Imperiad, Part 2

By Mike Liston

Imperiad, Part Two contains Books three and four. Jarom's journey to the outside results in a strange combination of events that lead to a Revolution in the Empire financed in part by the misplaced billions of William Baxter Smith

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mike Liston
• Release date: Apr 12, 2021
• ISBN: 9781792378829

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IMPERIAD

Books 3 and 4

By

Mike Liston

US Copyright 2022，TXu 2-293-475

ISBN: 978-1-7923-7882-9

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Table of Contents

MAIN CHARACTERS

BOOK 3: CHAPTERS

Forty One

Forty Two

Forty Three

Forty Four

Forty Five

Forty Six

Forty Seven

BOOK 4: CHAPTERS

Forty Eight

Forty Nine

Fifty

Fifty One

Fifty Two

Fifty Three

Fifty Four

Fifty Five

Fifty Six

Fifty Seven

Fifty Eight

Fifty Nine

Sixty

Sixty One

Sixty Two

Sixty Three

Sixty Four

Sixty Five

Sixty Six

EPILOGUE

Main Characters:

Jarom

Father Shar

Mother Shara

Old Wei

Great Aunt Juna

Teena

Polleen

William Baxter Smith III

Renaldo Aldo-Jackson

Tialina Aldo-Jackson

Bobbette Aldo-Jackson

Bobby Aldo-Jackson

Maria, upstairs maid

Elena

Ellen Baxter-Smith

Shadow

Teddy Diva

Commandante Fred

Pablo

Manuel, rebel intellectual

Colonel William Baxter-Smith IV

Rosa

General Oscar Mendoza

Generalissimo Rufillo Mendoza

Miss Lyle

Mary the School teacher

Harry, the accountant

Angela, his wife

Jake, the surfer

BOOK THREE

FORTY ONE

The moment Jarom hauled himself up onto the river bank opposite Tat’s village, he ran and ran fast as if some how he’d outrun the tortured faces of the butchered dead. Hours later he remembered the Calming Prayer. He prayed walking quickly in the moonlit night.

As Brother Son bid Sister Moon farewell, his golden smile upon the dawning day, Jarom slipped warily from the safety of the trees onto a dusty road. Weak with fatigue, the boy paused to check his new surroundings. Just ahead loomed a tall sole survivor of the old growth forest. The gnarled ancient tree beckoned to the boy. It seemed familiar, exuded comfort, safety and now too tired to take one step further, Jarom leaned gratefully against the tree trunk and slipped down into the grass intending a short rest. Instead, once laid down curled up between the exposed roots of the great old tree he fell into deep, deep and dreamless sleep.

As Brother Son fully lit the stage of day, multitudes of birds sang darting here and there breakfasting on seeds and bugs. A woman appeared trudging up a narrow lane under a heavy load.

Maria looked up at the sky nodding. No clouds. It would be good weather most likely for her long bus ride to the city. On her back, she carried weavings and baskets she’d made herself over the last few months. It was tourist season in the capital. She had worked very hard during the rainy season and hoped rich tourists would buy her goods. Still a young woman, she looked older than she should, her face thin; eyes tired. She made for Grandfather Tree.

Grandfather Tree stood at the intersection of the rough dirt road to the city and the narrow lane leading down to her village. The bus would stop here to pick up passengers. The tree also served as a gathering place of sorts when others from surrounding villages might gather for a quick meeting. Lovers also met under the tree in the evenings and occasionally officials from the local government placed notices close to the tree but not nailed to its trunk because if they did, notices disappeared. Maria gently set her precious load in the shade of the tree and sat. She didn’t notice Jarom fast asleep and silent where he lay in deep grass on the opposite side of the trunk.

She made herself comfortable. It could be a long wait. The bus could be early, late or not appear for days all dependent on many things: the War, the Army, the Rebels, the weather, perhaps the driver had too much to drink the previous night or a big fight with his girlfriend/wife. Maria sat there resting for some moments as it had been a long walk, but eventually she felt the need to pee-no surprise. In preparation for a long day of travel with little opportunity to find fresh water, she had drunk copious amounts of her own clear well water before leaving home. She stood and after listening carefully for any sound from an approaching bus—the driver would not stop if he saw no one waiting—she walked around the trunk and made for the brush.

