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Chapter 4: Down the Rabbit Hole

  Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith

  Pontifical Biblical Commission

  Virtual conference

  Reverend Father Mathius began his presentation once all the Cardinals and Secretaries had logged in. "I have, for your review, a case study from our Consultor, Dottore Fermi AI as it relates to the question of doctrine toward Transference technology. I will warn that the filtering is minimal and the pursuit of this mission required much deliberate loss of life. At the end of the presentation, I will reveal findings and arguments from the Dottore for your consideration."

  Replay of subject Navarro, J

  Excerpt of mission debrief DT-312-4

  Narrative feed with minimum paraphrasing

  Halfway home, at Arkhome orbital port, a Jesuit courier from the local mission presented himself at our lock. We received papers from the Bishop in a self-destruct tube. Father Luke took the tube and sat in conference with Saint Peter for a while.

  We Templars did a quick inventory. It is always best to prepare, when no other action suggested itself. On hand we had five replacement zombies, two tons of consumables, three simulators and an extensive arsenal of personal gear every Templar calls his own. The Fabricator and Med bay had minimum stocks but our hold was a large echoing space. We would move small cargoes between worlds to pick up a little running money, but had not yet acquired any for the next leg. As a Templar Marshal, one of my traditional duties was quartermaster, but Saint Peter was much better at negotiating the electronic exchanges. I just provided a human face to the deals.

  Father Luke invited me to a conference. We sat in the shielded compartment that housed most of Saint Peter’s mind. It was completely secure from surveillance. Father Luke served coffee and pointed at one of Saint Peter’s screens showing a list of equipment and personnel. "Marshal Navarro, we have been tasked for a medical relief. This list shows gear and six doctors we’ll be loading into cargo for transport to the Capellan system. The United Church of Christ has a ministry that needs medical help. Our prayers are that some will survive whatever plague has fallen on them until we can get there."

  "What is our environment?" I asked. He pointed to the screen as Saint Peter brought up a slide show of images and planet metrics. It looked pastoral, with fields and livestock, but in the background I could see air traffic from a city. The lighting had a lot of shadows and the colors favored yellow. There were two suns in the sky.

  We discussed the Ministry’s Formula of Agreement with the local Presbyterian Church for full ecumenical partnership. Under that shield, they interacted with the colonials. The socio-economic setting was basic company town. The planet and the company were called Cornucopia. They provided sustenance to the extensive belt mining operation within the system. The colony was founded over eighty years ago and had a decent industrial base. Saint Peter would create a better analysis for us shortly. In the meantime, we began receiving cargo and habitat modules at the cargo lock. I had to supervise the Waldoes and flight balance the load while Rafe and Etienne plumbed the habitat modules. We shifted our own stored supplies to other spaces for security. The passengers were unknown quantities right now, better to remove temptation.

  We received our delegation of doctors. All were Jesuit trained, but only the two science researchers were actually in the Order. The other four were young doctors gaining field credits. They were introduced to us, but our Templar presence seemed to unnerve them a little. Too many stories focus on the field justice. The price of that fear is some social ostracization. I never get used to it, but have learned to not react unfavorably. Most people do not adapt to violence as we do. They aren’t required to. A girlfriend once described it as living with a tiger. "You never know when the wildness will come out." I gave them a warm smile and tried not to loom. As soon as they were settled, we Templars retired to our living spaces, safe behind a bulkhead. We would see them once a day for schooling as nurses. They could use the help and it was good to go in covert. We still knew very little about conditions on the other end.

