Justin felt his body stiffen. No, not the villagers. He watched the other's eyes, noted where they paused. Moff was looking at the guards.
He was counting the Cobras.
Of course. It was the same trick, turned inside-out, that he'd used to view the
Dewdrop's interior when Joshua and York were allowed back inside. Of the thirty
Cobras in the village, Justin guessed about twenty were guarding the two groups of civilians-an absurdly small number for three thousand people, even given
Cobra abilities. Moff had surely noticed that, and would just as surely conclude that the total number of Cobras wasn't much higher than the number visible.
Or, in other words, that the gleaner-team was a sitting target. Which implied... what?
Justin didn't know; but the others needed this information right away. Pressing his mike surreptitiously against his lips, he began to whisper.
York shook his head, eyes hard on the display before him. "No helicopter movement I can see," he told Telek. "You sure Moff's gadget isn't just recording?"
"We've found the transmission band it's using," she said tightly. "What about other aircraft? You said some fixed-wing craft had appeared on the Sollas airfield."
"They're still there. Almo still says no trouble at outrider-one's blockade?"
"Not unless they're sneaking troops in a wide circle around the area to head south on foot." Telek's image shook its head. "You think they're just waiting until we're clear of the village?"
York opened his mouth... and paused as a new thought struck him. "Tell me, does
Moff seem to know his way around the village?"
"I'm sure they've got maps of the place in Sollas, yes," she said dryly.
"Right. Now tell me where there's enough room in the village for a landing shuttle."
"Why-" Telek broke off. "The area by the gate, and the two areas where we've got the villagers."
"And Moff's seen all three," York nodded grimly. "So he's now just confirmed what the helicopters last night probably reported: the gleaner-team has no ship standing close enough for a quick escape."
Telek let out a long, shuddering breath. "Damn. Damn, and damn again. No wonder he's not in any hurry to attack. He wants another crack at a starship, and he wants his task force in reasonable combat shape when it shows up. Hence the cease-fire. Captain, what's our best possible time to the village?"
"From here, no less than thirty minutes," Shepherd's voice came on. "The ship's not designed for extended high-speed atmospheric flight."
"Half an hour," York snorted. "We could drop down and reach them faster than that."
"Except that there's no way you could stuff the fifty people from gleaner and outrider-one aboard and still lift," Telek growled. "Well, gentlemen, we'd better figure something out, and fast. Our best chance at a diversion's due to hit the village in just under forty minutes now. Gleaner-team has to get out then."
Or, York added silently, they might not get out at all. Gnawing at the inside of his cheek, he stared at the display and tried to think.
The Cobra at the mayoral building's entrance stepped aside as Moff and Justin came up. "They're waiting in the first office on your left," he said, pulling open the door for them. Out of Moff's sight as the Qasaman passed, his hand made a quick brushing motion: the code sign for stay back. Justin nodded and drifted an extra half step behind Moff as they went to the office the guard had indicated. The door was open, and as they walked in Justin saw there were two men waiting for them: Winward and gleaner-team's head psychologist, Dr.
McKinley. Both were standing in front of the room's low desk, and both looked vaguely tense.
"Good day, Moff," Winward nodded. "We've never actually met, but I've heard a great deal about you."
"And I you," Moff replied coolly. "You're the demon warrior who couldn't be killed. Or so it's said."
"Not by treachery, at any rate," Winward said, his tone chilling to match
Moff's. "You'll note we treated your flag of truce more honorably."
"You speak of honor-"
"I speak of many things," Winward cut him off. "But before I do, I'd like to ask you to put your mojo in the next room."
Moff's back stiffened visibly. "So that I'll be totally defenseless before you?"
"Don't be ridiculous. If I wanted to harm you, both you and your damned bird would be stretched out on the floor there. You know that as well as I do. I'll ask you only once more."
"My mojo stays with me."
Winward sighed. "All right, have it your way." Reaching to the desk behind him, he scooped up a short-barreled, stockless rifle lying there and brought it to bear. With a screech the mojo leaped-
And shrieked again as the flash net caught it square across the beak.
"Here, Justin, put these in the next office," Winward said tiredly, handing the younger Cobra the immobilized bird and the net gun. "They don't show much capacity for learning, do they?" he remarked to Moff.
Moff's reply was lost to Justin as he deposited his charges next door; but by the time he returned Winward was speaking again. "Well, no matter. We have a pretty good idea of what the mojos do for you, and it's clear enough that if it comes to a full-fledged war we'll win easily."
"Because you cannot die?" Moff snorted. "Some may believe that; I don't. No demon protects you-or splits one mind into two men-" he added, throwing a baleful glare at Justin. "Your magic is simply science we have forgotten, and it will work as well for us when we've learned how it's done."
"Possibly," Winward shrugged. "But it's rather academic, because to learn how our magic works you'll need to kill some of us... and I doubt very much that your mojos will let you fight us face to face anymore."
Moff's mouth opened, but whatever he'd been planning to say apparently died on his lips. "What do you mean, won't let us fight?" he asked cautiously.
McKinley shook his head. "It's no use pretending, Moff. We've been taking data for less than two days and we already know how the mojos dangle you around like puppets. You've had three hundred years to study them-surely you know at least as much as we do."
"Puppets, you say." Moff's lip curled. "You understand nothing."
"Oh?" Winward said. "Then enlighten us."
Moff glared at him but remained silent. "The details don't matter," McKinley shrugged. "What matters is that the mojos have a vested interest in keeping their hunters-that's you-alive, and that they possess enough telepathic ability to back up their wishes. If they think you don't have a chance against us, they won't let you fight." He waved a hand. "The reactions toward us here in the village are all the proof we need."
"Oh, are they?" Moff spat. He seemed to be rapidly losing control, Justin noted uneasily. Were McKinley's assertions really so hard for him to take? Or was this perhaps simply the first waking moment Moff had had in years without a mojo by his side? A mojo keeping his human aggression under control.... "Then what do you say about the fighters waiting to sweep down on you twenty kilometers north of here? Are they unable to fight?" He jabbed a finger at McKinley. "The villagers have a fear of you based on superstition-our fighters aren't so handicapped. And once we've proved you can be beaten-as we will within hours-the fear the mojos sense and are paralyzing them with will be gone. The next time you return, you'll find a world united to oppose you."
"You don't think the mojos will try and save your lives?" McKinley asked.
Moff smiled thinly. "They will protect us, certainly-by tearing the flesh from your bones in battle. This conversation is at an end."
Winward and McKinley exchanged glances, and the latter nodded fractionally. "All right, if that's the way you want it," Winward said. "We'll be out of your way within those few hours you mentioned; and if we're lucky, we won't have to come back."