Starfall

by neetha Napew

  "Spectacular, isn't it?"

  Turning, keeping one hand on Krysty to aid her in speed if necessary, Ryan dropped his hand to the SIG-Sauer blaster and looked at the speaker.

  Baron Shaker walked into the room. Three sec men flanked him, but he waved them off as he approached Ryan.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  "I didn't catch your name," the baron said. He seemed even more imposing in the shadows, bigger and colder.

  "Didn't throw it. Name's Ryan."

  "Have you another name?"

  "Ryan'll do."

  "My name's Curtis Shaker." The big man peered through the window at the rampaging storm. "That's a hell­ish thing to be caught out in. Lucky for us, Annie's trading post is here."

  Ryan didn't say anything. Too many hard years had trained him to be silent until all the cards were on the table. Or at least as many of them as he could get a look at.

  "You came by the boat tied up at the pier below," Sha­ker said.

  "Yeah."

  "It's not your boat, though."

  "No. Hired the boat's skipper and his sons."

  "I also heard there were more people with you than just the ones at the tables inside."

  "Is that any business of yours?" Ryan asked. "Or are you just taking a census?"

  "I've always been of curious nature," the baron said, not taking any offense. But he had to check the sec men who'd stepped forward at the perceived disrespect. "Now I find myself curious about you."

  "I was always told," Ryan said, "that if a man's business extended much past his nose, he often found himself in over his head really sudden-like."

  Shaker smiled thinly. "Wise words. Under other circum­stances, mebbe I'd listen to them. But not now."

  "What is it that you want?" Krysty asked.

  "To know more about you," Shaker replied, switching his gaze briefly to the redhead.

  "We're scavengers," Krysty said.

  "Looking for what?"

  "Whatever we can find. We brought blasters in to trade with Annie."

  "So I'd heard. But in my experience, scavengers tend to hang around a certain area, mining whatever rumors and half truths they can find."

  "I'm more fiddle-footed than most," Ryan said. "But getting back to the curiosity part, you asking so many ques­tions makes me curious about you."

  Shaker spread his hands. "Why not? I'm in a magnani­mous mood. Good food and creature comforts have always brought that out in me. What do you want to know?"

  "What're you doing here?" Ryan asked. "Most barons I've heard about seem more content to stay at home than wandering the countryside. Still got a lot of rad areas around here, chem storms and muties. Why not stay at home?"

  "Because I'm a searcher, Ryan," Shaker said. He paced, but carefully remained out of the firezones necessary to his sec men. "I was brought up by a very idealistic father compared to most of the power mongers you see in Deathlands. He taught me to read, taught me a love for the history books concerning the time before the nukecaust. He was convinced that something more happened a hundred years ago than just the genocide of the world."

  The line of thinking reminded Ryan of the talks he'd had with the Heimdall Foundation people.

  "I've spent time and part of the considerable wealth my father has left me, and to which I've added, in the pursuit of certain knowledge."

  "About things before the nukecaust," Krysty said. And the way she said it let Ryan know she hadn't sensed any lies in the man's words.

  "Exactly," Shaker confirmed.

  "Don't see that it would matter one way or another," Ryan growled. "Time's going forward, not backward."

  Shaker took no offense, shrugging off the comment. "Once, when I was young, I thought in the same fashion. But I've changed my mind. Think of it, Ryan, if we could recover but a fraction of the knowledge that was lost during the nukecaust, so much could be gained."

  "By you?" Ryan asked softly.

  A fork of lightning flared outside the window, washing all the subdued color out of the darkness, illuminating the room in electric white.

  "By anyone who takes the time to learn," Shaker said. "Byrne."

  "You ever think mebbe all that knowledge was what brought about the nukecaust in the first place?" Ryan asked.

  "There's some who believe mebbe the nukecaust was brought about by an outside force," Shaker stated.

  "It was war that destroyed the world," Krysty said. "Paranoia fed by a nuke arsenal."

  "I don't know if I completely believe that."

  "Then what do you believe?" Ryan asked.