  The first couple of days, Rafe and Etienne would climb into simulators and I would log onto the network and act as a sensory node for the face-to-face training. This let my compadres accelerate their training speed with the simulators and just add the hands-on lecture as a dataset. I was already rated for combat medic but the face time as a supplicant for the doctor’s knowledge gave them a comfortable position to get accustomed to a Templar. Father Luke helped this along by his near constant presence in the cargo hold, a kinetic figure, talking to the less busy doctors or saying a prayer with the devout. Craftsman that he is, I’m sure he was fishing for intel. I know the prayers helped me in sorting out unseen affiliations. Two of the doctors were Hindu, from the form of yoga they used instead of prayers. Hindus accepted Transference as a way of refining Karma over a long span. Small things noticed fell into place. These two saw me as more than a Golem or Zimboe. I was a fellow traveler on the same wheel of life. It gave me an approach to use to build rapport. I began gathering my own intel during meal breaks.

  As part of our bonding methods, my compadres and I introduced the doctors to some basic security methods. Word substitutions, supply security and vetting protocols for new faces. Simple, non-violent security techniques that made us seem more thoughtful than lethal. I even tried the yoga routines with the Hindus. It was useful for new body acclimation. Rafe prayed with the Christians and Etienne was just a joker. We gave the doctors familiar human variety and they accepted us as partners.

  After classes, I would confer with Saint Peter and update him on any intel. In return, he would pass on refined data about our operation. One thing that seemed troubling was that the Justice and Witness Ministries arm of the United Church of Christ had been issuing pronouncements about civil rights on Cornucopia. It was thought that at their next General Synod, a proposal for action would be issued, leading to a formal resolution. The Cornucopia Company would not be thrilled with a denouncement and the Christian Charter provisions meant the Church could not state anything untrue or too vague in their statements. They would be able to prove any allegations. Of course, the same Charter also stated they could not advocate harm to the Company. An appeal to their better natures was as far as the church could take it. A lot would depend on the effect on the workers, seeing exploitation and forming their own judgments. Conflict there could spread. I realize that all sounds paranoid and worst-case, but part of Garda training is planning on the worst. We are rarely disappointed or surprised that way. A cooler head prevails.

  We arrived in system ready to go. Cornucopia system control routed us to the planet while Saint Peter sifted through every data stream he could tap. The Company line was a livestock spongiform encephalopathy concentrated around Christian ranches. Slang was "Mad Cow Disease." Hundreds had been infected from meat products but new protocols now kept it from ground and orbital markets. Christian animal husbandry techniques were blamed. Symptoms came on suddenly after a long incubation. There was no cure, only expensive treatments. Most infected would suffer lethal dementia sometime in the next fifteen years.

  The Belters were a comparatively chatty bunch, floating theories and anti-company rants on their distributed networks. They thought it was an economic nightmare for food prices. A few Belters had also been infected and were living in quarantine. Numbers of infected they reported were higher than company figures. We had a disease, a past timeline and a possible vector.

  The Doctors began fabbing up three Quantum translators and a Nanoquinacrine culture. There were already plenty of autoclaves and data blocks. They chatted about "Prions" and a "Wide Area EEG/MEG" search for "Triphasic Spikes." Maybe one noun in five made any sense to me. I did like the wide area search idea, though. Sounded like a selective Battlenet scanner. I should learn to use it. That could be really handy for setting a perimeter.

  Father Luke conferred with Cornucopia Company execs, looking for clearances and resources. We could land the shuttle at
a nearby airport and be transported directly to the quarantine zone with our gear. We would be confined to the quarantine zone until released. Company inspectors would be making tours of all medical and ranching facilities. The Father mentioned that the company execs seemed lukewarm about the operation. They were mainly interested in spreading any new treatments out to the belt. They were also very interested in identifying our staff. We failed to name any Templars within the group. I would be Nurse Medina for the duration.

  The minister of the church, a Reverend Foster, was much more receptive to our plans. He had relocated a theological seminary school into private homes to provide facilities. We had eighteen doctors and lay clergy to help. Most of the doctors had degrees in Theology, Education and Pastoral care. They would be more helpful in social administration. A few veterinarians and general practitioners would drop by as time allowed. They did not have a large population base and everyone was busy with health and economic concerns during the crisis. Food exports had dwindled to nothing in the months following the disease. The ranchers wouldn’t starve, but they could not pay their mortgages until the markets opened up. A lot of time was being spent in negotiations with Cornucopia bankers and inspectors. Foreclosures were a growing problem.