Madre, she choked lurching back. She’d almost stepped on a boy. Her first thought he was dead which could not surprise her. Dead bodies appeared everywhere these days; she’d seen much more than her share. Still, as she stood there alarmed and vigilant, she heard the boy’s soft breathing. He moved ever so slightly. Crouching, she looked carefully to see if the boy—clearly it was a boy—was hurt in any way. Searching eyes found no sign of a wound. She moved closer to examine his face. A healthy face, neither thin or anxious like the faces of most children these days. In fact, it was such a pleasant, handsome face, she couldn’t help but sigh.

Her soft sad sigh was all it took. Jarom’s eyes shot open, he scrambled back up on his feet ready to run.

Wait!’ Maria called out. Jarom froze. Watching the woman’s face warily, the speech she used was strange but her tone seemed oddly familiar. I won’t hurt you, boy," Maria smiled. He was such a handsome healthy young man, her heart ached. Perhaps her own long lost son might have looked just like him if given enough to eat and…She stopped, turned, bent down to her load to pluck out a large chunk of bread she’d fresh baked before dawn. The morning breeze wafted the smell of the still warm bread right to Jarom’s nose. His nostrils twitched, it smelled so good. Stretching out her hand slowly and carefully, Maria nodded for him to take the food. Jarom, still wary, was not willing to approach. Finally, the smiling Maria set the bread down on a big broad leaf she plucked from a nearby plant and retreated to a safe distance. Smiling, she gestured to the bread, the boy snatched it up and stuffed a chunk into his mouth. Nodding, she withdrew to the brush. Her bladder was full.

Maria pushed her way into the thick brush without fear. In the old days, there had been beasts in the forest that might eat you if they could. But any beast that big and probably valuable had been poached close to extinction decades past. The poachers for the most part were poor desperate city people recruited by large companies. The local people would never hunt without a thought for tomorrow. She found a small clearing, squatted and for a long moment, a golden stream soaked the earth as she was serenaded by singing birds.

Finished, Maria wiped herself with a handful of dry grass and got up. She yawned once more; she’d been busy most of the night getting ready for her trip. She hoped the bus would come in not too much longer so she could sleep if she were lucky enough to find a seat or at least find some space on the floor. It wouldn’t be a good sleep the way the bus would rattle and slam into potholes but it might be her last chance to rest before arriving to the capital, where finding a safe place to sleep could take days, even more than a week.

Parting the brush, Maria stepped out onto the road surprised to see the boy still here. He smiled at her having just swallowed down the last bite of her delicious bread. Maria was charmed. Warm, sparkling open smiles such as his were these days quite rare. She was so charmed, in fact, she began to rummage through her back for more bread but was restrained by common sense. After all, she’d just given the boy her lunch, the other piece was for her later, perhaps dinner, as it could be a long day or even longer on the road. Still, good sense no match for a generous heart, she passed her dinner to the boy. Jarom looked at her and shook his head. He could sense this was a poor place and Maria’s prematurely aged face and worn clothes made it clear she should not be so generous. He glanced up into Grandfather Tree. There were trees such as this in his Valley and springing up to grab the very lowermost branch, he disappeared into the leaves. Maria watched him climb impressed. Even the young boys and men in her village, few that they were, lacked the strength to climb a tree so fast. In a few short moments, the leaves quaked and nuts rained from above a few even bopped her head.

Maria was astonished. She’d never known Grandfather Tree had nuts. She herself had never seen them, if they grew, they grew high up. Still, she was a newcomer to this village, a refugee really. The home where she lived, the garden she kept had been empty for a long time, its original family long gone. Quickly she gathered nuts as they fell. Moments later, the shower of nuts ceased and Jarom, climbing carefully, dropped down from the lowest branch. In his hand he held three eggs one each from three different nests. Before handing Maria the eggs, he said a quick ‘Thanks for the Eggs’ prayer to the birds.

Maria took the three proffered eggs gingerly and set them carefully in the grass. She wasn’t quite sure what to do with the things. To cook them required fire and time and the bus could arrive. She and Jarom gathered all the nuts and except for a few that he put in his own pocket he gave all the rest to Maria who accepted the precious nuts graciously. Jarom then picked up an egg and after poking a small hole in the shell with the tip of his knife, he drank its contents yolk and all. He then picked up the other egg, made an opening and offered it to Maria. She paused for a moment not sure what to do but if this smiling healthy boy was not afraid to eat a raw bird’s egg, she would too. Raising the egg, she drank and smiled. It was delicious, more flavor than a typical hen’s egg. Jarom picked up the last egg, poked an opening and handed it to her. She refused.

