s heart stop for a
second. “Oh, God help us, that’s the Arzak section.” He slammed his fist onto
the booth’s counter, making the trader jump. “Damnation! Why didn’t she use her
head? Now they’ve got her, too!” He left at a run.

Darting
from shadow to shadow, Jeff kicked himself for not having come back sooner.
“But dammit,” he fumed, “I would have missed Carl!”

The
Arzak section was also deserted, and Jeff felt a blast of panic. Where? he
thought. Where would they take her? He remembered the elaborate tent he had
earlier concluded must be Arzak HQ.

It
was dark when he arrived at the Arzak military encampment. Slipping from tent
to tent, Jeff dodged several guards. With the jungle and safe cover only yards
away, he was forced to dive for cover. Two Arzaks stopped several feet away.
Inhaling what looked like cigars to an orange glow, they chatted amiably and
traded bad jokes. Whatever they were smoking made Jeff’s head swim. Come on,
move it, assholes! he thought desperately. What have they done to her by now?

He
was about to explode when the Arzaks flipped butt ends cartwheeling sparks and
wandered off. Ghosting through the jungle toward his goal, Jeff stumbled over
an obstruction. Lying at his feet was the mutilated body of a Baktar crewman.
Jeff’s mind crossed a threshold and settled into its coldly calculating state
where doubt, remorse and pity had no place. He stepped over the body and moved
quietly to the edge of the jungle. Ten yards of open ground separated him from
Arzak HQ.

Willing
his pulse to slow down, Jeff listened intently. Nothing more than harsh
snatches of conversation. Laughter filtered through tent walls then faded to
silence. Jeff was about to leave when he heard scuffling sounds and a loud
order. No guards were in sight. Drawing knife and saber, he dashed to the back
of the tent.

Jeff
thought he heard cloth tearing but wasn’t sure. More laughter and what had to
be a ringing slap. A crash as something was knocked over. Listening for
concrete evidence of Zimma’s presence, his body jerked at a terrified shriek
that was quickly cut off. Lips set in a feral snarl he slit a seam far enough
so he could see.