The Mission War by Wesley Ellis

before he can finish the town—killing innocent people, raping, looting.”
    â€œAnd this you think you can do alone?” Brother Joseph asked incredulously.
    â€œAlone?” Ki looked to the fire. “No, I do not think we can do it alone. We need allies, weapons ...”
    â€œWill I do?” the voice from behind them asked. Turning, Jessica and Ki saw Diego Cardero, smiling as usual and smoking a thin cigar as usual. In his hand was a small chamois sack. “Will these help?”
    He tossed the sack to Ki who caught it and opened it with curiosity, with suspicion. Inside were his shuriken, his deadly throwing stars.
    â€œWhere did you get these?” Ki demanded.
    â€œFrom Carlos.” Cardero leaned against the wall behind him, blowing blue smoke skyward.
    Ki put the throwing stars away as Jessica stood staring at Diego Cardero who was still tilted lazily against the wall. Where had he come from? How had he gotten in and why?
    â€œNow you have weapons,” Diego said, “such as they are—I can’t understand what you do with those things myself. And you need allies. Allow me to offer my services.”
    â€œThe services of a bandit?” Jessica said.
    â€œYes, the services of a bandit,” Diego said. “Perhaps a bandit is what you need to combat a bandit.”
    â€œPerhaps.” Jessie was suspicious. Still, at some deeper, indefinable depth, she trusted Diego Cardero.
    â€œMay we ask,” Brother Joseph said, “why it is you wish to help us at all, Diego Cardero? You are Cardero, are you not?”
    Diego bowed from the neck—a small, nearly mocking gesture. “I am he. As to why, it is simple. Your enemies are mine.”
    â€œYou rode with Mono!”
    Diego shrugged and flipped his cigar away into the darkness where it fell with a shower of sparks.
    â€œI rode with him because he was a key to something I wanted.”
    â€œTo what?” Ki asked.
    â€œTo Don Alejandro. You see, Jessica, that was why I could not release you—I wanted to be there when Mono delivered you to Don Alejandro. I wanted to have a way into his confidence, a way past his gates.”
    â€œAnd then what?” she asked.
    â€œAnd then,” Cardero said, “I would have killed him.”
    â€œWhy?”
    Diego told them. “Do you know what I am? A Spaniard, no? This is not exactly true. My father was a Spanish land surveyor, my mother a Papago Indian. I had nothing as an Indian, so I decided to make my fortune with my weapons. I became a bandit. I have robbed banks and wealthy men’s haciendas. I have done many things, Jessica Starbuck, but I have never killed wantonly, never raped, never destroyed people’s homes or their means of survival. I have not been good, but I am not a man such as Mono.” Mentioning the name caused Diego’s face to harden, to set into rigid planes.
    â€œBut you rode with Mono.”
    â€œTo get to Don Alejandro. Mono is his tool. Mono has entrance to the great house. I meant to go with him. I waited for the time when we would ride to the hacienda of Don Alejandro. Waited to kill this man.”
    There was something terrible and cold in Diego’s voice. The friar shuddered a little.
    â€œWhat did he do to you?” Ki asked. “What is it that makes you want to kill Don Alejandro?”
    â€œSimply this, my mother was an Indian, as I have told you. Frail, gentle, happy. Her life was hard and she would not allow me to make it easier for her, not with stolen money. She was a Christian and a woman of honor. She grew her corn, gathered roots and berries, and lived quietly—until the slavers came.
    â€œThe slavers came and the people of her tribe resisted—not that it did them any good against the guns of Don Alejandro’s army, but they resisted. They were beaten, of course, and the young, the strong, the men were put in chains.”
    Diego Cardero lit another cigar and the