Starfall

by neetha Napew

  "What is there not to like?" Doc replied. "You have poured your heart and soul into this trading post. It is a good home. You have every right to be proud."

  "Built up a fine trade, too."

  "Yes."

  She seemed a little hesitant to go on, her eyes no longer quite meeting his. Tears glittered unshed.

  "What is it, dear lady?" he asked. "Have I erred in some wise that I did not notice?"

  "No," she insisted, "you did everything right. Mebbe that's the problem."

  "I seem to still have hurt you," he said. "And I never meant to do that."

  "You haven't hurt me," she said. "I'm hurting myself. You've stirred up a lot of emotion in me in one afternoon."

  "Is there something I can do?"

  She looked at him, lying naked on top of the bedsheets that were twisted around them both. "Have you ever thought of settling down?" she asked.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  "Somebody's coming, lover."

  Ryan woke at once from the semidrowse he'd dropped into after bathing, his fist coiling around the butt of the SIG-Sauer blaster lying across his stomach. "Who? Sec man or one of the traders?"

  "Looks like a scavenger," Krysty said.

  Rolling to his feet, Ryan gazed through the hayloft where he and Krysty had retired to when he'd finished his bath. He was dressed in new clothes, feeling better in some re­spects than he had in weeks. If only Krysty hadn't had a dead woman lodged in her brain and they hadn't been trapped at the trading post by the coming storm.

  The temperature had cooled off, and darkness had swad­dled the countryside, damping the light like a candle censer. Only a few lanterns burned around the trading post, pro­viding bare trails to those who knew the grounds intimately.

  Ryan spotted the man approaching the barn easily enough because the scavenger carried a lantern. The glow­ing bubble of light was turned down, not giving away much. The man also carried a double-barreled shotgun in his other hand. He came to a stop some twenty feet from the barn.

  "Hello, the barn," the man called out.

  "What do you want?" Ryan asked. He stood at the edge of the hayloft opening.

  "Dinner's about to hit the table," the man replied. "Annie wanted me to let you know you should get yourself up to the main house."

  "What if we don't feel like coming?"

  The man shrugged, the response magnified by the bob­bing oil lantern. "Don't know. Don't care. Want me to tell her you're not coming?"

  "We can't stay here, lover," Krysty said quietly. "It'd be best to play along since we're here."

  Ryan knew that, and he admitted he was also curious about the baron who was staying at the trading post. "Tell her we're coming," he yelled back.

  "Make up your fucking mind," the man snarled, then turned and walked back to the main house.

  "J.B.," Ryan called out, knowing the Armorer would be up and around.

  "Yeah."

  "Elmore and Morse go with us. The others can stay be­hind if they want." Ryan helped Krysty to her feet, feeling the weakness in her. "Do you feel like going?"

  "More than staying here," she replied. "I don't want to be left by myself, lover, because I'm not really by myself right now. I don't know what Phlorin's capable of."

  "We'll only stay as long as we have to. Then we're gone come hell or high water."

  "Good enough."

  RYAN SURVEYED the heavily laden tables in the banquet room. The room wasn't all that fancy. Folding tables were surrounded by folding chairs, not all of them in good shape. Some effort had been spent to spruce everything up, cloths put over the tables and fresh-cut flowers in plastic vases.

  But the food almost stunned Ryan.

  It was hard remembering back to when he'd seen so many different kinds of foods, and so much of it. A whole pig stretched out across one folding table all by itself. Long roasting had burned the skin black in places, causing it to crack and peel and glisten with the released fats and oils. An apple lodged its jaws open, revealing long yellow teeth. On the tables around it were platters with turkeys and chickens, venison and beef. Vegetables garnished them and filled other large bowls. Soups steamed in tureens along with gravies.

  "You people grab chairs and sit where you're able," a big sec man with a burn scar on his neck said. He wore his dark hair cut short, looking like brush. "Baron Shaker's feeling generous tonight."

  Ryan recognized the baron's name at once as the man who'd sent the riders into Idaho Falls after Elmore. "Baron Shaker's here?"

