by James Axler
“Thanks, but no thanks.”
The girl, Simka, looked disappointed.
“You’re too good to be a slave,” he told her. “My slave or anybody else’s slave, including the baron. You deserve to be free.”
She smiled at that.
“Make some other man happy,” Ryan said, gently pushing her and the man escorting her away. He began eating his food, trying to look very much as if he didn’t want to be bothered.
But after just three spoons of oatmeal, another slave slid into the seat next to him.
“You’re the one-eye, right?”
Ryan said nothing, but turned so the blond-haired teenager next to him could see his patch.
“Okay, I guess you are, then.”
Ryan took another spoon of oatmeal.
“Just want to tell you to be careful today.”
It sounded like a genuine warning.
Ryan continued eating. “Why?” he asked, staring straight ahead.
“I work in the sec men’s lounge serving meals. They were all quiet this morning, like something was going down. I wanted to know what it was, so when I finished my shift I hid in one of the empty lockers.” The youth paused to take a quick glance around. “I heard one of the sec men say the baron wants you chilled.”
Ryan wanted to know the reason why, but knew it didn’t matter and made no difference to the sec men why the baron wanted him dead. “When?” he asked.
“Today sometime. Probably out in the orchards. Just be careful.”
It occurred to Ryan that this might be some sort of trap being set by a group of slaves who’d been friendly to Mog. “Why are you telling me this?”
“You were good in the circle yesterday, and you chilled Richmond and Salazar. I hated those two sec bastards and was glad to see that they got what they deserved. With those two gone, slaves won’t be gettin’ chilled for sport anymore. Way I see it, we all owe you somethin’ for that.”
Ryan understood. “Thanks.”
The man started to get up to leave, but Ryan caught the sleeve of his shirt and pulled him back down.
“Spread the word that something’s going to be happening soon. Something big.”
The youth turned to look at Ryan and for the first time he saw the jagged razor cut that went under the youth’s right eye, across the bridge of his nose and down his left cheek. “You gonna try breakin’ out?”
“No,” Ryan said. “More like somebody will be breaking in.”
“When?”
“Don’t know. Soon.”
The blond-haired teen with the scar nodded.
Ryan couldn’t help staring at the man’s scar. It was red and fresh and reminded him of his own scar.
“Nice, huh? That’s Salazar’s handiwork. And while he did it, Richmond watched…and laughed.”
“Thanks for the warning,” Ryan said.
“Likewise.”
Ryan finished eating his breakfast, and, seeing he was done, other slaves offered him food off their trays. Ryan took them up on their offer, not knowing when he might have another chance to eat a hot meal.
J.B. PULLED THE WAG off the road at the top of a rise that overlooked the farm. He guided the big vehicle behind a stand of trees and cut the ignition. The wag’s engine rumbled for a few more strokes, then came to a sputtering, choking stop. He wanted to try the battery to see if their short trip north had recharged it, but decided he’d find that out later when he really needed to restart the engine. No sense wasting power. Besides, if the engine didn’t turn over, they could always roll it down the hill and start the wag that way.
“Got time before dark,” Jak said, looking at his wrist chron.
“Better to be early than late,” J.B. answered.
Dean hopped off the back of the wag. “What’ll we do till the sun goes down?”
J.B. looked at Clarissa. “You find your mutie friends and let them know what’s going down tonight. And let them know that once we get inside, they can have all the food they can eat.”
Clarissa nodded and headed off.
“Jak and Dean,” J.B. summoned.
The albino teenager and the boy stepped in front of J.B.
“We’ll need to get a message to Ryan, Mildred or Krysty about our plans. Walk the perimeter of the farm and see if you can spot one of them and pass along the word. If I know Ryan, he’ll be expecting you.”
Jak and Dean turned and headed down the road toward the farm.
Alone with J.B., Doc cleared his throat. “And what might you be requiring of me, John Barrymore?”
“You’re going to help me, Doc. The wag’s still running rough, and there’s a few more things I need to do to make sure the blasters and the cannon don’t jam when we need them most.”
Doc nodded. “While I am not well versed in the mechanics of such infernal devices as this wag and those blasters, I’ll endeavor to be the best assistant armorer my limited abilities allow.”
“And I’ll need you to keep your blaster ready, in case any stray muties wander by.”
“Or if need be,” Doc continued, hardly missing a beat, “I will gladly assume the duties of sentinel, guarding against any intruders who might wish to thwart us in our quest to free the noble Ryan of Cawdor….”
J.B. merely looked at Doc for several seconds, then said, “Bring me the toolbox.”
Doc looked up, as if yanked out of a daze. “The toolbox, of course.”
The two men set to work.
RYAN COULD SEE the sec men moving into position, blocking off the exits. Several armed with longblasters were also walking the upper level that ringed the cafeteria.
He knew he didn’t have much time.
“You,” he said, calling over to a bearded man in his thirties. “Come here.”
“You want to talk to me?”
“Yeah, you.” Ryan nodded. “Come here.”
