beds, but he shook her off and collapsed in a chair instead.
She immediately forgot her own thirst and offered the cup of
wine to him, which he drank greedily and then tried to catch
his breath.
"Been—protecting you," he managed. "Did a good job
for a while, but it was finally too much."
She frowned. "Protecting me—from who?" She suddenly
had a fearful thought. "I'm not going back, Crim. You can't
make me!"
250 Jack L. Chalker
"I knew the situation, that's why 1 could only protect, not
bring you out," he told her. "I wish 1 could—that would
have prevented this, but that doesn't matter now. Nothing
matters right now but the moment. How many people are
there in the camp right now, besides you and me?"
She thought a moment. "Sixteen, counting the other girls-
Why?" She began fussing with his shirt to see and perhaps
help dress the wound, but he again would have none of it.
"Forget me now. If we don't act and soon. it won't make
any difference if the wound's bad or not. Can you call the
others? Get others here in a hurry?"
"Yeah, I got a bell, but—"
"Then do it! Now! All our lives depend on it! Theirs,
too!"
She knew Crim well enough to take him at his word, and
she went out and immediately rang the bell loud and long for
all it was worth. When she finally decided that even the dead
couldn't have missed, she went back inside. "Now—what's
this all about?"
"Sam—if/could find you, they could find you. Klittichom's
already started the war. He attacked and destroyed Masalur.
Boolean got away but it's ugly. Now a mercenary bastard I
should have killed years ago named Zamofir is riding here
hard. They've got repeating guns that can shoot hundreds of
rounds a minute and they intend to get you and everybody
else and just level this place, just to make sure."
"Zamofir! That son of a bitch from the train who was in
with them raiders? Oh, I know him, Crim. How many?"
By that time the first of the camp people had appeared,
with several more following. Two of PUtie's husbands, Ladar
and Somaz, and one of Quisu's, Dabuk, anyway, as well as
Putie herself. They initially froze in hostility at the sight of
Crim, but his condition told them he wasn't somebody to be
feared. Sam told them briefly who the stranger was, and that
he was trustworthy, and they listened with growing concern.
Ladar, a big, muscular man, and by agreement of the
women the best-looking male body they'd ever seen, nodded.
"How many arc there?"
"There were twenty when they started, but there are only
fourteen now." the Navigator responded with a touch of pride
in his voice. "But they're mad as hell and they got nothing
WAR OF THE MAELSTROM 251
but blood in their eyes at this stage. I overheard them saying
they were going to kill every living thing here and bum the
place. I pulled two of me fancy rifles off the dead ones and
got two boxes of ammunition as well. Hauled them on foot
the last three leegs. They're simple to operate and you don't
have to aim—they'll nail most anything within maybe a thirty-
or forty-degree angle of where they're aimed. You have
anything else to fight with?''
Ladar turned to Dabuk. "Get back to the still. That stuffs
pure grain alcohol. You remember the firebombs Jerbal used
back in that raid? Make some. Figure what to do with the rest.
Somaz, you and Putie go tell the others and have everybody
meet here. This here and the mill across the way are the first
two buildings they got to pass. You—Navigator. How much
time you figure we got?"
"An hour, maybe a^ little less. Hard to tell today."
He nodded. "Might be just enough. All right, everybody—
move!"
They put Putie in charge, getting the other women well
back in the jungle they all knew, along with the two babies.
They were just to go as far back as they could, far enough
back so that the crying of the babies wouldn't attract any-
body. Sam was ordered back, too, but she refused, "No, this
is my fight, my fault," she told them. "If it wasn't for me,
they wouldn't be comin' here. The Others'11 make out, but I
want my crack at the bastards. Besides, if they get us and I'm
killed, maybe at least they won't risk stayin' around to find
the others, but if I'm not here, they'll stay until they find
us." That last was the clincher.
Crim showed Ladar how to work the submachine gun and
the big man took it and one box of ammo and set up in the
loft above the mill about a hundred yards away across a
clearing. Crim himself kept the other one, propping himself
up behind the porch stove and cutting a hole in the netting big
enough to fire through. Other men took their positions with
baskets filled with fire bombs—small gourds filled with
nearly pure grain alcohol and plugged with strips of cloth.