  The big man's eyes narrowed. "You know Baron Sha­ker?" A line of men formed behind him, their hands on their blasters.

  "Heard of him," Ryan acknowledged.

  "You people outlanders?"

  "Travelers," Ryan corrected. Outlanders was an ac­cepted term, but in a lot of places in Deathlands it was synonymous with enemy.

  "What are you doing here?"

  "They are here at my request," Annie's voice rang out. She swept through the line of sec men with Max plowing the way ahead of her. Judging from the sec men's obvious haste, Max had proved his prowess to them. "You'll do well to treat them kindly, Loomis, because they're my guests before they're in any way responsible to the baron." What surprised Ryan even more was Doc walking into their midst with the woman on his arm. The old man had a well-relaxed air about him, and looked like a dandy in his freshly cleaned frock coat and new shirt and pants.

  "Baron Shaker's welfare—" Loomis began.

  "Is completely dependent on my generosity tonight," Annie stated. "Unless you'd rather take your chances out there in the chem storm that's brewing."

  Loomis's eyes hardened as he turned to face the smaller woman. "Mebbe you need to remember that we'll fucking well stay here if we want. Got more blasters here than any of your people."

  Before Loomis had time to blink, Annie whipped out a snub-nosed S&W .38 Airweight Bodyguard blaster and set­tled it between his eyes. Her finger was tight on the trigger. Since it was hammerless, there was no indication how much pressure she'd put on the trigger.

  "This is my house, you arrogant, stupe bastard," Annie said, her voice raw with emotion. "I built it from the ground up, poured my blood and sweat into it, and no fuck­ing man's going to come in here and even think about telling me what I'm gonna do or not gonna do under my own roof."

  Loomis's eyes focused on the Airweight's barrel.

  Ryan took a step to the right, noticing J.B. was auto­matically going to the left to balance out their firezone. However it went, he was ready to back the woman's play.

  Doc grinned widely.

  "What the fuck you grinning at, you old turd?" Loomis demanded. But the effort didn't come across very well with the blaster centered on his big nose.

  "My dear chap," Doc said blithely, "I find myself amused at the circumstance you find yourself in. Combating an abbreviated blaster with a deviated septum is not trouble you would ordinarily beckon. Shall we say, this is not the caliber of competition that you should embark on?"

  Loomis shifted only slightly, not enough to get his feet under him, but enough to try to save face.

  Ryan felt certain that if Loomis had moved too much, Annie would have killed him then and there. The one-eyed man touched the SIG-Sauer's butt with his fingertips.

  "Loomis, you'll stand down this instant or I'll chill you myself." The voice carried over the room full of people.

  Loomis's shoulders rounded, and his weight settled more squarely on his heels. "Yes, sir," he barked.

  The crowd parted again, flowing back into place around the tall man who strode through them. Annie kept her small blaster centered on Loomis's head. The audience was mostly quiet, but Ryan heard the rumble of discord that flowed through the whispers. There was still a definite dan­ger of violence breaking out in the trading post as the two groups split between sec men and scavengers.

  Baron Shaker stood tall and broad, heavily muscled from more than day-to-day survival. His skin was dark, a bronze coloring that hinted at a mix
ed ancestry, but his hair was dark copper, curled in tight ringlets, echoed by the short beard he wore cropped close to the skin. He was dressed in a red silk shirt, tight across the trunk but loose in the sleeves, black denim pants and black riding boots that nearly went up to his knees. He was one of the youngest barons Ryan had ever seen, surely no older than his mid-twenties. But his control was never in question in the room.

  "What are you going to do?" Shaker asked Annie. He peered at her intently, arms relaxed at his sides.

  "I'm thinking about reserving a seat on the last train to the coast for this triple-bastard stupe," Annie replied. "Do you have any problems with that?"

  "None," Shaker replied without hesitation. "This man offered an effrontery to your guests without provocation."

  "And if I drop him right here?" the woman asked.

  Ryan scanned the sec men, surprised when there were no pleas for Loomis's life to be spared, or threats for the same. Shaker's control over his men was strong.

