“I could have dug pits lined with punji sticks and covered with infected blood,” said the old man. “Or I could have positioned myself in an elevated shooting position and killed you all when you walked through the big clearing two klicks from here. Take a moment to consider that. Add to that math the fact that it would have been very easy to cut your throats while you were down here, or shoot you with this young lady’s gun. Ponder that. Ask yourself why I would do things the way I did rather than the way that would have been easier and less dangerous for me. Go ahead. Take a few minutes with that.”

No one spoke.

The old man sighed.

“I made the young lady here an offer, and I’ll share it with all of you. You can run away and not come back. I don’t hold grudges, but I am not particularly tolerant when it comes to recidivism. Or you could do something stupid now and then I will bury all of you. Or,” he said, “you can listen to what I have to say.”

Serena and Slow Dog exchanged a look. Jumper was still in a semi-daze and Nathan merely looked scared and confused. Only Trash sat there with a face that was a mask of belligerence.

“What is it you want to say?” asked Dahlia.

The old man nodded approval, as if that was the right question. “If I was another kind of person I might be motivated to judge you solely on your actions. Based on that, I might regard you as below average in terms of intelligence gathering and mission planning. Your actual skill level, as measured by your attempt to execute your plan, leaves quite a lot to be desired. It’s amateurish and naïve. Also, it speaks to a neo-militancy likely borne from fear and lack of any kind of long-term strategic thinking. Nod if you’re following me.”

After a moment Dahlia nodded. Slow Dog did, too. None of the others responded.

“Had you been better at this, you would likely be more seriously injured or possibly dead. Depending on how difficult you made it.”

“Fuck you,” grumbled Trash, but there was very little power in it.

“Shut up, Trash,” said Dahlia quickly. Anger flared in his eyes, but he didn’t say anything.

“What you should have done was try to parlay first,” said the old man. “You could have come here under some kind of flag of truce, and even perhaps offered an apology—though for the record, I don’t require them.”

Dahlia licked her dry lips, tasted blood and dirt and dragged a forearm across her mouth.

“You could have had your fighters in reserve if the parlay went south on you. That’s sensible. I could have admired that, and I would have responded to courtesy.”

“How do we know we could trust you?” asked Serena.