It will make you fat, Jarom smiled. Maria looked at him. He spoke a strange language that seemed familiar as if she’d heard it used in her dreams. She shook her head again.

You need it yourself, she said. I have these, and held up a handful of nuts. Jarom nodded. Her words he didn’t know, but her meaning understood. He drank the contents of the egg while Maria cracked nuts and for some time the two sat there thoughtfully resting and munching nuts as around them birds sang and shiny green leaves rustled in the morning breeze.

It grew hot quickly. Grandfather Tree might still stand tall along the road but most of the forest cover in this over-abused region was third even fourth growth. Due to erosion, the deterioration of the soil, trees no longer grew tall enough to satisfy the large international lumber concerns and now even larger more voracious international mining firms were ripping up even these somewhat stunted trees in their relentless greedy search for what profit lay concealed within the battered earth.

Maria glanced up at the sun concerned. The first bus of the day which usually appeared right after dawn was already late. Would it come? She looked at Jarom. With a full stomach and the relaxing comfort of a new friend, he’d slipped back into sleep exhausted from all the running, walking and most especially his shock at the massacre.

Maria sat patiently and as she waited, she busied herself weaving a bit of grass into a small basket she hoped she might trade to some shopkeeper for a little extra food. She would need it probably. Boys were so hungry she remembered thinking for a moment of her own lost little boy. A sudden sharp feeling in her eyes were a hint of approaching tears. She didn’t cry. She’d wept so much so long her eyes were dry.

Her own boy was not so much younger than this one, but shorter and thinner. This handsome child in his strange clothes so well fed and strong. Almost, she thought, like a privileged little rich boy only his clothes were strange and what fine fabric they were made of. She remembered a cloth like that from long ago, her grandmother had once shown her a treasured scrap. She said it was very old and worn by the people of the distant highlands woven from some forgotten plant.

Yes, she smiled as her busy fingers dexterously wove grass. Work was the best way to forget her own so many sad memories. She would need money. She, the boy must eat. Fortunately, he would probably not need expensive medicine judging by the state of his health. Her own boy had become sick. There was medicine, but no money to pay. Paco had become weaker and thinner from a wasting disease until one terrible evening he coughed himself to sleep and never woke again.

Maria shook her head sadly but tried to smile. Obviously, the Virgin had answered her prayers and sent her this boy to replace the son she’d lost. She whispered a quick prayer of thanks as her fingers flew skillfully to finish her pretty little basket.

Basket weaving was a skill her own Mother had taught her so long ago. It was an old craft, and mother always said it could come in handy. A basket was always useful and also a way to earn a little money when there was nothing else to do. If this boy had been a girl, she would teach him too. Maybe she would teach him anyway. Better to brave scorn than suffer hunger because you’d nothing to sell.

Finally, Jarom began to stir. He felt more rested now and with the hot mid-morning sun beginning to beat down on the earth even in the shade of Grandfather Tree, it was getting too hot for sleep. Anticipating his hunger, Maria reached in her bag for the last piece of bread. Thanks to the nuts he’d found, food to last the day, even two, was now no concern. However, when Jarom first opened his eyes, his first reaction was startled until he remembered Maria was no figment of a happy dream. Smiling, he nodded his head as Maria stretched out her hand offering bread. He took it munching thoughtfully as he got up to survey this new world. He then glanced at Maria his eyes sad. She was his second friend in this strange place. He so hoped he wouldn’t lose her too. After a few minutes of examining the nearby trees and plants, he sat down right next to Maria and finished his bread. She showed him the basket. He nodded and plucking up some of the same tough wiry grass, began to weave one himself. Eldest Sister had taught him how.

Maria was surprised and quite pleased to see the boy weave what looked like a small basket not so dissimilar to hers. Of course, his fingers were not so practiced and his weave a bit crude, but as she pointed out errors, his nimble fingers would quickly fix his mistakes. She watched as he worked and as she watched, she dusted his finely made clothes a bit with her hand and picked some leaves and thorns from his hair. What a fine boy, she thought to herself feeling happier than she had in such a long time and as she sat patiently waiting for the bus, the smile never left her face.

