The Slave Farm

I waited until the day burned down, then left the city and drove out onto the grasslands.

Several kilometers on, I stopped atop a vast, empty plain. Darkness lay over a flat of sand, broken only here and there by patches of grass. I looked once at the sea of stars flooding the sky overhead, then spoke to Aphago.

"This ought to be about right. Open the gate."

"Yes. It will be open in a moment."

A moment later a dimensional gate yawned open before my eyes, its mouth rippling with a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠faint silver shimmer. Maximus, who had come along at my side, and IS No. 3 both stared at it with eyes gone round. I looked at No. 3, standing there blank.

"What are you doing? You're not going in?"

"Ah! I— I will—"

"What, you want me to go through first?"

Gaia and Earth resembled each other in strange ways, but they were not the same place. There was no knowing what waited past the gate until someone stepped through, and that was why I had been careful until now. These days I had guinea pigs to spare, so there was no need for that anymore.

"Take this in with you and call back."

I pressed a radio into his hand. No. 3 swallowed dry.

"Why aren't you moving? Want a beating on the way in?"

"Ah. No, sir. No, sir."

He drew a deep breath, forced his unwilling feet forward, and pushed his body through the gate. A short while later the radio crackled to life.

Good. This is going to make the work a lot easier from here on.

"All right. What's it like over there? Anything around you?"

That'll do.

I thought for a moment, then looked at Maximus.

"You cross first. Drag No. 3 back with you."

"Yes, Master."

Steady as ever, Maximus stepped through the gate without a moment's hesitation. A short while later he returned, hauling No. 3 behind him, and made his report.

"The far side is nothing but the top of a hill. I saw no lights nearby. There is a slope, but it should be passable enough."

"Good. Then we cross."

I climbed back into the Humvee, drove it through the gate, and returned to Earth.

We had come out in the borderlands between Syria and Iraq.

ISIS was rooted in both countries, and it kept secret hideouts on either side of the line. The border in particular let them slip a fair measure of scrutiny from both governments, so they had strung a great many safehouses along it. The place we were bound for was one of those. I found the point marked on the tablet and drove the Humvee toward it.

Fortunately, the gate had opened onto some lonely reach of mountain where people rarely passed. The going was rough, but getting the Humvee down off the heights was no real trouble, and so I drove on through the night.

A little over an hour later we reached mountainous country on the Iraqi border.

"It is past that mountain."

Over the ridge ahead lay an ISIS secret training camp. I killed the vehicle's lights and cast.

Relying on that altered sight, I drove the Humvee up the mountain. About halfway up the slope, I stopped. Go any farther and I might be seen. I took out the zip ties and bound No. 3.

"Maximus. Watch him until I get back. If he tries anything stupid, just kill him."

"Yes."

I hadn't handed him any special weapon, but one look at that height past six foot three, the thick slabs of chest, the neck as wide as his waist, and it was plain he could kill a man barehanded without any trouble. I left the rest of it to him and crossed the mountain alone.

I went over the ridge and down the far side. Just as No. 3 had told me, I followed the line of the ridge and descended slowly. Below the mountain, tents showed, and among them buildings that looked, at a glance, like farmhouses. A fence ran around the place, and even at this late hour a man was walking the line of it. Night patrol. I had found the right spot.

Careful, I passed over the patrolman's head and rose above the farmhouse, then, trusting the invisibility, slipped inside.

The interior was considerably larger than it looked from outside. Six rooms, three or four men asleep in each — twenty in all. Three buildings like this would put the count somewhere around sixty. If No. 3 had told it straight, the instructors in charge of training would be in the house where the lights were still on. I was turning over how to take the lot of them when I looked outside and saw a truck. Cram them in there and I could haul thirty at a go.

The ones already asleep I could drop with Sleep and then tie. The ones still awake were the problem. I would have to handle them with as little noise as possible. First I went from room to room and laid the spell.

Good thing I had brought plenty of sleep rings. They had the flaw of not taking hold in a crisis, but in practice I had found few things as useful. Once I had been through the rooms, laid Sleep, and knocked them out completely, I drew zip ties from the magic pouch. Just in case. I pulled every pair of hands behind the back and bound wrists and ankles alike. If something went wrong, they would not be running off in a hurry.

Fortunately, no one came looking through the night. Whoever was awake seemed to have no interest in the sleeping trainees. I finished the first two houses that way. In the third, there were no trainees at all. No. 3 had been right.

"When things were going well, we had over a hundred trainees. These days the recruits have dried up, so at most it would be thirty to fifty."

I didn't count them one by one, but it looked to be around forty. The trainees were all secured. Time to take the ones who were left.

