It had been impossible to keep the entire operation a secret from the villagers. They knew something was to happen, and they knew it concerned the inspection trip of Mayne Landing to the village. It was not hard to guess what it was.
As the day drew on toward noon, the tension of the people grew. Small knots of farmers gathered on the corners, their fields forgotten for the day, talking low.
Wolf didn't like it, it was too obvious. The village was primed, ready to explode, and he was afraid the tension would make the guards too alert. They had to be just tense enough to respond to the diversion, not enough so they would be watching everywhere. He was counting on an instinctive, rapid response.
He sat behind the tailor shop, talking to his men with a confidence and calm he did not feel. He spoke as if the success of the mission were a foregone fact, and the escape of the villagers into the hills. But he knew it was tenuous.
Perhaps he had planned it too critically. Perhaps a simple direct attack would have been better. Perhaps, perhaps—
Any number of things were possible, he thought. But it was done now. If he had made a mistake, they would know soon.
On the contraband comset behind the tailor shop, Wolf had called the mother-ship that hovered just out of detection range. All right, they confirmed, there would be a shuttle in the hills back of the town. Did he know the shuttle that had brought him had been lost? No? Well, it had. With the whole crew aboard.
That many more, thought Wolf. If anybody's keeping a list, I've got a lot to my credit. Or damnation. And, bitterly: More friends than enemies.
Don't think about it. Do your job and get the hell out. If you can.
He spoke to Daimya, but on her father's advice did not tell her of his plan to take her along.