  I arranged loading of the shuttle. This let me place some select items in among the medical supplies. Initial parameters were still fluid. We had location security, biothreats and economic warfare concerns. Information was a primary objective for any clarity. Saint Peter would use the shuttle, parked outside of quarantine to gain more access. Within quarantine, we would see what could be learned from the Cornucopia agents. Getting more supplies in would be a problem. Cornucopia had a fair security apparatus. Everything we would need had to go in the first trip. The doctors squeezed into the shuttle and Father Luke gave us a blessing. The ten of us dropped down the rabbit hole.

  We were met at the airport by a dozen officials. Four were in customs uniforms. Three more appeared to be security types by the cut of their suits. Another was a biologist named Honma, with a case of data cubes. He was happy to hand them over. The event was captured by a scattering of field journalists with recorder suits. They stood out with their tall shoulder pads covered in mesh. Station logos rode on their breast pockets. There was a well-turned-out company politician named Ishikawa. His title was Shacho, or company president. If their president was here, this would be a staged media event. The formal bow he gave to Father Luke and the assembled doctors spoke of a conservative mindset and indicated Gratitude to Technicians if I read his body language correctly. My Japanese needs polishing.

  I decided to watch proceedings from further back in the shuttle hatch. Rafe and Etienne were rounding up supplies in the hold we could carry out on our shoulders, if needed. I slid on my sunglasses and pulled a ball cap with the Red Cross sigil on the front. That would be the medical kind of Red Cross. Wearing the hat was my private joke and it always made me look happy to the cameras.

  The other three officials seemed to represent the airport and cargo services. They stood somewhere between the president’s group and the customs men. Shacho Ishikawa said a few pleasantries in English, introduced the airport director to Father Luke and was whisked away by a waiting limousine to an area some distance away with more journalists. No doubt he would spin the meeting in Japanese for his political aggrandizement. A small bus approached the shuttle and our doctors were loaded in with Dr. Honma and a privileged journalist for an orientation meeting. Father Luke remained to chat with the airport director while the other journalists scattered. The customs men approached.

  Our cargo manifest was given the once over. It was mostly formality, the wheels having been pre-greased by Father Luke and the Shacho. They looked at our ID’s and recorded images on their helmet Critics. The Company liked to micromanage exterior contacts, it seemed. The customs men would get a distant look and then pass along some question from their riding observers. I work very hard to absorb intel from Saint Peter without revealing the conversation. These men were not used to the Critics. They weren’t coverts.

  They were cautious about our Medical Fabricator, understanding the dangers of nanotech. Questions about power sources and chemicals being imported showed their level of sophistication. The Company seemed fairly knowledgeable about modern technology and the Security section had good anti-terror protocols. They just weren’t allowed to poke through medical containers on a mercy mission too forcefully. They had a political override on their actions. We were cleared.

  Commercial Lorries began rolling up to the cargo ramp. A scattering of airport security trucks had parked in a rough perimeter around us. They were all at least two hundred meters away. It made it look like they were trying to keep things out rather than in. What did they fear? I wondered. Was it the journalists? Would security try something out of sight? Or was organized violence that big a threat? I traded a look with Etienne, now we were both worried about the supply train.

  The three of us started putting RF chirpers on the loads. It looked like we were writing labels, but the pens would fire a chip into the packaging. These chirpers would only respond to a coded signal, it would take a very sophisticated sweeper to find them. Saint Peter could already follow his Templars anywhere with our implants, now he could see our luggage.

  I made a point of getting eyes on the lorry drivers. They looked like civilian contractors. No uniforms or guns and they were introducing themselves to each other. Father Luke had wandered over and was asking them about the route. Saint Peter may have suggested the action to him, or it was just his innate fieldcraft. Both of them were pretty canny in a developing situation. I came to a stop in a subordinate position and got a look at the route. A skinny driver wearing a sleeveless jumper and a cowboy hat did most of the talking. Everyone called him "Tsuiso-Dan", which Saint Peter informed me, is a form of Japanese combat driving. That made him much more interesting.

