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Finally, on the last evening in Ginzin, they camped as best they could, all
strung out up and down the beach, and watched the sun slowly set. He sat
there, idly watching the play of sunlight on the rolling waves, although the
sun was setting behind him and would be gone before it truly set, when he
thought he saw something out there. He stared into the gather-ing gloom,
trying to make it out. A ship there was a ship out there! Waynir was
high-tech, and he could see the billowing smoke from belching stacks as the
great craft steamed onward to the northwest. It seemed oddly near to shore,
though, taking something of a risk; there were reefs and shoals hidden in the
shal-lows here, a product of lava flows from Ginzin reach-ing the sea and then
being covered with coral and other sea creatures. He reached for his field
glasses, gogglelike affairs specially built for his strange eyes. They were
effective.
He watched as long as the light permitted him, watched as the mystery ship,
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without cutting steam, lowered a small boat, which headed in toward the beach.
Suspicious of the whole thing, Marquoz notified the guard to put everyone on
alert. Here, in a non-tech hex, backs to the sea on one side and the volcanic
cliffs on the other, would be the perfect place to at-tack.
They watched and waited warily as the small boat approached. Finally, it came
in and two dark figures jumped out and pulled it up on what passed for a
beach. The only other member of the boat party waited, then got up and jumped
down into the shallow water. He shook hands with the other two who looked,
Marquoz saw, like Type 41 humans and then as the other two pushed off and
jumped in, the pas-senger made his way up to the waiting force, which visibly
relaxed now.
He heard the humans in his own party gasp as they recognized the figure, and
for the first time he felt a bit better about this whole thing. He walked down
to meet the figure.
"Welcome to the war, ah, Brazil," he called out.
The figure stopped, staring for a moment at the huge, looming creature only
half-visible in the dark-ness, its red eyes blazing. "That you, Marquoz?" he
called.
"Yeah, it's me," he replied. "Come ahead. We were beginning to give up on
you."
All fires had been extinguished on the sound of the alert, but now they were
being restoked. He stepped up to the nearest one, shivered slightly in the
slight chill, and nodded in satisfaction.
He was dressed in a pea-green tunic and trousers and wore sandals. His hair
was extremely long, down past his shoulders, and he looked slightly
weather-beaten and somewhat older than Marquoz remem-bered but, then, he'd
been here awhile.
Marquoz guessed that the real Brazil probably looked exactly like this one,
even to the clothing.
"Any problems?" Brazil asked casually.
"Nothing we couldn't handle," Marquoz told him. "You wouldn't like Glathriel.
It's pretty unpleasant.
Plantation slavery. But, still, we got through without a shot fired, much to
the disappointment of some of the boys. I'll give you a rundown later."
Brazil nodded. "Well, we'll have a fight now. If I were the opposition, I'd
try and get a force in between ours and Mavra's before we can link up. Might
be hairy if we can't make time."
Marquoz stared at him suspiciously. For a mo-ment he found himself wondering,
wondering if this was, indeed, Gypsy. The mannerisms, the tone and accent,
they were all consistent with Brazil. Could it be . . .
?
And then Brazil reached into his tunic and pulled out a cigarette, reached
down for an ember and lit it.
Marquoz felt better.
Brazil made a face as he inhaled. "Local stuff," he muttered grumpily. "Almost
all cigar and pipe to-bacco. Not really good for cigarettes."
"We all have to make sacrifices in war," Marquoz responded with mock sympathy.
At that moment the humans in the party could not be restrained and started
running for the small figure by the fire. He looked up at the commotion, his
face a mixture of shock and revulsion.
They prostrated themselves before him and cried out, "Nathan Brazil! Master!
We are your servants!
Speak and we shall obey!"
He looked at them, a whole range of conflicting emotions passing across his
face. Finally he went up to the leading humans.
"Look up at me," he said softly, and they did.
He studied their young faces and forms thoughtfully. Finally he said, almost
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