Maria's family had lived in a village quite far from this place for so many years. Her village had been larger when she was very young, but had shrunk considerably in recent times due to many troubles most especially poverty and workers leaving for the capital. The people in her village were a mix of the Old People who had long lived in this land and the descendants of their conquerors and their conquerors’ black African slaves. For hundreds of years, the village was located in a rich place where they could get many edible treasures from the forest and cleared small patches of rich jungle land to grow their own food. There, they had lived peaceably, but simply for many generations with little change.

But when change did come it fell upon them like a plague and there was nothing they could do. It all began when Maria’s own mother was about the same age as Maria now. For several hundred years, San Cylindro, first a colonial possession of the conquerors and now a nominally independent nation, had been valued for two things: its silver, the bulk of which disappeared in ships over the Great Water decades ago and second and most recent, rubber and since the rubber trees grew best in the warm humid lowlands closest to the sea, for many many years the interior of the country was considered of no value...but that was before.

The first great change was a new and growing interest in their country from the vast new empire to the north. The empire had long bullied, dominated and repressed coastal regions and islands of this huge continent but as the Empire’s economy grew ever monstrous, its insatiable hunger for minerals, oil and food stuffs grew. At first small bands of pale white skinned men appeared almost everywhere accompanied by armed guards. With their strange tools and devices, they prodded, poked and measured the land. Simultaneously, in the capital, more pale white men in suits arrived by plane at the newly constructed airport built with borrowed money from the Empire’s banks. A great new modern port was built, roads cut into the hinterlands, bridges, a railroad linking the capitol to several of the more significant regional towns and when the government of San Cylindro was unable—as secretly intended—to repay even the interest on these huge loans, troops from the Empire came and so the ‘nation’ of San Cylindro which had won its independence from the first empire became a colony again in all but name. Now the new Empire made all important decisions, and by ‘empire’ we mean those great capitalist concerns that jointly control the Empire. From this point on life changed quickly for all the peoples of San Cylindro.

The first stark change was the appearance of international logging concerns with their rapacious appetite for rare hardwoods to be made into furniture for the prosperous north. Once the most valuable hardwoods had disappeared, the next trees to be taken had value as structural timber and when those trees were gone, what remained was to be ground up for paper, the pulp exported to Europe and Japan. The Great Amalgamated Fruit Company also expanded its vast coastal plantations turning the clear-cut lands of former upland forest into huge banana plantations and orange groves, the fruit all destined for the north.

Worst was the mining. A great mineral deposit, El Grande, was found in the far mountains bordering their closest neo-colonial neighbor and from that point little of San Cylindro went untouched, inspected or pawed over by the Empire and if anything of value was found, pittances were paid to the peasants, local officials bought off, and the treasures of San Cylindro shipped off to fatten fortunes of the masters of ‘El Norte’.

At first the poor peoples of San Cylindro’s interior, its highlands, left alone so many years were confused. Some were dazzled by the glittering products of the empire, its baubles and toys, but when the national legislature in the capital declared that all the land of San Cylindro was now the property of all the people, it was soon clear what that meant. The rich would take all, the poor would lose what little they had and that’s when resistance began.

Of course, resistance to the Empire could only mean one thing: those who would not bend to the will of the North were branded communists, subversives, agents of the evil Soviet Union and all its demon minions and in the great struggle of Capitalist Good versus Socialist Evil any savagery fair.

The gold seekers who came to Maria’s village were the first. Small groups of men with a strange fire in their feverish eyes. Some were just poor, brown, hungry, desperate to survive, but the worst were overly well fed white skinned men who bullied and carried guns. Life changed. The people of the village had to be more careful. People were not so friendly as before. But the gold seekers passed through their village quickly. There was little gold in this part of the land and once what little there was had been torn from the ground, peace returned for a time.

But the calm ended all too soon. One day, a representative of the government drove in with a truck full of soldiers from the Army. He stood in the small opening that passed for their square and announced that all the forest around the village had been sold to foreigners who would soon come to take the trees. Anyone who bothered the foreigners in any way was certainly a communist terrorist, a traitor to the Fatherland, and would be dealt with as deserved. Maria remembered that day well. She had been only a little girl. The government man acted angry with them. The soldiers stared at them darkly holding automatic rifles. They wore uniforms like the soldiers of the Empire, but theirs were brown faces, sons of the desperate urban poor crowding the teeming slums.

