is from Pajilla, where the disc was analyzed.”
“Why would the mapirenes build a base in the middle of a desert?” asked Remy.
“It wasn’t a desert then,” said Delizia. “We found that out when we came to Haidra. The Syrene appears to have been created by men—by lemuroids, that is.”
“And why all this?” asked Remy, indicating the interior of the wagon. “Why didn’t you have Command Haidra drop you on the spot by plane?”
Scapaccio laughed shortly. “Command Haidra has little or no interest in archaeological exploration. They refused to commit any substantial resources to the supply or support of this expedition. We had to finance the trip ourselves. All that Command Haidra would do for us was to give permission for a platoon of soldiers to escort us. Notionally, this is an army expedition, but for all practical purposes, it’s a private endeavor. You know the army, Sergeant Remy...can you imagine Command Haidra giving us their full-scale cooperation for something like this? All that they would do was to promise that if we found anything of military importance, or got into a situation where we needed pulling out, we could call for assistance. We have radio equipment in one of the other wagons which can get a signal to one of the comsats for immediate relay. That was the limit of their generosity. I’m sure the story is familiar.”
“I’m not a sergeant,” replied Remy. “Not any more. You can call me by my name. I don’t have a rank.”
Scapaccio apologized without sounding particularly sincere. There was a moment’s silence. Then Delizia asked, “Are you willing to take us into the Syrene?”
“I’ll take you,” replied Remy. “But I don’t take army paper for payment. For a first installment, I want the guns that came with the men who were killed in the raid, and two cases of ammunition for each gun. You can throw in a case of grenades for good measure.”
Scapaccio met his eyes. “That equipment isn’t mine,” he said levelly. “It belongs to the army.”
“So did I, once,” replied Remy. “What the hell—you’re a colonel, aren’t you? And it’s your expedition. Garstone won’t like it—so tell him to go to hell. What’s he going to do—lay charges against you when you get back?”
“You said the first installment,” said Delizia. “Does that mean there’ll be others?”
“Maybe,” said Remy calmly. “It depends how long you want my services.”
“And what else do we pay you with?” asked Scapaccio.
“I can always use more rifles,” said Remy. “Maybe wagons, too. Horses for sure. We’ll think of something, if the occasion arises.”
“I’m sure you will,” murmured Delizia.
“Is it agreed?” asked Remy.
Scapaccio hesitated for a second or two, then nodded. Remy handed back the plastic tumbler, and turned back to the tailboard of the wagon, vaulting over it and down to the ground without apparent effort. He stood beside the road, waiting, and the wagon rolled on, leaving him behind.
Scapaccio looked at Delizia, questioning him with his eyes.
“I don’t know,” said Delizia. “We’d be crazy to trust him because he’s human. He might be nasty and more dangerous than a cohort of veich clansmen. But he might get us through where Garstone wouldn’t stand a chance. Through...and back again.”
“And after all,” said Scapaccio, “he’s no friend of Command Haidra—and they’re no friends of ours.”
To that, Delizia did not reply—in fact, the remark seemed to make him extremely uncomfortable. His dark eyes settled on the serene face of the unconscious doctor for a few moments, and then he lay back, looking up at the wooden slats of the upper bunk with a concentration so intense that one might almost have believed that he, too, was unconscious.
* * * *
Doon brought Remy’s horse from the rear of the column, and Remy remounted. Then the two went forward to join Iasus Fiemme and Madoc riding in advance of the foremost wagon. Remy adjusted his veil and donned eyeshades to protect him from the slowly climbing sun.
“What are they doing here?” asked Madoc, his voice hoarse because of the dryness of his mouth and throat.
“Looking for buried treasure in the middle of the Syrene, or so they say,” replied Remy. “They want us to take them into the desert. I said that we would.”
“Why?” asked Doon.
“Because we’re going that way anyhow, and because their guns will come in very handy when we try to break up Belle Yella’s little party.”
“They don’t know about Belle Yella, of course?” commented Madoc.
Remy didn’t bother to answer. “What worries me,” he said instead, “is what Garstone’s doing here. According to Scapaccio, Command think he’s the next best thing to a lunatic—they wouldn’t release any substantial equipment to him or support the expedition in any tangible fashion. So why did they give him a platoon of soldiers? They must have had another reason for sending men over here.”
“After us?” suggested Madoc.
“There’s barely a dozen of us. It wouldn’t be worth the trouble. No, I think they just came to have a look around, at Ziarat and the surrounding territory. They’re gathering intelligence. Maybe they just want to know what the veich are up to on this side of the world.”
“Or...,” prompted Doon.
“It’s been a long time since the pacification. Command doesn’t like its troops to get bored. The war isn’t likely to swing back this way, so Haidra looks set to become a permanent backwater. In all probability, no ship’s rested in orbit here—except the fortress—in the last seven years. There’s been no opportunity to trade off units, and there’s not likely to be. It’s possible that Command is planning a small war, just to give the troops something to occupy their idle minds. It’s just possible that they’re planning to move in on Azreon—for no particular reason but to have something to do. A little game to keep everyone amused. They may have sent Verdi over to gather preliminary information that the comsat spies can’t glean from outside the atmosphere.”
Silence fell while Remy pondered that possibility further. If the army did come to Azreon—for whatever reason—the niche that he had carved out for himself in Yerema’s organization would cease to exist. He would become a fugitive again—and Yerema with him. All the mercenaries, in fact, would have to retreat into the wilderness or face internment.
After a few minutes, however, he put the matter aside and turned to Iasus Fiemme. “What do you know about the mountains in the Syrene?” he asked.
The siocon shook his head. “What is there to know? No one goes there, except the er’kresha.”
Remy shrugged. “The Calvar scholars will know, if there is anything to know. They’ve been working on their own archaeological projects since they first arrived here.”
“Does it matter?” asked Doon.
“Maybe not,” said Remy. He turned his mount away from the other three, and began to move back along the column of wagons, heading for the Calvar caravan.
The rearmost wagon in Scapaccio’s group was being driven by Justina Magna, who saw him approaching and waved him to a stop. He turned his mount to fall into step with her.
She was wearing a yellow scarf tied around her mouth and nose—a highly inefficient substitute for the veil which he and all the other nonhumans wore.
“What do you do about the dust?” she called.
He showed her how his own mask was secured.
“It’s vile stuff,” she said. “Probably poisonous.”
“High metallic content,”