  "I believe that a few months ago an abandoned space station fell from the sky," Shaker said. "Its orbit decayed, and it fell from the heavens, breaking up as it reentered the atmosphere. I've been told that one of the pieces landed very near this place. Mebbe only a little farther north. Do you know anything about that?"

  Ryan lied. "No. But you pay attention at night, you see lots of things burning up as they come down. How sure are you that it didn't just burn up? Even if you're right?"

  "Because I've recovered one of the pieces," Shaker said. "And I want the others."

  "We don't have any."

  "Just letting you know," Shaker said. "There are others out trying to get those pieces. Some of them work for the Heimdall Foundation. They're not taking my interest in the pieces very well."

  Ryan returned the baron's inquisitive glance full mea­sure, registering nothing about the name.

  "You ever heard of the Heimdall Foundation?"

  "No."

  Shaker hesitated, as if trying to figure out his next line of attack.

  "Ryan," J.B. called from the other end of the room. The Armorer stood in the doorway of another room that led into the room where Ryan confronted Shaker. "Time to go. Rain's letting up, and we need shut-eye. No telling when it'll start again, or when it'll let up next time." J.B. stood with his Uzi peeking from under his jacket.

  Ryan nodded. "Guess we'll be going."

  The baron's sec men started to move forward on an in­terception course. Shaker waved them down. "Another time."

  "Mebbe," Ryan said. He put Krysty beside and behind him, using his body to shield her. Then he left the room, following J.B.

  "Everybody's ready to quit the ball," the Armorer said. "Except Doc."

  "He'll be along," Ryan said. A glance behind him showed that Shaker and his people were making no attempt to follow.

  "SHAKER WAS TELLING the truth about the space station," Krysty said. She lay beside Ryan in the quiet dark of the barn. He'd chosen to make their bed in the hayloft where they had a view of the trading post's inner courtyard.

  "As far as he knows it," Ryan agreed. "Did he believe we didn't know anything about it?"

  "No." Even though Ryan was lowering his voice, lis­tening to him made Krysty's head ache even more fiercely than it had an hour ago. She hadn't mentioned it, but the dinner had been spent in sheer agony.

  Ryan shifted behind her, pressing his crotch against her buttocks. She felt his erection through the material, and her own sudden lust pushed some of the pain away inside her head. She reached for him without turning, running her palm against his erection hard enough to make his hips buck in anticipation.

  "You feeling up to this?" he asked hoarsely.

  "Yes." Krysty rolled over into his arms, listening to the rain drumming on the barn's roof, hearing it slapping against the pools already gathered out in the courtyard.

  In minutes, their new clothing was spread out across the blankets they made their bed on, and across the loose straw in the loft. Giving in to the hunger that drove her, Krysty rolled Ryan over and straddled him, feeling the cool air breeze across her erect nipples.

  She slid forward until her sex was poised over his face, then wrapped her silken thighs about his head, covering cum like a saddle. She locked her hands behind his head and pulled his face into her.

  She felt his tongue slither into her, parting her delicate folds with its hard, probing in
tensity. He licked at her, not gentle in his approach, attacking her sex and driving her toward a climax. Her juices ran freely, surging when her orgasm took her with shuddering force.

  Ryan pushed her back from his face, breathing hard from his passion. She helped him scoot her back, feeling his cock brush against her ass, riding briefly against the wet cleft, driving her crazy as it brushed against her clit.

  She reached between them, riding him as his body pushed against her. Her hand found his diamond-cutter, then guided it into her wet center.

  Rising and falling, Krysty urged Ryan toward his or­gasm, feeling him grow steadily harder inside her. Then Phlorin's voice echoed inside her mind, sounding faraway, the words not intelligible. Krysty closed her eyes and ham­mered her hips down across Ryan, using her extraordinary vaginal muscles to draw him even deeper. Her breath pow­dered her lover's chest in slight gusts.

  Take your triple-bastard lover then, bitch! Phlorin shouted inside Krysty's head. Take him and love him all you can and turn your back on your ties to the Chosen.

