Chapter 12

About mid morning the next day, a hint of an impending sand storm grew from the North. The red, gritty dust swirled up from the desert and blew East with the prevailing wind. Rowl of the Garcians stared for only a few minutes before declaring riders were coming. Shortly, three figures emerged together with their pack horses. Rowl, Rasida and Schecter went down to greet them.

The horsemen all wore the full beards typical of the Bakhunins. As usual, they were clad in black allsuits with grey bandoliers. On their heads were red headdresses similar to those of the Bedouin of ancient times. They appeared startled to spot Rasida lined up with the Garcians.

"Hey," the middle rider spoke, staring at Rasida. "Didn't I fuck you last Convoke?"

"I was never that drunk, Boris, but pull out your dick and see if I recognise it," Rasida replied.

Ignoring the chuckles of his two friends, the rider continued. "You remember every one?" he grinned.

"Only those worth my interest."

"So who's your friend?" he asked, pointing at Schecter. "He your fuck?"

"Yes. Those two," Rasida pointed at his two friends. "Are they yours?"

"Oh very fucking clever," Boris replied, as the other riders howled with laughter. "So what the fuck is the Black Guard doing here, anyway?"

"Visiting friends. You? Don't tell me you've actually got friends."

"Watering our horses, smart bitch. Is that a crime and are the fucking Black Guard turning into cops?"

"Why the attitude, Boris? You got a guilty conscience?"

"About what?"

"How about driving 200 Euro refugees into the desert? What bullshit is that?"

"Not my idea," he shrugged.

"And what the fuck are you doing here? Don't give me that bullshit about watering horses because Bakhunins don't go wandering around in the desert for nothing. Fladomir bumped his head on a rock?"

"Why the fucking belligerence, Rasida? Your fuck not taking care of you?"

"He takes care of me fine, Boris. Is that it? Fladomir run out of little girls to molest?"

"You fuck!" Boris's eyes bulged. "You go too far. Fladomir is the true Fladomir and you will show him respect."

"'Respect', my left tit, Boris. How can anyone respect an arsehole who sends folks out into the desert to die?"

"Like I said, it wasn't my idea. As a matter of a fact, I sent word to Rowl and asked him to pick them up. I, ah, just want to make sure they were safe."

"The fuck you do," Rasida scoffed. "You're scouting for the Fladomir. You only came here to snoop."

"So? Maybe the Fladomir had second thoughts? Maybe he just wants to make sure those Euros are safe?"

"The fuck he does, Boris. You expect me to swallow that crock, you're dumber than I thought."

"Anyhow, Rowl, are you to respect our request to rest and water our horses? Or are the Black Guard now in charge at Twin Olives?"

"Of course, Bakhunins," Rowl told the man. "You're hungry?"

"Starved," he grinned and looked at his companions. "At last a welcome."

"Enjoy your stay," Rasida told him as he passed. "And don't forget to clean up the horse shit when you leave."

"Fuck you, too, Rasida," he replied.

"A charmer?" Schecter told Rasida as soon as they were gone.

"Who? Them?"

"You. You could sweep the sarcasm up with a broom."

"Hey, I was being polite," she replied.

"Still, he can't be that bad if he was the one who tipped off Rowl? Maybe, he's just checking they're all right?"

"Boris? Huh, spare me? He's one of Fladomir's closest aides. He wouldn't take a dump without Fladomir saying it's okay. They're up to something, I can feel it."

"What?"

"Wish I knew. We need to evac these Euros as quick as we can. For some reason, I think the Bakhunins want them dead."

"Why didn't they just mow them down when the airship crashed?"

"Many of his followers wouldn't have allowed that, Schecter. That would've been too much of an outrage, even for the Bakhunins. Likely, he'd lose support. This place is wide open," Rasida shivered. "The Garcians just don't see any need for defense - the desert has always been their friend."

"You expecting an attack?" Schecter exclaimed.

"I think they're looking for sufficient reason, sure. But, I just don't get the determination to do those Euros harm. We need to show them we're not pussies, without giving them that reason. And I don't like the Garcians being put in the middle of that."

"A siege is pointless," Schecter considered, looking around. "You stop people going off into the desert? Big deal."

"True," she laughed. "We've water and plenty of food for now. They'd be the ones with the logistical problem."

"Cavalry attack from the desert? Short war?"

"Exactly! I think we need to talk to Rowl and see if we can prepare even a token defense."

"Tight perimeter, hmm - formed, East of the lake - around the houses?"

"That's handing them the lake and our water supply. Around the lake, we then have the water at our backs - no line of withdrawal. Face it, Schecter, we have too few for a credible defense and that means diplomacy and negotiation."

"From a position of weakness?"

"Yeah," she shook her head.

"'No Ark would go to war with another Ark'?" Schecter raised his eyebrows.

"No Ark would slaughter, innocent, helpless people, either. Fladomir's dumping hundreds of years of custom and culture. We can't assume he'll play by any other rule except his own."