GRUNWOLD WANTED to grab the outlander as soon as possible, but they couldn’t move in on him just yet. If they singled him out in the cafeteria, that would arouse the suspicion of the other slaves. The man was, after all, their new champion, and there was no reason for him to be taken away and chilled. Doing it now would incite a riot, and that was to be avoided at all costs.
But if they waited too long, the outlander might get out into the orchards where capturing him would be much more difficult. Once a breeder named Clarissa had hidden out in the orchards for two days before sneaking into the barn and stealing their best wag right out from under their noses. This outlander was far more resourceful and dangerous than the female breeder had been, and if he got loose within the compound Grundwold might lose several sec men before he was caught.
The sec chief kept his eye on the outlander while he gave the signal to his sec men to tighten up the circle around him. If all went well, they’d wait until the slaves had finished with breakfast and were on their way out to the orchards. Sec men would escort the one-eyed man out a door leading back into the main building, and once the door was closed they’d chill him with a single bullet to his brain.
After that it would be up to the baron to explain to the slaves why their hero was suddenly dead, something Grundwold was interested in hearing himself.
Just then a fight broke out in one corner of the cafeteria.
“I’m rutting with her tonight!” someone yelled.
“She’s mine,” came the response. “I claimed her first.”
Fights between slaves over rutting with breeders wasn’t unusual, but the timing of this one seemed peculiar to Grundwold. These things usually took place at the end of the day when slaves began pairing up for the night. Another thing that wasn’t right was how many other slaves seemed to have an interest in the outcome. At most a fight involved four men, but this one seemed to involve the entire side of the cafeteria. Men and breeders were piling onto one another, trying to strike their blows against the two that had started the fight.
The cafeteria was rapidly becoming a sea of jumbled bodies. The noise was grow
ing louder, and the fight was beginning to move toward the doors.
Grunwold signaled for his men on the cafeteria floor to intervene.
Sec men moved in to break it up, but despite pulling bodies out of the fray, more were joining in. Several slaves were pushed away, falling through the exit doors that led outside. In moments streams of slaves were spilling out into the orchards, and the sec men on the floor still hadn’t gotten a handle on the fight.
The sec chief quickly scanned the cafeteria, looking for the one-eyed outlander. When the fight broke out, he’d been content to finish his breakfast as the fight stormed around him.
But now he was gone.
“Son of a gaudy slut!” the sec chief shouted.
The fight below was still going on.
Grunwold unslung his longblaster, pointed it into the middle of the jumble of bodies and pulled the trigger.
The crack of the blaster’s fire stopped the fighting.
Slaves moved back from the center of the scrap, leaving the young man who’d been caught by Grundwold’s bullet to fall to the floor in a bloody mess, half of his head blown off and splattered against the faces and bodies of those around him.
“The one-eyed outlander!” Grunwold yelled.
“Where’d he go?” a sec man asked.
The sec chief, seething in anger over the loss of the outlander, leveled his longblaster on the sec man who’d asked the question. He even toyed with the idea of pulling the trigger, but he put the weapon down, knowing he’d need every man on his force to find the man who surely had known they had intended to chill him. “He’s gone out the door, you triple-stupe bastard!”
The sec man looked out at the orchards just beyond the open door.
“Don’t just stand there,” Grundwold fumed. “Go after him. All of you! And electrify the fence, no intervals.”
The sec chief took a deep breath then, knowing it was going to be a very long day.
Fillinger came up beside Grundwold and looked down over the half-empty cafeteria. “What will we do with the other slaves?”
Grundwold slung his longblaster over his shoulder and turned to the sec man. “Get them all into their cabins and lock them down, then get every available man out in the orchards looking for the one-eye. Do whatever you have to do to make sure he’ll be chilled on sight.”
Fillinger looked confused. “It sounds like you’re putting me in charge.”
“I am, for now.”
“What are you going to be doing?”
“Someone has to tell the baron what’s happened.”
Fillinger looked grave. There was a chance he would never see the sec chief again. “Good luck.”
“Just find the son of a gaudy slut and chill him for me.”
“Yes, sir.”
MILDRED HEARD the rumble of boots outside the nursery and stuck her head out the door to find out what was going on.
A pair of sec men was coming down the stairs in a big hurry.
“What’s the matter?” she asked.
“Your friend the one-eye killed a couple of sec men during the night, and now he’s making a break for it,” the lead sec man said as he unlocked the door to the armory.
Mildred didn’t believe it. It didn’t sound like Ryan to do something like that without letting her or Krysty know about it first. “He’s no friend of mine. We just traveled together. I’m happy enough here. You sure he chilled them?”
The sec man nodded. “Fillinger told me.” He started selecting longblasters from one of the racks inside the weapons room, handing one of them to the sec man behind him.
“Where’s the coldheart now?” Mildred asked, trying to befriend the sec man with the hopes of catching him with his guard down.
“He’s out in the orchards.” The sec man put one longblaster back on the rack and selected another.
As he did, Mildred pulled a length of adhesive tape from the roll on her belt and stuck it over the bolt that locked the door to the armory. “Well, good luck finding him,” she said.
