Chapter 9

George and Rada peered through their far seekers at the distant object from one of the highest points near their mountain camp. It was still a good twenty klicks away, they estimated, and traveling no more than 30 kilometres an hour.

"A surveyor's rover?" Rada suggested. "I thought they'd all left after the fight?"

"I told them the truth," George replied, without looking up. "That was not an honourable victory for the Black Guard. We don't nobble our opponents in a sporting contest."

"Sporting contest?" Rada snapped. "That was no sporting contest, it was going to be a ritualised execution."

"Whatever," George sighed. "Anycase, that's not like any of the rovers I've seen. Its configuration is all wrong and it's bigger. I'd say it's come a long way, judging by the dust over it - and, ah, it's towing a trailer."

"Huh?" Rada looked at him before staring harder into her device. "Let's do a spectrograph? I've always wanted to try that function."

"Go ahead," George shrugged.

"It should give us a clue to its origin, hmm, now, lessee ... Fuck, me! You want to take a look at that?" she said. "More composites in that thing than I've seen in my life. It'd take a year of analysis to figure what they've built into that thing."

"Clearly, Euro build," George suggested. "We don't have the tech for such a car and what the hell would Cityplex want with it? They haven't any roads."

"Might be part of some Cityplex terraforming enterprise?" Rada said.

"Maybe," shrugged, George. "It's found the road - heading straight this way. This is supposed to be a secret location," he grinned, wryly. "Seems like everyone knows where we are."

"Better get the guard into their positions," Rada suggested. "Not that we have anything that'll penetrate that thing."

"Huh?" George turned to look at her.

"See this spectrograph readout? Those composites up that end of the spectrum? That's some fancy armour. It looks like it's plated like a fucking porcupine."

"Weapons?" George asked.

"No way of telling from this distance. But, if you armour something like that, it's logical you'd put something on it to hit back at the enemy."

"Logical," George agreed. "Hey, what's that? A staff or antenna, maybe, sticking up from the cab? You make anything of that?"

"Hmm, I see a flag, George. They're showing a flag. Umm, it's black and red - not quartered, but with a diagonal line. George, it's ours, the Black Guard."

"In that?" he exclaimed.

"Yeah," Rada laughed. "We're finally modernising."

"Or it's a ruse?"

"Why bother? If they have mean intentions they can just charge up the road. Who the fuck is going to stop them? George, that thing is a tank on wheels."

"A Kegresse," George corrected. "Tandem back axles on tracks. They used to call them 'half-tracks.' Same concept."

"Well, I guess, the Black Guard has got itself a fancy Euro 'half-track' with armour that would probably turn aside an APM."

"A Kegresse." George corrected, again.

"Whatever."

They watched the Kegresse as it ground up the road, effortlessly, towards the mountain camp. 50 young Black Guard peered at it from their concealed positions, certain, now, that they had no weapon to stop it. Eventually, it drove straight into the centre of the camp and halted, its Black Guard flag hanging limp on a staff above the cab.

With a hiss, the cab slid back revealing, from behind its suntint screens, two men. The driver was dressed in a Black Guard chameleon allsuit complete with black/red neck scarf and grey bandoliers. The other was in a silver enviro-suit of, probably, Euro manufacture.

Rada's eyes bulged, then, her face broke out in a smile. "Smartarse!" she yelled. "Y'think that entrance was clever? I should put a bullet in you for causing us stress!"

"But you won't," the driver replied. "You wouldn't deprive Gina of her daddy."

"JOHN!" came a whoop. Suddenly, a small, black figure came out of nowhere and leapt into the cab, wrapping the driver in arms and legs.

"Gina, ow, fuck, watch out!" he protested.

"Down, Gina!" Rada said. "Give John space to breathe. Honey, long journey? You want to eat, lie down, fuck?"

"Yes, yes yes, and yes," John told her, trying to disentangle himself from his daughter.

"Who's your friend?" George asked.

"Pfeffer Diep." John explained, indicated the silver suited one.

"What the fuck is a 'Pfeffer Diep'?" asked Rada.