  "If you choose to drop him right here," Shaker said, "then I'll have my people drag his body out and throw it into the river."

  "Just like that?"

  "Just," Shaker said, "like that."

  Annie's breath came tightly, and Ryan knew the woman was thinking of shooting the man more than releasing him.

  "Annie," Doc said softly at her side, "shooting him would put a damper on the night's festivities. And the baron's chef has gone to great trouble to provide a repast fit for courts and kingdoms. I am thinking that being gen­erous this night might not be such a bad thing."

  "It's not in my nature to be overly generous, Theophilus," Annie told him.

  "There is an alternative punishment to chilling Loomis for his ill manners," Doc said.

  "I'm listening."

  "Send him to bed without his supper," Doc said.

  Turning to Doc at her side, Annie suddenly burst out laughing. When she got hold of herself, she said, "That's got to be the most asinine thing I've ever heard."

  "It is less messy," Doc stated, "and wouldn't hamper the appetites that surround these tables."

  Ryan also knew it would force Shaker to take an even firmer stand with his men, pushing the situation to a head between the two groups. He waited tensely.

  "Mebbe you're right," Annie said. She returned her an­gry glare to Loomis. "Get your ugly face out of here, you stupe fucker, 'cause you'll not eat at my tables tonight."

  Loomis didn't move, glancing at Shaker.

  The baron nodded toward the door.

  Like a well-heeled dog, Loomis turned and went. The other sec men jeered at him, drawing angry curses from Loomis. But he took the punishment without an unkind word to Annie or Ryan.

  "Again," Shaker said to Annie, "I offer my humblest apologies, Annie. My men are quite used to living in the rough, and they don't often acknowledge the finer behav­iors of civilization."

  Annie lowered the blaster and put it away. "Your apol­ogy's accepted, Baron Shaker. But you tell that asshole if he looks at me crossways during the time you're here, I'm going to put a bullet in both his eyes."

  "Of course," Shaker replied. "Trust me when I say that you'll never see him again."

  Annie turned to face the group. "Then what are you people waiting for? Let's eat."

  The men fell to with gusto.

  RYAN SAT at a table with the companions. Morse and Elmore sat at the far end, out of sight of Shaker and his sec men in case any of them recognized the Heimdall Foun­dation man, or Junie's captain from Idaho Falls. So far, they hadn't drawn a second glance.

  As a precaution, Ryan kept the SIG-Sauer in his left hand under the table, managing his meal with the right. J.B. kept the Uzi out of sight under the table, but he was ready to move, as well.

  Baron Shaker held court at one of the center tables. Doc and Annie were seated with him, listening to the big man's stories. He seemed to be well-read, because most of the conversation between the three of them centered on works of literature. Ryan recognized some of the names.

  "What do you get about him?" Ryan asked Krysty.

  She shook her head, and he noticed that she was only picking at her food. He couldn't remember if she'd eaten a self-heat in the barn. "Not much, lover," she answered in a whisper. "He's here for definite reasons that he feels very strongly about, but I can't fathom what they are."

  "Anybody recognize Elmore?"

  "Not that I've noticed." She looked at him, her emerald eyes threaded with red. "But I can't be sure, Ryan. Keeping Phlorin locked away in the back of my mind could be in­terfering with my gift."

  "It's okay," Ryan said. But it bothered him that she couldn't be sure. Her gift had saved them countless times, and he didn't realize how dependent they'd become on it. "Figure we'll have an early supper and leave as soon as we can."

  "I think that's best. I'd like to get some sleep if I could."

  "We'll get back under way first thing in the morning," Ryan told her. "Elmore says we should catch up to Don­ovan in four more days."

  "That won't be anytime too soon," Krysty stated.

  Ryan glanced at her plate. "Food's good. Better than we've seen in a long time. You should eat more."

  Krysty pushed at the piece of pork on her plate, running it through the red-pepper gravy and pearl onions on her plate. "I've tried, but I can't. My stomach keeps twisting around on me like it's my time of the month or some­thing."

  "Is there anything I can do?" Ryan asked.

  She touched his face. "If there was, I'd let you."

