Jonnie stood in the drenching rain and looked at the platform of the ancient, wrecked flatbed.
Here within the last two or three days or perhaps only hours ago stood three bound human beings: two old Brigante women and one young Scot, waiting for the Psychlos to come out and seize them, helpless to move or escape, probably covered from behind by poison arrows and grenades. How many Bantu and Pygmies had stood in this place the same way, captured and sold by the Brigantes?
And the Psychlos had come and taken them, bought them from the one-time mercenaries with the articles now lying there. The two old women had died in agony. The fate of the Scot was unknown.
A Russian lance had gingerly tested the flatbed and barter goods for booby traps. If Jonnie knew Psychlos, and if they felt this t
