The flat-bottomed boat skimmed quickly and almost silently along the waterway. "This is how the rebels travel around the swamps," said the boatman, whose name was Hansen. "They kin duck back in these here bayous quicker than a nutria jumpin' off the bank."

            "I can see how they'd be tough to catch," said Armstrong. "These waterways all look the same to me-I don't see how anybody would ever find their way without GPS." Raised on a high-tech world, he took the benefits of a full satellite network for granted.

            "GPS-huh!" said Hansen. He spat in the water. "Genuine Piece of Shit, you ask me. Maybe that stuff can tell you where you at on a map, but that don't mean you gonna find your way anywhere else. The swamp keep a-changin', and if the map don't show the change, GPS can't help none. You better off havin' a local boy out on your skiff."

            "Maybe so," said Armstrong, with a tight-Tipped smile. "But relying on locals works until the locals decide they're on the other guy's side-no offense, but it happens too often to ignore. If you wanted to, I bet you could get me so lost I'd never come back out. GPS gives me a chance-though I'd give a lot to have a few more sats up there."

            "Something up ahead," said Tusk-anini, pointing over the bow. There was an opening in the trees, and through it those on the boat could see a structure of some sort.

            "Stand ready for action," said Armstrong, and the legionnaires took their equipment in hand and looked ahead at their destination-or had it been designated as a target, now? They'd know when Armstrong spoke.

            "That's jes' Bobby Czerny's place, nothin' we got to worry about," said the boatman. "Ol' Bobby sells a little food, a little bait, a little fuel, a little hooch-money or trade, he don't care what he sells or who he sells it to, long as he gets by. Don't need no artillery here."

            "We don't usually get worried," said Super-Gnat, who was carrying a Rolling Thunder automatic shotgun that looked bigger than she was. She grinned. "But somebody took a potshot at the captain when we landed, and now the looie thinks he's a prisoner. So maybe we do need the artillery, y'know? If we have to use it, you get down flat and stay out of the way."

            "Assumin' we don't capsize from the first shot, I reckon I'll do jes' that," said Hansen. "You folks better be careful with them big of guns-these here flatboats flip right over, you start to skip around on deck. A warnin' to the wise."

            "We hear you," said Armstrong. "Everyone make sure you have a steady position if you need to fire. Closing on target."

            The legionnaires spread out around the little boat, trying to distribute their weight equally. Most crouched down, or lay prone on the deck, to reduce the target they offered any hostile observer-and not incidentally, to lower their centers of gravity. The pilot, taking Gnat's advice, flattened himself under the tiller. And so, as the boat pulled around a bend in the waterway, Armstrong was the only one standing upright.

            That was when the trouble started.