  Ryan accepted that because he had to, but it didn't set well with him. He didn't like being confronted with some­thing that needed doing and him with no way of doing it

  .

  BEFORE THE MEAL went on much longer, Annie put on en­tertainment in the form of music. A CD player was brought out, along with an electrical cord. The lantern lights were muted somewhat, but candles on the tables kept the dimin­ishing stock of foodstuffs well illuminated.

  Ryan took that moment to go for another cup of coffee sub, corralling Doc at the table where the drinks were kept.

  "You haven't been back, Doc," Ryan said. "We were getting worried about you."

  "No worries, my dear Ryan," Doc said. "I have been amply entertained by our generous hostess."

  Ryan kept his voice low so that no one else could hear. The music spilled from speakers inset in the walls of the dining room. "You could have got word to us."

  "Actually she's taken up all of my time since we got here."

  "She say anything about why Shaker's here?"

  "Not one word." Doc looked at him. "I suppose I could ask."

  "No." Ryan felt irritated. Doc clearly had lost focus on the situation they'd found themselves in at the trading post. "You remember Shaker, don't you, Doc?"

  "Clearly. He's the baron in charge of the men we crossed swords with in Idaho Falls."

  "That's right, so that means at this very minute we're squatted down feeding our faces in the camps of a potential enemy."

  "They have not recognized us."

  "Yet. That can change. And it bothers me that these people are holed up in here like Texans at the Alamo."

  "Perhaps it's only the coming chem storm."

  "And mebbe it's something else. Shaker's got a lot of men here. Take a lot to chase him inside. The other thing that's bothering me is that Annie hasn't set a price on the supplies we've taken so far."

  "Mayhap she is only being generous."

  "A person being overly generous with goods or information is a person looking to put a hand in your pocket or slit your throat when you aren't watching," Ryan replied. "That's something I've found to be true more times than not."

  "I am afraid that I have no concrete answers for you. You will have to rely on your own judgment in this matter. However, I must tell you that my own instincts are to trust her."

  Ryan filled his cup with coffee sub. "What about you, Doc? Where does Annie figure into all of this for you?"

  Doc
appeared uncomfortable, scratching at the back of his neck, which was red enough to see even in the dim light. "She has evidenced a certain interest in me."

  "No shit," Ryan said.

  "And she has asked me to stay here with her."

  "Why?"

  Doc pulled a surprised look on his face. "I gather that she somewhat fancies me."

  "And what do you fancy, Doc?"

  The old man shook his head, peering into the glass of wine he'd poured himself. "I must admit, it is a tempting offer. There are all the books she has, all the physical com­forts this place has. And she is a very handsome woman, with, ah, a certain whole-hearted enthusiasm."

  "Nobody'd blame you if you stayed," Ryan said. But be knew he'd miss the old man. Doc was one of the loyalest and truest friends he'd ever had.

  "However tempting it might be," Doc said, "I find that I must follow my heart. There is this current problem with Krysty, and I have known no true home in Deathlands ex­cept at your side. It is there that I shall stay, dear Ryan, long as we may both yet live. Or perhaps until I find a way to return to the bosom of my family."

  "Wouldn't be the same without you," Ryan told him.

  "So when you get ready to sally forth into the hinter­lands, simply let me know." Doc cut a salute with his swordstick. "I shall be at your side."

  "It'll be soon. Mebbe come morning if the storm isn't too rough."

  "Until such time," Doc said, "I shall stay with the lady as long as I can, taking and giving what comfort that I may."

  "Always heard the best comfort was the high and hard kind," Ryan said with a grin. "Frequent is good, too." He left Doc standing there, nearly glowing with rad intensity in his embarrassment.

  THE CHEM STORM BROKE at 8:15 p.m. according to Ryan's chron. It filled the air with the flash of lightning and the stink of ozone, and thunder shook the trading post's main house.

  Ryan watched the poisonous rain spill from the leaden indigo sky from a windowed room off the dining area. He had his arm around Krysty. They'd almost left the house and headed back to the barn before the storm burst loose. For the moment, they were trapped in the main house.