  The English Tsuiso-Dan used for introductions was clearly a second language. Father Luke replied in passable Japanese and the conversation shifted to routes and protocols. I feigned ignorance and studied the body posture of the group. Of the six Lorries sent, eight drivers were present, a little system redundancy. They dressed as though going to a demolition event, personalizing durable work clothes with embroidery and torn fabric. A little bit of cowboy or gang influence showed in their accessories. One in four had visible tattoos. The revealed ink appeared to be voluntary choices.

  Their stances varied from alert to bored. They exuded a kind of fatalism, the knowledge of risk and a loose social contract. It reminded me of mercenary units. I began to wonder how much action they saw. Taking a lull in conversation, I walked over to inspect the Lorries.

  Each lorry was probably sixteen meters long with ten wheels and a lowered stance. The cargo containers were modular shipping types, locked onto the lorry bed. They articulated in the front third with four drive wheels extended behind the articulating point another two meters. The wheel choices looked like dirt would be a possible roadway. The engines were closed loop MHD’s powering motors in the drive wheels. They had good redundancy but cheap construction. The cabs named the drivers, fighter pilot style. The company logos often shared the same name. There were dents and marring at the usual contact points, mostly cosmetic damage. The paint was not a year old and layers were visible. A look in the cab window showed worn interiors and a varied collection of icons. Studying those using the art of Semiotic Pragmatics showed family connections and overactive pornographic imaginations. Some favored religious icons. Only one used Christian imagery. I memorized his license photo on the visor. He was one of the lone drivers, named Toyo. None had visible weapons beyond tire tools.

  Father Luke was walking back to the cargo ramp, so I took an intercept and caught up. Rafe and Etienne were in a mostly empty bay when we arrived. Rafe handed me one of our clip-on flashlights. Light was just one of their functions. Father gave us the "listener" sign and stepped back into the shuttle. We followed to a clos
ed compartment and opened up our feeds. All surfed the collected intel and let Saint Peter give us analysis. We had a chance of hijacking for money or state security reasons, especially the Medical Fabricator. Not a big chance, but worrisome. The drivers appeared competent but expendable. We were not permitted suitable weapons or armor. Any conflict risked blowing our cover. I told the Father we understood and would split up to ride with the risky loads. I failed to mention the variety of silent weapons concealed on our persons. Only Saint Peter knew that inventory. Father Luke would have deniability if we ended up interrogated. We rejoined the drivers to arrange our rides. I suggested that Father ride with Toyo. I would ride with the lead.

  Tsuiso-Dan looked disappointed to get me for a partner. I gave him a little pidgin and a short bow to establish culture links. I didn’t want him too chatty, so playing down my Japanese seemed wise. He was curious about my job title, so I fed him the Nurse Medina story and winked. I hinted that I was actually a kind of Roadie for the Doctors, keeping them from screwing up with their big diplomas and lack of good sense. Tsuiso-Dan found that relationship amusing. The story meshed with his perceptions of the highly educated.

  I looked over his cabin on the drive to the terminal. Decent spatial data and communications with the convoy were available. The cab was not hardened for kinetic or NBC attack. Fire protection was a portable canister. A long handled rubber mallet rode in a sleeve behind the driver seat. Dice in fuzzy green fur hung from a mirror. The drive control lever had a chrome skull with lighted red eyes. His ceiling was lacquered with pages from porn magazines and doe-eyed manga. All of these details made Tsuiso-Dan seem exactly as seen. Unlikely he was covert.

  Our doctors, looking slightly dazed from their whirlwind medical consult turned press event, were loaded into a six wheeled bus with comfort facilities and rugged tires. They would precede the convoy in style while we ate their dust and carried their water. That arrangement would also let me respond from behind if trouble showed. Saint Peter believed the doctors were a poor target for either motivation threatening the convoy. But I would keep them in sight, regardless.

