Villagers at the gate

Smash. Shards of glass everywhere.

โ€œEnough, I quit!โ€ yelled Marcus, our most valuable developer.

Weโ€™d been expecting trouble but not a bottle through the window. At least it wasnโ€™t a Molotov.

โ€œListen up everybody, you too Marcus. Weโ€™re less than twelve hours from having this done. Then you can go home to your families, I can go back to base.โ€

Not much of a rally cry. But maybe enough.

I felt for them, I really did. Weโ€™d been holed up and kept in the dark for days, literally, as we patched the network software.

But the villagers knew we were here, and they mistrusted us. I blamed the idiot who paraded the bright bow tie as we walked in.

โ€œRex, here boy. Everyone else – keep working. Iโ€™ll patrol outside.โ€

As ferocious as the battle-scarred German Shepard looked, the team didnโ€™t know she was a softie inside. Me too. Just some techie in the wrong place, shaking inside.

I feared the villagers would see right through us.

Either way, I just had to hold them off long enough for the wireless guys to finish their thing. So I could live to tell the tale and collect the danger money.

Years later, Marcus and I were holed up in Sydney airport, frantically trying to fix the baggage handling software.

I was starting to sweat blood. Things hadnโ€™t been the same after Rex passed.

Suddenly Marcus looked up, saw my white knuckle desperation, and smiled.

โ€œAt least the villagers arenโ€™t throwing bottles this time.โ€