The rest loaded rifles and pistols, all single-shot legal kinds,
and waited in a line behind bales of hay. All seemed almost
relieved that they didn't have long to wait.
They rode into the camp slowly, bold as brass, eyeing
252 jack L. Chalker
everything like they were speculators out to see if the place
was worth buying. Sam had a feeling of unreality about the
scene, as if she had seen it many times before in countless
western movies, where Constable Earp faced down the Clanton
mob or a hundred old Duke Morrison turns on late night TV.
The only difference was, most gunfights were at dawn, not
sunset. Damn! This was more Charley's style than hers. She
couldn't help counting mem, and suddenly came up short.
"Crim!" she whispered urgently. "/ only count ten!"
Crim nodded. "One or two to watch the road just in case,
and two more probably coming in on foot to cover them.
We'll just have to take the hidden ones as they come. We got
the high ground."
A man—one of Famay's boys, Sam saw—got up from
behind a hay bale, rifle at the ready. "That's far enough,
strangers!" he called out. "What do you want here?"
Zamofir, looking ridiculous and haggard at one and the
same time, with his big waxed moustache and riding clothes,
came a bit forward, but not too much. "Covanti's under
attack," the little man shouted back. "A general uprising by
the natives in a ton of colonies. We've been sent here to
evacuate all of you to the hub until the crisis has passed."
"That so? We heard of the troubles but there ain't no
natives around here, either. This ain't their type of place. And
if we was gonna be evacuated, they'd send the army."
"The army's too busy handling the flow of refugees and
setting up defenses. There's whole armies of rebels converg-
ing on die hub border, and massacres of Akhbreed throughout
the colonies. They couldn't spare a troop of soldiers for this
little outpost, so they sent us, instead."
Zamofir, she thought, was as glib and convincing as ever,
and just as much a skunk and a liar.
"That's pretty good, you bastard!" Crim yelled down at
him. "Zamofir, if I didn't know you so well, I'd almost
swallow that myself!"
Zamofir suddenly went white and somehow slid, horse and
all, back into the midst of the gang. "Crim! I—uh! Old
friend, 1 know we haven't seen eye to eye on a lot of this, but
. . . scatter, boys! They're ready for us!"
At that moment Crim and Ladar opened up a sudden,
withering crossfire, and men and horses went down in a
WAR OF THE MAELSTROM 253
bloody mess in the clearing. Some who had bolted at Zamofir's
first syllable made for the mill or the house, on the instinct
mat neither man would fire towards the other's position. It
was also clear that they'd gotten more horses than men;
machinegun fire was being returned from the midst of the
clearing, behind the figures of horses, some still, some thrash-
ing in agony. Bullets whistled through the house and mill and
down the main road, and Sam beat a hasty retreat to the rear
of the house, where the angle kept direct shots from hitting.
Furniture, pans, you name it, started moving, flying, and
shattering all at the same time.
She was ashamed of herself for cowering like this, and she
was worried for Crim. It didn't sound like he was firing any
more.
The firing at her didn't last long, though; she heard sounds
like breaking glass outside and then the sounds of men scream-
ing, and, cautiously, she made her way forward again to see.
The men in the trees had started throwing firebombs down on
the massed men in the clearing, creating a hellish fire, and
individual shots picked off men, some on fire, who ran from
the cover into the open
Suddenly there were sounds on the porch vibrating through
the floor, and into the interior lurched a huge, filthy, bearded
raider brandishing a pistol. He stood there, staring at her, and
gave a laugh and then brought the pistol up, still chuckling.
Suddenly someone appeared behind him, and, before he real-
ized that anyone was there, he suddenly stiffened and bent
backwards a little, the most incredulous expression on his
face, then keeled over and collapsed on the floor, a big
Navigator's knife sticking full into his back.
"The sun set just in time," Kira said with satisfaction.
"Now, help me get out of Crim's shin and jacket before 1
tangle and fall myself!"
Sam was almost too shocked to do anything, but Kira
galvanized her into action. There was more shooting outside
now, and a lot of yelling.