  Our route carried us south on highway roads. Traffic was light. Three hours of travel found us pulling into a truck weigh station. It had been taken over by quarantine security forces. A command trailer and motor pool of military vehicles were patrolled by soldiers with assault rifles. A few civilians seemed to provide political support for the operation. I could see no imbed journalists. There was no traffic coming out of the quarantine zone.

  We were herded into the weigh line. Soldiers paralleled our convoy. A couple officials and an officer were talking to the doctors. Body language indicated an argument. I didn’t want to use our feeds around civilians and the soldiers did not look like they would welcome dismounting passengers as friendly. Tsuiso-Dan called the bus to find out what he could.

  Our conflict revolved around the Medical Fabricator, of course. Security would not admit it into the zone because of the presence of "unknown mutagens." They would not permit replicating nano into the zone until we could identify and contain those mutagens. It sounded plausible in a circular logic sort of way. The doctors argued that it used a closed system and was proof against anything but hard radiation. The officials maintained that they "had their orders", which meant they really didn’t understand the device and were just delivering a roadblock concocted by their handlers. Father Luke proposed a compromise, probably worked out before by Saint Peter.

  We would set up the Fabricator here, at the weigh station. The doctors could communicate specs remotely and the quarantine motor pool would deliver the final products to our lab in the zone. This proposal required our under informed officials to scurry back to the communications trailer and ask for direction. Saint Peter would no doubt back track that communication. We would hear about it later, when secure uplink was available.

  The officials came back with furrowed eyebrows, a common look after close contact with superiors. We could set it up, but they wanted to deliver to the nearest church in the zone, transport to the lab was our responsibility. They would also review our specs before feeding them to the Fabricator. Father Luke readily agreed. The revisions were probably expected. So we had our expected hijacking by Security forces. Organized crime had not yet appeared, but the day was young. After a few hours setting up the fabricator and communications protocols, our convoy rolled out to the southbound road.

  A sandbag barricade marked the official entrance to the zone. Heavy weapons and concrete vehicle traps watched by field soldiers. They didn’t bother to talk to us, just shifted open lanes for a zigzag navigation of the defenses. It was a professional post. Made me wonder what they had waiting for foot traffic around the perimeter.

  The road beyond was made of gravel chips. They pinged off the vehicles like hail. We began making a dust trail, increasing our signature. I asked Tsuiso-Dan to slow us down a little, out of concern for our fragile cargo. A few minutes conversation on the Driver net slowed the convoy and reduced our dust marker.

  The outer ring of the quarantine zone was composed of local farmers and ranchers who had the misfortune of having Christian neighbors. Guilt by association would make them irritable. It would also make them likely to spy and less likely to cooperate. I looked at each passing homestead with a tactical eye.

  It was the economics that I should have noticed. These people were going to lose their homes soon. We were driving by with expensive medical supplies that could be resold without a lot of risk. When the Driver net crackled to life with reports of trucks behind us, I took a moment to consider their motivations. They would be amateur opportunists. They would know the neighbors on all sides of us and have the ability to rally them for a quick score. They would have hunting weapons but little experience turning them on people. It was a desperation move.

  Tsuiso-Dan surprised me from my considerations. He fired back commands to the Driver net that accelerated the convoy. The doctor bus was rapidly opening distance from us. It was the right move. We needed to get past the local hue and cry before they could block the road. The lorry began to feel like a fast boat skimming over waves. I could feel traction being lost on bumps and dips. Tsuiso-Dan seemed utterly focused. I would not break his concentration by screaming like a little girl, but it was really tempting. A curve approached ahead and he did not slow down. When I felt the lorry slide into a ten wheel drift with us sideways across both lanes, I think I may have squeaked a little. The articulating trailer began trying to pass us on the right. Out the driver’s side window I could see the next lorry behind in the same sideways slide. I grabbed handholds and planted my feet for the inevitable rolling jackknife. Instead, a burst of acceleration pulled us straight as the curve ended. I abruptly started breathing again.