“Plenty of jack for the one who chills him,” he said, closing the armory door and locking it behind him.
“I bet you’re gonna be the man to do it.” Mildred smiled, giving him the thumbs-up.
“Thanks,” the sec man said and was gone.
“Don’t mention it,” she muttered, opening the door to the armory and slipping inside.
ONCE RYAN WAS out of the main building, he was on the run. There seemed to be plenty of commotion going on behind him, and with any luck the sec men in the cafeteria would have their hands full breaking up the fight.
When he heard a crack of blasterfire come from inside the building, Ryan knew that someone had been chilled, giving up their life so he could have the chance to slip away. Ryan swore that someone would pay.
Stretched out before him were acres and acres of orchards and gardens. There were countless rows of trees that all looked the same and provided enough leaves to create hundreds of hiding places above the ground. But the sec men would methodically check each tree until he was found.
It was better to hide closer to the main building and the complex’s cabins and barn. There were just as many places to hide. And so, instead of running into the orchards, Ryan doubled back toward the complex, climbed the ladder to the farm’s water tower and slipped inside.
Later on he would climb out of the tower and head for one of the slave cabins. They’d certainly be checked that morning, which would make them a safe place to hide in the afternoon. From there he might be able to get in touch with Mildred or Krysty, and figure out a plan of escape or learn if there’d been any word from J.B.
That was the plan for later in the day.
For now, all he could do was wait.
Chapter Thirty-Three
“Say that again,” the baron demanded.
“We were watching him in the cafeteria,” sec chief Grundwold said, “and waiting for the best time to take him because we didn’t want to make a scene so close to his victory over Mog.”
“And then…?”
“And then a fight broke out over one of the breeders. In the confusion the one-eyed outlander got out of the building.”
The baron was circling the sec chief now, like an animal going in for the kill. “Say that last part again.”
Grundwold cleared his throat. “In the confusion, the outlander got away.”
“You let him get away.”
Grundwold said nothing.
“You let him get away,” the baron repeated.
“Yes,” Grundwold said, his shoulders slumping with the words.
“So now an already dangerous man has even more reason to rally the slaves against us. He’s already their hero, but now he’s a symbol of their own imprisonment.”
Again Grundwold said nothing.
“Isn’t that right?” The baron pressed home the point.
“He won’t get away.”
“Isn’t that right?” the baron repeated, not letting the sec chief steer the conversation away from the subject of his own failing.
Grundwold lowered his head. “That’s correct, Baron.”
“If you were in my position, what would you do with such gross incompetence?”
Grundwold knew exactly what he’d do to a sec man who screwed up. He would demote him several ranks and give him the most menial job until he was aching to prove his worth again. But of course, that wasn’t even close to the way the baron would handle such things. As a result, Grundwold said nothing, knowing it was a question he couldn’t possibly answer correctly.
“You can be sure I wouldn’t send you to clean toilets,” the baron said. “That might be your style, but it’s not mine. You see, I happen to need a sec chief at the moment, more than I’ve ever needed one before. But I need a competent one.”
“Yes, Baron.”
“I believe you are a competent sec chief, Grundwold, so I’m going to give you another chance to find the one-eyed outlander.”
“Thank
you, Baron.”
“But not before I impose a suitable punishment.”
Grundwold closed his eyes, knowing that suitable punishment from the baron could be anything from a slap on the wrist to the removal of a limb.
“On your knees, Grundwold,” the baron ordered. Then he turned to Norman Bauer. “My special crop, please, Number One.”
Norman Bauer, who had been standing by impassively, went to a cupboard high up on one of the walls in the office and took out the baron’s “special crop.” It was an electric cattle prod, thicker than his usual leather crop, and was fitted with rechargeable batteries. It could administer a powerful and painful electric shock with a single touch.
Baron Fox circled the kneeling Grundwold, then touched the prod to his shoulder.
Grundwold’s body jumped as the room was suddenly bathed in the warm glow of electric blue. He groaned in pain as he tried to remain upright on his knees.
“Repeat after me… ‘I will catch the outlander.”’
“‘I will catch the outlander,’” Grundwold grunted.
Baron Fox touched the prod to Grundwold’s hip.
Grundwold’s torso jerked sideways as all the muscles on his right side contracted.
Then, as Grundwold lay on the ground struggling to catch his breath, the baron touched the prod to his thigh and watched the sec chief’s leg twitch and convulse with electricity.
The sec chief screamed in pain.
The office smelled of ozone and burning flesh.
“Say it again,” the baron said. “Louder this time, and with conviction.”
Grundwold’s words were lost in a scream.
THE MAIN BUILDING was quiet, except for someone screaming in pain in a distant part of the building. At this time of day there would be people and sec men walking the halls outside her room, and there would be sounds of the workday beginning outside.
But there was none of that this morning.
Krysty opened the door and found that there wasn’t a sec man in the hallway. The building seemed abandoned, and she sensed it had something to do with Ryan. He was somehow in mortal danger, but was at least safe for the moment.