Kira got the rest of Crim's clothing off and then crouched
down and looked at the situation outside. Although the sun
had set, it was still very light, but there was little to see. The
survivors of the raiders and whoever was still going defending
254 Jack L. Chalker
the camp were all under cover now, and it was hard to tell
who, what, or where, or even friend from foe.
Kira looked over at Sam and gave her a reassuring smile.
"I feel like a native now. Crim couldn't haul much more than
he did, so I guess I'm bare-assed and everything else for me
duration."
Sam partly recovered her composure. "Criro—I didn't
hear. . . ."
"Like I said, nick of time," the pretty woman responded.
"That bastard got under me porch, climbed up, and pulled
Crim and half the netting down. I guess he thought Crim was
dead, and if sunset had been another five minutes, or those
guys had waited until dawn, he would be. Now he's sort of
suspended, at least 'til dawn." She sighed. "Wish I had
something decent to fight with. Any weapons here except this
one-shot pistol?"
"Crim had the repeater. The only thing we got is an old set
of sabers, Jubi—one of my husbands—kept from his old
army days."
"Get them. God, that horse barbecue out there smells
awful!"
Sam fumbled and then opened the trunk. Although it was
growing pitch dark in the house without the lantern, she knew
her way as if it were the back of her hand.
Kira took both sabers, hefted them, men picked one. "This'U
do. You take the pistol and shoot anybody who comes through
the door."
"What're you gonna do?"
"A little hunt in the dark. This is my element, remember?
And I'm fresh as a daisy." She started to duck out, but Sam
called after her.
"Kira—what about Crim? Come morning, I mean. And
you?"
"If help doesn't come before morning, then Crim will
die," she responded calmly, as if referring to someone else.
"And if Crim dies, I probably will, too. That makes the next
few hours real precious, doesn't it?" And, with mat, she
slipped out.
Sam felt suddenly terribly guilty and panicky at one and the
same time. This wasn't me way it was supposed to go, damn
it! Would they never leave her alone? Now Crim and Kira
255
WAR OF THE MAELSTROM
were gonna die for her, too, and maybe most or alt of the
people she loved here! And all she could do was sit there in
the dark on the floor with a pistol.
Or could she? Suddenly she smelled smoke, not from
outside—that had pretty well died out now—but like it was
coming from. . . . The house was on fire! The bastards had
set fire to it, and maybe to other places in town. The four left
behind, and anybody who got away, now working to create
light and force the defenders from their own ground out into
the open.
And it was a good plan, since there was no question of her
staying where she was. She got up and carefully peered out at
' the porch, or what was left of it. Was the one who set fire to
her place hiding under it? Damn it, what could she do? The
glow from underneath told her that the place would quickly
be engulfed in flames, but she'd also be silhouetted against
that glow when she got down. Jumping was out of the
,•' question—not in her condition. Taking a deep breath, and
holding the pistol tightly, she let herself out over the edge of
the porch, turned as best she could, and dropped, landing on
her feet for a moment but then falling over. She forgot all her
physical limitations, all danger, picked herself up and made
for the darkest area she saw nearby, behind some bullet-
scarred trees.
She froze for a minute, then peered cautiously around it
and back at the house, where flames were now shooting
upwards. But—wasn't that somebody on the edge of the
' porch? Who the hell . . . ?
The dark figure jumped effortlessly to the ground and then
began to look around. At that moment, two shots from some-
where crashed into the tree, one just above her head, shower-
ing splinters and wood fragments, and she gave an involuntary
cry. The figure heard it, turned, and advanced towards her,
holding something in his hand.
Sam looked frantically around but couldn't see where to
run. There was shooting in back of her and this character in
front. Damn it, she couldn't outrun them—she couldn't waddle
more than ten feet at a stretch.
"Come, come, Susama!" cried a familiar and unwelcome
voice. "The threads of our destinies have been criss-crossing
for a long time now, and then barely missing entanglement. It
256 fack L. Chalker
is time now, my sweet," Zamofir almost sang to her. "Come
out and I will make it swift and painless and then get out of
this trap. Resist or make any trouble for me and I will carve
the child out first so you can watch, and then I will remain
until I have hunted down and killed all the other women as