  Tsuiso-Dan turned his head slightly and gave me a crooked smile. I sketched a seated bow and called him "Sensei." His grin widened. He tapped the GPS screen and stretched his thumb and middle finger apart. I could see the convoy was stretching out. We also had three red dots behind us. They were just behind the last lorry but couldn’t seem to pass. Etienne was in that lorry. I risked opening a feed to see what was happening.

  Etienne was looking in the side mirror at a farm truck full of men. They were struggling to pass on the right, but the lorry drifted over and I lost sight of them. Etienne looked forward at the back of the next lorry. It was entering the curve I had just passed. I saw it start to drift as we had, and then the feed began jerking as Etienne wildly looked around the inside of the cab and grabbed handholds. I heard him choke out a sound that I would guess was "Merde", then the perspective skewed sideways as the G forces pushed him against the door. I got a quick look out the driver’s window of three trucks in a cloud of dust. They seem to have lost ground. A couple flashes looked like gunfire, but the lorry straightened back out and I lost sight of them again.

  It seemed a stern chase would not work for our opportunists. They could shoot up the back of the tail lorry, but could not advanc
e or hit anything vital without a lot of luck. The men in the back of the trucks had to be taking a good beating. If Tsuiso-Dan was any indication, these drivers could use their large lorries as weapons against the trucks if they were so inclined. That meant the real threat was forward. If they could roadblock us or follow all the way to our destination, the Lorries would lose their advantage. We were still mostly unarmed.

  I opened a link to Father Luke. He needed to alert the Christians. There was a high speed train chased by robbers coming in. We needed clear roads and circled wagons to run to. All hunters would be welcome to attend. Father said he would see what could be done. I checked in with Rafe. He rode with our toys, two Lorries back. He said he couldn’t get at much without stopping, but Etienne had thirty meters of disappearing monowire in his hat. If I needed it, Rafe volunteered that he had a binary grenade. That was a ding, we had said no explosives on entry.

  Rafe tended to be a very defensive Templar. Part of his mortality conflict with the church. They said he had to come back in his body or become a Zimboe. He loved his wife, Claire, who understood those Zimboe sentiments. He could lose something dear if he Transferred. It made him more crafty than ferocious. I was dinging him a lot lately for non-inventory hardware. He said he felt naked without tools on a psych interview. I was glad Saint Peter never did much with the dings, I think he may have understood, in his way. Rafe is still good troop, just a question of style.

  A binary grenade is two different innocuous chemicals that are combined in an expedient container and triggered. Rafe favored hand cleanser and sun block bottles. They were very hard to detect. They even smelled right. He would need to find a container to concentrate the explosion. I don’t think he brought a paint can full of tacks in his luggage. At least, I didn’t see it. I told him to think tactics and get back to me with a plan.

  Etienne was still gyrating around the cab when I switched back to him. His tail driver was swaying the trailer all over the lanes to keep the trucks off. I rated his ability to throw wire at about nil. I could hear popping noises in the cab, like very large gravel chips. The rear mirrors showed flashes from the trucks. The driver’s mirror had a cracked hole. These little trucks were better on the straight ways. The tail lorry was going to lose a wheel fairly soon at this rate.

  I looked ahead at the route. At our rate of travel, we were still thirty minutes from a Christian retail center. Retail centers make good rally points. They are usually centrally located and have some oversized buildings. The roads are kept up. I asked Saint Peter for photogrammetry of the route. The terrain imagery gave me a tight curve with a small hill and a grove of trees on the inside, just about ten klicks ahead. I looked at angles and scales. I offered a plan to Saint Peter. He simulated it probably a hundred times before showing me a football diagram of correct procedure.