  Krysty tried to ignore the dead woman's voice and con­centrate on Ryan's coming climax, feeling the loss of con­trol in her lover's movements. She gave herself over to her efforts, hoping Phlorin would be shamed to the back of her mind.

  Keep up with your immoral ways. Turn your back on the beliefs of the Chosen. But you can't turn your back on me. You have no birth control, and I can tell that you're fertile now.

  Krysty didn't want to believe the woman. With her mutie powers, she'd always been able to tell when it was possible for her to become pregnant, and she'd been able to prevent it.

  Not this time, Phlorin warned. This time when your man's seed enters your body, I'll make it quicken. I'll let you hear the heartbeat of your newborn child within your womb. And when you link your heart to its heart, I'm going to kill it and let you listen to its mind as it dies.

  Sick with the callousness of the threat, and the uncer­tainty of the woman's ability to carry it out, Krysty lunged sideways, yanking Ryan out of her. She cried out in fear and loathing, unable to stem the sudden nausea that turned her stomach over and over.

  "Krysty?" Ryan reached for her.

  Automatically Krysty drew away from his touch. "Can't, lover." She threw up again, shuddering with the nausea.

  "What's wrong?"

  "That bitch," Krysty gasped. "That fucking bitch inside my head." She surrendered herself to Ryan's touch. "I'm sorry, lover. Truly I am."

  "It's okay," Ryan said, smoothing her hair. "We're not going to let this beat you. You just hang on and we'll find a way out of it."

  Krysty let herself cry silently on Ryan's shoulder, not wanting to wake anyone else. Dry heaves rocked her body. Even in his arms, with him holding her tight, she felt more alone than she ever had in her life.

  THE ATTACK CAME just before dawn.

  Ryan woke with the first harsh rattle of gunfire, grabbing for the Steyr. He pulled out of Krysty's tight grip and reached for his pants with his free hand. Crouched at the edge of the hayloft opening, he gazed out toward the south­ern wall, toward the river where the sounds of battle seemed to be coming from.

  The trading post's inner courtyard jumped with activity. Sec men ran to man the defensive areas atop the catwalk along the palisade walls. Most of them clustered along the south wall, firing as soon as they fell into position. The rain during the night had left the ground muddy, and large pools of water shimmered in the light breeze.

  Krysty struggled to wake. During the night, she hadn't slept well, if at all. Her blaster filled her hand as she pulled clothes on.

  "J.B.," Ryan called.

  "Up," the Armorer responded.

  Ryan buttoned his pants, then pulled on his shirt. "Get everybody else up. We're going to have to move."

  "See anything?"

  "Attack's coming from outside." Ryan left his shirt open, then jammed his feet into his boots, leaving them unlaced for the moment. He shouldered the leather pouch that held extra rounds for the Steyr and the extra magazines he had for the SIG-Sauer.

  "That's where we left the boat," J.B. called back.

  "I'm going to check it. Be back quick or not at all."

  "We'll be ready."

  "Careful, lover," Krysty said, taking his free hand and squeezing it gently.

  "Can't afford to lose that boat," Ryan told her. "We try going overland on foot, it'd take us weeks to get where we're going. Mebbe too late by then." He slung the Steyr and leaped up from the hayloft opening, grabbing the roofs edge. He hauled himself up and leaped from there to the catwalk.

  Max swarmed up a nearby ladder, bristling with weap­ons. He glanced at Ryan.

  "What's going on?" Ryan asked.

  "Rival party that's been hunting Shaker and his group," Max replied. "Don't have a name. Doesn't matter. Annie gave her protection, that's how it's going to stand." He grinned evilly as he pulled himself onto the catwalk. "Now you're going to earn all that ammo and clothing you were given."

  Ryan didn't say anything and continued running toward the south wall, unslinging the Steyr.

  Bullets ripped through the tops of the palisade wall posts, throwing splinters into the air. Before he reached the site, two of Shaker's sec men were hit and thrown from the catwalk. Only one of them lived long enough to scream on the way down.

