Good enough, boy. Keedair contacted the slaver ships in their wake. Just like plucking fruit from a nobleman's garden.
 
The marsh village did not look substantial. The round huts were made of reeds and mud, fused with some sort of plastic cement. A few antennas, mirrors, and wind collectors hung between them, although the Buddislamics used little sophisticated technology. He doubted the harvest from this single village would fill the holds, but he was always optimistic. Business had been good lately! I knew what I was going to do, but I wanted another hard fact to buttress all the logical What if's that were stacking up inside me.