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"I didn't miss your performance this morning. I just watched it from the Wildcat side. I was checking out these camps. There's some bad blood between these, um, tribes."
"You've made it worse?" Valentine asked.
"Of course. We might want to shift a little more to the west. When it got dark I offed a couple of the Wildcats and left a note warning them not to use Grogs in any future contests. They were already stirred up because someone got shot when they captured those Bulletproofs. When they see what I did to the bodies it ought to put them over the edge. A lot of their riders were upset that they let it go with just a contest. This should put them right over the edge."
Ahn-Kha sent a cascade of buttons down the side of the rock and bowed to Bee. He got up and went over to the wrapping for his oversized gun.
Valentine rose and looked across to the ridge with the Wildcat campfires. Had some of them gone out? He should have counted. Captain Le Havre would have taken a piece out of his ass for that kind of sloppiness. He picked up his U-gun.
"Wait here," Valentine said. "If shooting starts, let's meet at the creek we crossed just before we turned in here."
"Val, what are you doing?" Duvalier said.
"I'm going to warn them."
"Why? The Bulletproof will probably win; there're more of them. It'll get a good war started between these assholes."
"There are kids all over the place."
"Nits make lice, Val," Duvalier said.
"Is that who you really are?" Valentine asked.
"Whose side are you on, Ghost?" she called after him. "I know the answer: your ego's."
Valentine hurried up to the barn, the new leather pants creaking as he trotted. His ankle hurt, but seconds might count.
"Yes, you look fine in your leathers, Bulletproof," a woman called from the door of the barn. The party was still in full cry, and Zak and Tikka were stomping the concrete with bootheel and toe in syncopation, another quarrel forgotten. Valentine ignored his greeter and went straight for the Dispatcher.
The crowd parted, alarmed at the U-gun. Valentine carefully carried it pointed down, his hand well away from the trigger area. Zak stepped in at his rifle arm. "Dave, there's no need-"
"Watch that weapon, David," the Dispatcher said. "What's going on? Pants too tight and you're looking for the tailor?"
A few laughed.
"Dispatcher," Valentine said. "Our Grogs were down looking at the contest field. They went off to some bushes to-you know-"
"And?" the Dispatcher asked.
"They saw the Wildcats. Some of them on their worms, armed, others gathering."
"Coming this way?" the Dispatcher asked.
"The Grogs just ran back. Armed riders is all I know."
The Dispatcher upended his glass of bourbon onto the concrete. "Carpenter, get to the herd riders, have them try to lead the wild worms west. Mother Shaw, take the children out to the cover-field. Everyone else who can shoulder a gun, get to the rein-worms. Lead riders Mandvi, French, Cherniawsky and McGee, with me. David, you and your people with Zak; Zak, get them clear."
"You might see some fancy riding after all," Tikka said.
The crowd dissolved, and the musicians cased their instruments, if not sober at least sobered.
Zak brought Valentine to his legworm at the road trough. Other riders were climbing on board, bawling orders to the teenage boys watching the mounts-
-when a rocket cut across the sky, leaving a sparking trail. It exploded overhead with a BOOM that rattled Valentine's bones.
The legworm reared but Zak settled it.
Zak extended a hand, but Valentine found that with the hooks and spikes in his costume, climbing the side of the legworm was possible without assistance, as long as another shell didn't fire.