Giant machines led the charge with an invading army of workers many from different countries all over the world. The young men of the village were offered jobs. Some took them and were quickly digested into this great army of faceless workers and in days, weeks, large tracts of trees began to disappear. They cut outwards from the narrow road leading to the village and in only a few weeks their green world of towering trees and lush vegetation was gone as if only once a dream leaving only charred burn piles, stumps and the sun cracked blistering earth.

After one short season of merciless clear cutting, the village stood as an oasis of a small circle of huts, trees and tiny gardens in the center of a desert. The villagers were sad, but the ones who felt the very worst were those who had taken money for their help. Those men who had accepted money to help destroy the forest now drank heavily to drown their sorrow and shame and when the paper money was all gone, all drunk up or wasted on ‘toys’ imported from the Empire, fights occurred; some died. The once rich land was now too poor to support the People and many were now forced to leave for the capital especially hoping to work.

The loss of the protective canopy of the forest was only the first stage of catastrophe. Rains fell less often, more sporadically and when it did rain in profusion, water would flood over the dry baked land causing the rich top soil to wash away. And when it didn't rain for long stretches, the sun which seemed even hotter than before would bake the land into a hard brittle surface in which was difficult for plants to even grow so now if the people wanted to hunt or gather fruits, they must travel to far distant forests where machines hadn't yet devoured the trees.

And thus, having lost the treasures of the forest, wild vegetables, fruits, animals coupled with the now barren condition of their own small patches of difficult to till land, Hunger, at most an infrequent visitor in the past was now the guest who never left.

More people had to go. Some wandered far to other villages where they could be close to the nurturing forest. Most migrated to the city. In the city, at least, there were jobs and one could buy food, but wages were low, prices too high and the only places for poorly paid workers to live were dark, dirty, and dangerous slum districts where those who would not or could not find work would prey on their neighbors to survive.

In the city, the air was bad, the water fouled; the children became sick. In many families, the women and children returned to the village; the men stayed behind to work. In time, the village became empty of any men except the old, boys as yet too young to work and females of all ages.

What happened in Maria’s village was repeated throughout the province, the nation, the continent. More troubles followed. With the great rich forest disappeared, as life in the country became impossible, there were many to protest and since the Army threatened and killed those protesters with its weapons, those determined to survive got their own. There was fighting, shots fired. Soldiers came to the village looking for terrorists. Any men, even the boys, who had not gone to the city were taken-many to provide more soldiers for the army. Others were never heard from again and as life in the country became even more dangerous, more women with their children left.

But the struggle went badly for the army of the government. Their soldiers could bully and murder the helpless, but were cowards against brave rebels in arms. They lost ground, retreated towards the capital. For a short time, there was a feeling of hope among the People that life would get better but then one day great ships arrived in the harbor disgorging hordes of armed men and machines-the Empire had returned. After all, it had an investment to protect and if the people of San Cylindro were too foolish to realize that fact, they must be saved from themselves. War equipment, construction supplies, even advisers who often did the real fighting. The port was expanded for their great ships, airports for their planes and helicopters which swept over the countryside raining terror and death.

The struggle was contained and the poorly armed rebels beaten badly until they learned to survive the awful bombs, missiles and even poisons rained down from above. And so, they waited, hidden in the jungle, the mountains, the poorer neighborhoods of the city struggling yet fearing victory over the Empire and the complete destruction of their land just as the Empire had laid waste to other lands from sheer spite and an unquenchable thirst for revenge.

And still the village was home for many, a refuge yet when city life proved too difficult and dangerous and these days at least the Army had let them be. After all, the valuable trees were all gone leaving nothing but worthless scrub. No gold, the land was poor, if there was anything left to be looted, what it was no one knew. Maria had been married but after her husband left one season for the city to find work, he disappeared leaving her young, alone and pregnant with a sickly son who’d died when he was eight years old. Maria now lived alone in the old family shack. Her own father had died long ago in an industrial accident. Her mother had died of disease. All her brothers and male relatives had left and when her last surviving relative, her older sister left for the city to be with her man, Maria left too. She wandered for some time, working when she could and when she could no longer abide the city, she found a new village introduced to her by a friend where she would stay at least part of the year.

And Maria survived. She’d stay in the village off and on where she lived in the old deserted shack of her friend and kept a small garden. When factories had orders from the north and needed low paid workers for jobs, she would go back to the city, work hard to save as much money as she could and return. Such work was at best infrequent and the city expensive so she spent more and more of her time back in the village tending to her garden and weaving baskets and small decorative blankets to earn a bit of cash from the tourist trade.