"Not, ah, from around here," he grinned. "After some real food I'll explain everything."

400 klicks away at Twin Olives, Heather Sion was still contemplating Armin de la Perriere's apparent rejection of her. For days, she was sunk in depression and her mother, Megan, grew increasingly concerned. Finally, she'd had enough and decided to confront Armin, himself. After breakfast on the fourth day, Megan whispered she wished to see him alone. Seeing the confusion in his face, she stated, firmly, it was time to 'talk.' He suggested a spot down by the lake and she agreed.

A lazy fog was just burning off as the sun rose over the water. Flocks of ibis waded through the shallows and stormy egrets were out over the glassy surface looking for food. Megan sat, picked up a pebble, and lobbed it into the lake as Armin sought a suitable spot beside her.

"I don't like beating around the bush," she told him, looking straight ahead. "What's going on between you and my daughter?"

Armin had figured what the topic was likely to be and was furiously thinking of answers. Megan's directness unnerved him a little and he found himself stumbling for things to say. "It's complicated," he told her, lamely.

"Complicated?" Megan turned to him, her voice sharp. "Do you love her or not? How 'complicated' does it have to be? You married, divorced engaged, what?"

"None of those," he replied, hastily.

"A rich sugar mama tucked away?"

"No."

"So, it's Heather, then? She hasn't any boobs and there's no flesh on her. You prefer your women with a rack? Are you that shallow you can't see past her body?"

"No, no," Armin replied, adamantly. "Listen, I think your daughter's beautiful."

"Look, I'm pretty good at reading body language and chemistry," Megan went on. "There's a spark between you two that's unmistakeable. Too old for her? Yah, far too old, but when did love involve age discrimination? But, I'll tell you this, there's something fundamentally dishonest about you."

"There is?" Armin widened his eyes. "What?"

"I get the square-jawed, hero bit - the 'man of action' and the 'guy to have in a tight situation.' Look, I'm not knocking it, because there're times we need that. However, an alpha male who's shy and sensitive? What fantasy novel did that come from?"

"I'm not sure..."

"'What I mean?' No doubt you have a honey tongue for all those lonely widows you, no doubt, prey on. Again, if it works, why not? Heather offered herself to you and you pulled back. That's not a fit for you, de la Perriere. When did the rakish, seducer of women pass up an opportunity, any opportunity? Protecting the innocent? Huh!" she scoffed. "I don't credit you with a conscience when it comes to willing women."

"If you just want to assassinate my character..." Armin grumbled.

"No, but, you're a designer guy. Where's the flaw? What's the end game with my daughter? She's head over heels. No doubt you'll cheat on her after a spell, but, she's got to learn about guys like you. But, what's the harm in showing her a little heaven? Even if it won't last?"

"Are you pimping for her?" Armin gaped.

"In a way," she shrugged. "At least I don't have to put up with her shambling around looking at her feet all the time. God's sake, at least talk to her, tell her she's okay. She thinks she's ugly and the guy of her dreams is repulsed by her."

"It's me, not her," Armin tried to explain. "I should've talked to her sooner. I, um, didn't really know what to say."

"Well, think of something quick, bozo!" Megan stood. "No doubt I'll get a full report later, so, you'd better make it good."

It was later that evening, before Armin had an opportunity to talk to Heather alone. Megan had gone for a swim in the lake - a habit she'd adopted lately - and the girl was in her room. Armin tapped lightly and announced himself. A timorous voice answered and told him he could come in for 5 minutes.

Heather was combing out her long hair by a wall mirror. Armin took a seat on the bed, the only available chair, and watched her for a spell, coughing nervously.

"What do you want?" she asked. Before he could answer, she continued. "Have you been talking to mama? Is that why you're here?"

Heather was a smart girl, Armin concluded, and it was useless to pretend. "She has, as a matter of a fact. But, I've been wanting to talk to you for a few days. I guess, I wasn't sure whether you wanted to."

"Depends what you want to say," she answered. She watched him through the mirror as she brushed idly.