When the Kegresse carrying John, Rada, Sian and Gina, arrived at Twin Olives, Rasida and Schecter were already planning some form of defense perimeter. For two days previously, Bakhunin scouts had been arriving in ones and twos, always asking for 'hospitality rights, ' staying a few hours, then leaving. Rasida concluded it was merely a form of intimidation and stressed on Rowl the long standing tradition that Ark didn't fight Ark.

The status of the Euros, however, was somewhat ambiguous. Although they were under the hospitality customs of the Garcians, technically, they weren't subject to the 'no kill' custom. Rowl and the Garcian's position was, therefore, difficult. Bakhunin outrages towards the Euros in a Garcian Ride were certainly extremely bad manners, but technically, they weren't breaking any custom anyone remembered. There simply weren't any precedents for this sort of situation, nor, indeed, for the sort of behaviour exhibited by Fladomir and the Southern Bakhunins.

Historically, bands 'claimed' certain pastures or foraging sites on a first come basis. Normally, in the past, other bands had respected these 'rights' and there were very few disputes. The introduction of the 'Ride system' over ten years ago, had created difficulties for the custom that, every Ark had the right to go where they will within the Preserve. A few bands, like the Bakhunins, assumed something very similar to old fashioned 'property rights' over their territory, with the right to ban anyone from even transited through it without their express approval. Others, like the Garcians, had no problem allowing anyone to pass through, or stay, providing they respected the fact that long term guests were a strain on their resources.

Rowl had few answers as the Black Guard hover carriers arrived and began to offload supplies and weapons. John assured him he wanted to insure the peaceful evacuation of the Euros, but, they had to take into account a possible Bakhunin reaction. He did not tell him he planned to set up a base of operations for a possible operation inside the Southern Ride. With few alternative suggestions, he watched the Black Guard begin to fortify his beautiful and peaceful oasis with fearful fascination. Were the Black Guard and the crazy Bakhunins bringing war to his paradise?

While Rasida and Schecter were busy planning their defense, Rada and John took a stroll around the lake.

"So, we going through with it?" Rada asked.

"Let's do a practicality assessment?" he suggested. "We have a half hour window in which to hit all three. Obviously, we need to have all three teams positioned and co-ordinated."

"Clearly," Rada nodded.

"The hardest operation will be the Fladomir. Somehow, we need to get close to him and co-ordinate from far away. We keep Schecter and de la Perriere here at Twin Olives. We won't be able to entice Fladomir here - he's far too paranoid. He never leaves his Novgorod, let alone the Ride. That means long range communicators small enough to not be discovered by his guards."

"Durutti transceivers, obviously."

"Sure, and that means we have to let Roger in on it. He'd be pissed to hell if we didn't, anyway."

"So how can we get close to the Fladomir? Suggestions?"

"I was thinking," he replied. "The Fladomir has a well known appetite for women, particularly, young women."

"John, I don't think I like what you're going to say." Rada looked at him, carefully.

"And what's that?"

"You're going to suggest we use Gina and Sian, aren't you?"

"There's a thought," he smiled.

"John, I won't fucking have it, you hear? They would be too far out of their depth. Schecter was the only thing stopping Sian from being broken in two. Both you and George expect too much out of them. They're only kids, ferchrissake!"

"Yes, but, don't you see? Gina is just who would appeal to Fladomir? She's got spunk, attitude and cute as a button?"

"I don't care, John. You're not pimping our daughter to a fucking clone. And Sian's role? What part are you planning for her?"

"She would protect Gina's back. Perhaps, she'd have Pfeffer Diep's device concealed somewhere on her and after Gina's administered the narcodrug..."

"John? That's crazy! Besides, you think Fladomir's guards are going to let the girls get that close to him alone? Anything could go wrong, and what would happen to your precious window then?"

"Well, of course, it will be a difficult operation requiring fine co-ordination..."

"You're not kidding! Okay, I know I only have one vote, but I'll fight you every way on this, John. This smells like George's cooking. You two been having little midnight conferences?"

"Perhaps, ah, when Roger gets here, he might have a better idea - one that you'd support."

"It can't be any worse, John. Gina and Sian? Sheeeit!"

Not far away, by the lake, Megan Sion and Armin de la Perriere watched the two girls coming towards them. The taller was slim and lithe, her long fair hair tied into a pony tail that ran down her back to her butt. The other wore a mischievous smile and her flaxen hair was an untidy riot around her head. They both wore black allsuits, black red scarves around their necks and draped with the equipment considered necessary for members of the Black Guard. Both girls, however, couldn't be older than 14.

"Hi," the smaller of the two said. "Well?" she said to the other. "What did I tell you? He's a captain of an airship, so he's no dumbfuck."

"I dunno, Gina," her friend replied. "Like I said, if I want to, I'd rather do my own looking."

"Hey, just offering advice. Y'see, he's got a good body, looks cute..."

"He's old."

"Sure, but old guys are often gentle and considerate. Young guys are too often in a hurry."

"Oh, and you're an expert?"

"Who are you?" Armin asked, looking from one to the other. Beside him, Heather's eyes narrowed.

"Sian."

"Gina. We were just wondering," she said to Heather. "See, Sian has never really gone with a guy yet, and we were wondering if you don't mind sharing?"