Not only did she hope to sell her crafts, but there’d been talk factories were busy with orders from the north so workers were wanted. The last time Maria worked in the city it was a factory which made garments for a huge American sports clothing concern. Work was hard, the pay small, the management cruel, but she would return there if she could find nothing better, perhaps a job as servant in a rich man’s house. Whatever she found, she must do. What choice did she have? She could grow some vegetables, keep some chickens, a pig, but money was needed for flour imported from the Empire and other things she must have but couldn’t make. And, yes, there now was the boy.

She looked to Jarom fondly still working hard at his basket. A rich man’s house would not be easy, the pay low, but if she and the boy could both find positions in a house it was much safer than a factory where a child could easily lose a limb. She stood suddenly-what a terrible thought-and to know the time she looked up to note Brother Sun’s place in the sky.

Forty Two

Almost the very moment Jarom first went to sleep nestled in the roots of Grandfather Tree, Polleen and Teena had found the exact same spot where the boy had exited the river. It only took a moment to determine the direction he’d gone and with a nod to the men, the women took off at a dead run.

We can never keep up with them, Commandante Fred said to himself but his men proved him wrong. Now filled with a new spirit and vigor, the men sped off too and to his own great surprise, Commandante Fred did the same. Once heavy legs, now light, feet fleet and heavy packs filled with ammunition and weapons. Yes, of course, they were heavy but who even cared? Even better, the women couldn’t run at top speed because of the tangle of brush and so it was not so bad as Fred feared. The women ran, rebels right on their heels.

Maria turned at the sound of the honking bus racing towards them. It was old, decrepit, over crowded with people. She saw her distant cousin Juan, a large teenager waving at her from a window. Jarom tensed ready to run at the sight of the great speeding metal box but since Maria only smiled the more broadly at the sight of the strange thing, he relented watching as the bus screeched to a stop in a boiling cloud of dust.

Maria! Juan called out cheerfully. Come on, catch a ride.

I don't have ticket money for the boy, she yelled back grabbing Jarom who had stepped back in fear of this great stinking box.

Don't worry. The driver is mad at his boss again; he’s not collecting fares.

Let's go then, Maria deciding quickly pulling, pushing Jarom to get on. At first the boy was hesitant, but when he saw the people in this strange moving house were clearly not suffering or scared, his natural curious love of adventure extinguished doubts; he jumped in as Polleen and Teena burst from the trees just in time to see the boy disappear into this great mysterious house belching black smoke, gears clashing, engine roaring, horn blasting as it raced down the road. Both women broke into their very fastest of sprints just as the rebels burst out behind them. The men watched in awe as the two females ran so fast, they were catching up to the bus.

Madre, they move faster than those guys who play soccer, remarked one rebel as the rest cheered the women on.

Polleen, who ran the faster of the two, might have caught up to the bus on a normal twisting stretch of potholed track but at this point, the road was straight as an arrow and unusually smooth and since the driver was behind schedule and wanted to get to his own hovel in the city before dark, he hit the gas and blasted off.

Stop! Stop! the women cried uselessly as the bus disappeared in a billowing cloud of dust and choking oil fumes.

It has eaten him! Teena howled in desperation.

No, no, Poleen insisted gasping for breath, I saw people moving inside. It's like a house that runs fast as deer.

Now what do we do? Teena asked breathing hard.

Hey, hey!! cried voices from behind. The guerrillas caught up to them breathless.

What is wrong? Punto asked.

Our Jarom. He is gone, Poleen told him.

That was him? Punto said in surprise.

What did she say? Commandante Fred asked.

The boy got on the bus.

Oh...that's too bad.

We must follow him, Poleen told Punto. Where does this running house go?

You want to follow him? Punto asked.

Yes, yes, where does it go? We must follow its terrible scent and tracks, Teena insisted.

Uh, I'm not sure, Punto said truly uncertain. Does anyone know where this bus is headed?

I know this road, Talos piped up from the back of the group. It leads to the Capital.

Oh, okay, Punto nodded turning to the women to speak in the Old Talk: I'm sorry, it is going to the capital. It's... and he paused to search for a way to explain, this place, it's like the biggest village you could ever imagine. The houses are tall like mountains, there are...metal beasts everywhere and people, people numerous as ants on a sweet and sticky fruit.