First, the men patrolling the houses. Nothing beat magic for keeping the noise down. I hid my shape with invisibility and closed in on one of them, a man ambling along with a rifle in his hands, and came up behind him.

Thuk.

Caught between shock and pain, the scout folded where he stood. I took two more in succession.

I had half considered using my hands. I still shrank from that, the way a line from some movie had it. They say a gun lightens the guilt, and I no longer thought that was wrong. Using the magic myself made it plain enough.

The scouts were down. I had to move. I drew an AK-47 from the magic pouch, slung it across my back, and reached into the pouch again. What came up in my grip was Allah's Magic Wand. An RPG-7. I leveled the loaded launcher at the house where the lights were on.

"First, seize the initiative."

I pulled the trigger.

Fwoooosh—!

The rocket tore away, trailing a cloud of smoke, punched a hole through the wooden porch, and went in. Then the blast hit.

KRA-KOOM!

The roof heaved with the explosion. Flames caught inside, smoke began to seep upward, and soon it was pouring out through the windows and every crack in the walls. Next came magic again.

I flung it wild all around the building. A moment later the men startled by the blast flung doors and windows open and came spilling out in a scramble. I had known the interior was chopped up by walls, so the explosion itself would be hard-pressed to do real damage. It was more than enough to throw them into a panic.

"Which bastard was that!"

"We're under attack!"

"Where!"

The men who had rushed outside hit the ice and went tumbling across the ground. Thud! Crash! Crash!! They went down one after another, bodies lifting into the air, and the ones who struck bare earth were too stunned by the impact to get their wits about them.

I sorted the men who had burst from the burning house. The ones with guns, I cut down without mercy, hosing them on full auto.

BRRRT-TAT-TAT-TAT—!!!

"Aaagh!"

"Ambush!"

"Agh!"

I sprinted at the ones who had come out empty-handed and drove kicks straight into them. Strength and Haste stacked together in a soccer kick, and the men I hit rolled across the ground like balls and blacked out. Thud! Thud! Thud-thud!

The ones who had gone out the other side pulled themselves together and came running with rifles in hand. They still could not find me, body hidden under invisibility. Look hard enough and the wrongness of it would show — but the dark lay thick over everything, and gunfire was cracking through a desperate scramble. No one had the leisure to stare into empty air.

"Where!"

"You bastards! Where are you!"

While they flailed with ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠me standing right in front of them, I raked the rifle sideways again.

TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT—!!

"Guh—!"

"Khk!"

"Where!"

Men drilled through by rifle rounds sprayed blood and collapsed. One of them, hit in the side, flung himself sideways and hid, and even through the pain he tried to make sense of what was happening.

"Fuck. Where did that shot come from. There was nothing there. Ghh—! Fuck."

He clutched the rifle, ready to let it loose if it came to that. He meant to land even a single round. Then he heard footsteps.

Step. Step. Step. Step.

The sound drew steadily nearer, and his dimming mind snapped back into focus. He trained the muzzle on the corner and waited.

Step. Step. Step.

The footsteps sounded just short of the corner. The finger on the trigger trembled, but he held his breath and waited to the very last.

Then—

Thuk!

Bang!

He never even registered the gunshot overhead. The crown of his skull was punched through, and he sprawled on the ground.

I went through every corner and finished ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠off the remnants. Once the blast and the gunfire carried, a few of the men I had knocked out woke and raised a racket. Their hands and feet were already bound, so all they earned for it was a beating.

Forty-three trainees. Six wounded among the men who had been instructors. Forty-nine in all. I strung them together, laid them out, and sent a radio call.

"Maximus. Untie No. 3 and tell him to drive over here. We're hauling this lot."

While I waited after sending it, I went into the house that was half burned down and rummaged for anything that might be information, or money. I could always put the screws to the wounded, but there might be things I could take with my own hands. I was searching the place when a board under my foot rang hollow.

Tong.

Huh.

I stamped the floor around it again. Tok. Tok. Tok. Tong. Tong-tong. Tong-tong-tong. There was empty space under here. I slung the rifle onto my back and drew a pistol. In a tight spot, this was better. I pulled the carpet aside, and on one part of the floorboards there was a handle made of cord. I gripped it and hauled upward.

Kreeeak— thud.

When I lifted the cover clear, pitch-black dark showed underneath. Thanks to Owl's Gaze, though, the inside came faintly into view.

"Why'd they pile it up like that."

I bore down on my sight and tried to make out what the things were.

"Hm. That. Hold on."

After making sure there was nothing like a booby trap nearby, I went in. The space below held cartridges and rifles, a great quantity of bullets, and RPGs as well. What caught my eye more than any of that was the goods stacked along one side. I stepped closer, picked up one of the things packed into a brick, and looked it over.

"This. How am I even supposed to deal with this."