  Reaching the wall, Ryan stayed well clear of the knot of sec men and peered over the top. He scanned the hundred yards of trail and rough terrain that led to the precipice over the pier area. Nearly three dozen men were scattered throughout the zone, barely showing in the graying pre­dawn light breaking over the eastern horizon.

  "Make way for the baron!" someone roared.

  Ryan glanced over his shoulder as Shaker climbed onto the catwalk. The baron started shouting orders at once, po­sitioning and urging his men on at the same time. The firing by the sec men became more systematic, dropping their adversaries in the broken land before the trading post.

  Shouldering the Steyr, Ryan briefly aided the sec men in putting down a rush by the enemy forces. As soon as he lowered the rifle's telescopic sights over one target and squeezed the trigger, he moved on to the next.

  A bold roar rose up from the sec men as they scattered their attackers before their withering fire.

  Ryan felt the celebration was premature. He reloaded the Steyr's magazine, then ran back along the catwalk to the barn.

  All of the companions except Doc stood outside, their gear already packed.

  "The boat?" Mildred called up.

  "Still there as far as I know," Ryan answered from above. "But at this point, I don't know much. Can't see the boat from up here."

  "If those people get their asses handed to them," J.B. said, "they'll be looking for a quick way out. Storm the way it was last night, there's probably not much chance they came by a boat of their own with the river running like it had to have been. Might not be any too safe right now."

  Without warning, the distinct, hollow boom of a cannon pealed out over the trading post, splitting the air.

  Ryan looked up and spotted the cannon atop the main house, the long snout poking through the roof. Judging from the way it was set up, he guessed that the weapon was mounted on some type of elevator system that raised and lowered it through the house. With the way the house was designed, he didn't doubt that it was normally kept in the basement level and raised all the way to the roof when needed.

  "What do we do, lover?" Krysty asked.

  "We leave," Ryan answered. "Despite Annie's willing­ness at the moment to protect us, I don't trust that to stay. So we're not staying, either. Get Morse and his boys out here. And Elmore. They're going with us."

  "What about the people we took with us from Idaho Falls?"

  "They make their own way from here," Ryan replied. "It'll be safer than where we're going."

  The crackle of autofire, muted just for an instant by the roar of the cannon, underscored his words. Whatever ene­mies Baron Shaker had made, they were
strong, relentless ones.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Doc raced through Annie's private rooms, the Le Mat blaster in his hand. With the sound of the first few shots, Annie had leaped from the bed they'd shared during the night. Doc had been slower, his head dulled somewhat by the wine from the previous night's party and from the phys­ical exertion of keeping pace with the woman's libido.

  The next room had been converted into an art studio. Paint pots and carving tools covered the workbenches and shelves. Then Doc spotted the section of wall that wasn't quite flush with the rest. He pressed against the wall and it opened wider, sliding back on well-greased hinges.

  The darkness beyond the yawning mouth was broken by a light from above.

  Doc stepped inside and peered around. A shaft sank through the floors above and below. Feeling the cool gust of wind from below, he deduced that it went all the way into the basement. Pulley ropes hung in the center of the shaft.

  Glancing up, Doc saw the platform above, watched it shudder and heard another report from the cannon. A ladder was built into the wall to his left, constructed simply of pieces of wood nailed across the wooden wall braces. He tucked the Le Mat through his belt and climbed the ladder.

  Annie sat on the platform next to a 20 mm cannon con­verted to work with elevation and peripheral controls. The woman occupied a chair beside the cannon and made adjustments with wheels that controlled jagged-toothed cogs that moved the blaster. Then she fired again.

  Doc pulled himself up to her platform, still clinging to the makeshift ladder. The detonation of the cannon round was loud inside the rooftop area. He tracked the cannonfire, spotting the men ranged in front of the palisade wall at the front of the trading post.

  The 20 mm round exploded against the ground less than thirty yards distant from the palisade wall. It opened up a small crater in the earth and flung two corpses to the ground yards away.

  "By the Three Kennedys!"

  Annie jacked another round into the cannon. She sat in the chair without a stitch of clothing on. "Glad to see you up and around, Theophilus. Thought I'd chilled you with last night's loving." She fired again.