Then we go there, Polleen told him.

What is she saying? Fred wanted to know.

They want to go to the city.

But- Commandante Fred began, but his head shot back to listen. I hear trucks, army convoy.

What? Teena demanded.

Bad men in running houses, we must hide, Punto told her.

That is your business, we find the boy.

Silence, Commandante Fred commanded and keeping close to the undergrowth he hurried back towards Grandfather Tree. The rebels stood there completely torn between their sworn duty to protect the people and their fierce passion for these women.

Come, Polleen said, we must follow this wise young Elder. We can’t let them face the bad men alone. Teena looked at her. She nodded. They would find the boy but for that they needed help and to get help they must give. The women followed Fred and the men fell in behind.

Shh, Commandante Fred whispered from his hiding place with a full view of Grandfather Tree and a parked convoy of camouflaged trucks. Skinny, get close; see what you can hear.

Yes, sir, Skinny nodded gravely. He was very thin with very big ears. He could move through the brush with less noise than the smallest mouse and hear the wings of a fly spin.

What is happening? Teena asked.

It seems, but we are not sure yet but it seems the bad men are preparing to attack.

Attack us?

No, if they knew we were here there would be ten times more troops and host of evil birds. No, they are preparing to attack the village at the end of this road and most likely do what you saw them do before.

We must stop them, Polleen said reaching for her sling but Commandante hissed something to Punto and Punto turned to the women.

With all respect, Sisters, Commandante Fred is very experienced in these matters. We should listen to what he says.

Yes, he is the Elder here, Teena agreed raising her head carefully to watch the bad men.

Major Espinoza took a moment to take a long piss right on the trunk of Grandfather tree and then turned to his men who had all disembarked from the trucks and stood in a silent sullen group.

The men want to know where is air support? the old Sergeant asked.

Shut up, there is no air support. All Hellcats have been grounded as of today because of…technical problems.

So, it is true, we heard the rebels downed a- said the soldier who’d spoken out but then he crumpled a large red splash on his chest. The Major had just shot him with his silenced revolver.

Rumors, nothing but Commie propaganda. Sergeant, you take the men, encircle the village, move in quickly and no survivors. We’re behind schedule and the sooner we cleanse this sector the sooner your bonuses paid on time.

But, Uncle, said a young lieutenant stepping forward in consternation, I’m the officer, shouldn’t I lead the operation?

Are you kidding, your mother would have my tes- he stopped short, looked away and spat on the ground and then took a nervous look at his sullen men who all stared back with barely concealed contempt. No air support and of course the Major would stay behind in his plush air- conditioned command car while no doubt his little fairy lieutenant cousin sucked his stinking dick.

Well, what are you waiting for? Get going and no survivors or our bonus shrinks and we all know what that means, he said giving the dead soldier’s corpse a contemptuous kick.

You heard the Major, smirked the Sergeant. Fall in. And keep it quiet, you’ve got no Hellcats today to cover up all the fucking racket you usually make.

The soldiers had no sooner disappeared down the lane when the Major suddenly jerked, choked out a last curse and fell to the ground as his nephew the lieutenant stared at an arrow still quivering in the man’s back. He only stared a second longer until the next arrow found his heart. Fred looked behind him as Teena lowered her bow. The Commandante smiled and raised his thumb.

Come, we will do what we can, Fred said getting to his feet.

Madre, you see that? Skinny grinned as he examined the two dead men while Teena retrieved her arrows.

Punto, they are amazing, but it is strange there is no air cover. I wonder…

It’s true, Skinny said as he appeared as if from out of nowhere. The Commander, recently deceased, said the Hellcats are grounded himself.

Commandante, said Manual who was quicker than most, is it possible the Hellcats are grounded because of what happened yesterday?

Yes, yes, possible; we can’t be sure. Come, we must move quickly, Fred said to men and women Punto interpreting all he said. Look, we have a big problem here because...shit, we start to shoot-yes, the Hellcats might be grounded but they can still call for the jets...hell, what are we going to do?

Jets, Punto interpreted. Very fast evil birds that fly high in the sky.

Elder, Teena said after listening to Punto, don’t worry. Sister and I will hunt these demons. We can kill them silently.

All of them? It’s impossible.

We shall see, Teena said looking at him steadily. Do you agree?