  We were three klicks away when I asked Tsuiso-Dan to change leads as everybody came to the curve. He gave me an odd look, like his dog had learned to talk. When I asked him to slow the leads to twenty kph around the upcoming curve, I had to tell him it was time to do my "Roadie" thing. I would be getting off. But tell the last lorry to expect me to drop by. He cast some doubts about my sanity, in a barking Japanese tone. I just put my shoulder to the door and got a good grip on the release. After a moment, he gave me that crooked grin again. He could see I was serious. The Driver net boiled over in a lot of odd Japanese slang. I couldn’t follow it, but their voices were growls. Tsuiso-Dan barked some more instructions and told me to get ready.

  The feed from Rafe showed him pushed against the door and looking intently forward. He was ready. The curve came up fast, Tsuiso-Dan did a little control dance and the ten wheels started braking hard. His partner flew by us in the outside lane while I pushed my door open and got onto the easy step. I picked a path in front of me and hit the ground running flat out. It wasn’t pretty, but I didn’t fall, just changed my path up the hill to the best tree from the simulation. It was a conifer, about twenty five meters tall and at the lead edge of the hill. I got out my trusty flashlight.

  Concealed in the cap threads of the flashlight was three meters of monowire, securely mounted to the light and the cap. Monowire is so sharp, it is almost invisible. The Japanese created a weapon called a Katana Guri just like this. When you spin the wire in a disc over your head, it gives off a greenish shimmer. It will also cut through steel with enough momentum. Most Katana Guri practitioners are missing limbs at some time during their careers. It is such a clean cut that parts can be rebonded, if you have a good health plan and an intact spine.

  For my purposes, the Katana Guri flashlight was an excellent saw. I flicked the line out and around the tree, high up on the trunk. I carefully grasped the cap end, now hanging from a slit in the tree and started pulling down and sawing. Soon there was a downward slash cut almost half way through the trunk. I stepped around to the front and carefully grasped the cap end again, pulling the wire upward out of the cut. Now I pushed the wire lower, on an intercept to the first cut, working it in about a third of the trunk. Letting go of the cap, I pulled the wire until the cap rested on the trunk and walked back around the tree to the cap side. The last part was just pulling a lanyard. The tree snapped, kicked back and fell forward down the hill. I carefully rolled up my wire and stepped forward to look over the crest.

  The tree came to a rest with the snapped trunk faced up the hill, like it was standing on its head. I saw two Lorries coming around the curve. Rafe came running out of the slow one. I slid down the hill to the broken trunk and planted my feet against it. My back pushed against the hill and I labored like Atlas to straighten out, pushing the trunk a little way from the slope. Rafe ran up to the gap and stuffed a duct taped bundle into it. He stepped quickly away and I let the tree lean back on the hill, compressing his grenade. We both turned down the hill and ran. We didn’t want to miss our ride. Rafe shouted, "You’ve got the ball." I guessed he was talking to Etienne or wanted to let me know to catch our ride first. Rafe loved to multitask a conversation, like he was charged by the letter.

  The last two Lorries were side by side and rolling slow. Etienne was in the outside lane, looking up at the tree. The truck robbers were fairly close, popping off shots and looking for a wide shoulder to get around. The fast braking by the Lorries had confused them. Their drivers had to slam on the brakes and most shots went low. It looked for a moment that they would rear end the Lorries. Etienne triggered the grenade.

  The tree showered splinters into the air and tipped quickly away from the hill, over the road. The trunk hit the back edge of the outside Lorry and rolled off into the following trucks. It was a pretty good shot. I suspect Saint Peter might have been helping Etienne along. The trucks had some immediate collisions with tree and each other. Men flew out of the beds. They were lucky it was only at running speeds. I couldn’t watch much more because my ride was leaving. By the time I caught up and climbed in the cab, I was too out of breath to say hello to my new driver. He didn’t have a lot to say either, just stared at me with one eye. Rafe banged on the door window and I slid over to make room. For a while, we just panted. The air conditioning felt good.

  ****