Yes, yes, I suppose… Fred said feeling uneasy and yet oddly assured. Men, two groups, each follow one woman and… He stopped, the women had already disappeared into the brush on both sides of the lane and ever so quiet, the men followed.

The grizzled old Sergeant had a bad feeling in his guts that he not felt in many years-they’d no air support. Like the old days before the Yankees came no air support meant fast feet and real fighting skills were needed to stay alive.

Silence! he hissed as loudly as he dared. Not one single fucking word. I hear so much as a fart, I cut off your fucking ear, another, you lose your dick.

This is bullshit, Sarge and you know it.

It’s always bullshit, so shut up. Half with me, the rest, Corporal Diablo. Corporal Diablo grinned. Of all this group, he was the worst. We encircle the fucking village and when you hear one shot, mine, you close in and then you know what to do. Kill, fuck the pretty ones, kill them and then you’ve got twenty minutes to loot.

Only twenty?

You want to risk a tangle with rebels and no Hellcat support? Twenty minutes or I leave you behind. Silence, no talking, fall in and move your fucking big butts. Giving a nod to Diablo already licking his lips in anticipation of bloody mayhem, the Sergeant lit a cigarette and moved into the trees, his men behind him in single file.

The men didn’t need to be told what to do, it was standard maneuver. Keeping a distance between them, they’d encircle the village and then move in just as the people were cooking their midday meal. Circling the village drawing closer and closer together would ensure none could escape. After all, witnesses would be very inconvenient, especially to the Empire which abhorred bad press, and the rebels could be close.

Skinny was the first in line to follow Polleen and in a minute he was staring at the ground. The others in his group gathered. It was the corpse of a soldier the back of his skull crushed by a rock.

Madre, whispered Talos, these Babes are tough. With one last look at the corpse, they moved off.

Private Taco felt nervous as if he were under the gaze of a strange set of eyes. Originally from Mexico, Taco whose real name was long forgotten, had been a low paid hit man for a drug cartel until recruited with the promise of easy money and absolute immunity by a murky head-hunting organization that specialized in procuring mercenaries. He looked behind him uneasily and waited. He knew that stupid clumsy ass fuck, Jose, was not far behind and he wanted to bum a smoke. He turned for Jose, stared; collapsed as an arrow skewered his throat.

Wow, Commandante Fred, said Jesus as he looked down at another soldier finished off by an arrow. At least so it seemed from the hole in his chest. Teena had only a few well-crafted arrows which she always retrieved.

Shut up, fool, you think this a game? Quickly. If they are spotted by with men with guns, what do you think arrows will be worth then? He plunged into brush. The rest followed.

The Sergeant stopped. He looked at the sky, he checked his watch. The encirclement should be long complete at this time, the noose tightening. He waited two more minutes, then raised his pistol and fired. He then made straight for the sound of children laughing and women talking. The slaughter would start.

At this point, all the spirits of the bad men had begun their journeys to the demon world. Except one, and with that, Teena whistled, Polleen cried out and they walked right through the village under the stares of stunned women and grinning children delighted at the sight of these two beautiful muscular women who looked like Hollywood movie superheroes.

That way! Polleen cried to the children with a sweeping movement to her rear and the opposite direction to the pistol shot they’d just heard. The children instantly understood the danger, they ran for their huts, mothers and grandmothers followed where they huddled in fear.

Something was not right, the old Sergeant realized as he stopped to listen. At his signal, the men were supposed to fire their heavy weapons as they howled out bloodcurdling screams to induce panic. What the fuck were those assholes doing? He gasped; he’d just spotted a quick movement just between two homes. He let loose with a volley from his rifle when a rock smacked the trunk just next to his head. He looked back, a movement, a flash of color disappeared. He turned to fire; it was dangerous but fuck the men. And just then an arrow caught him in the shoulder. He spun back aimed right at Teena just as Polleen sprang from behind blade flashing. She opened his throat.

Good work, Teena said. Polleen smiled as she retrieved Teena’s arrow as laughing children ran towards them, the village women cheering with joy and relief.

The guerrillas rushed into the village at the sound of the short burst of gun fire followed by cheers. To their amazement, Teena and Polleen stood smiling in the square as laughing children covered them like ants and women rushed from homes bearing food and drink.

Carnival! Manuel cried out making a grab for a chicken leg. The cook slapped his hand-this chicken was for Teena/Polleen.

Commandante Fred entered the village just a little later loaded with weapons from dead soldiers. He kept