by James Axler
The eight barons were all leaning over the table, arguing and shouting at and over one another and at Silas, their angry voices a confusion of sound, a cacophony from which it was difficult to determine anything that resembled sense. The tense and fraught atmosphere had also transferred from the barons to the sec men who stood to the rear of them, all of whom were fingering a variety of automatic blasters, from Uzis to H&Ks and Thompsons. It seemed to Silas as he sat back and watched that any moment the atmosphere could crack, and violence erupt.
"Gentlemen, please," he yelled above the racket, trying to make himself heard. But there was no letup in the bickering. So Baron Silas rose to his feet, slipped one snakeskin boot from his foot and banged the heel on the table repeatedly. The piercing clatter of the heel on wood cut through the noise and silenced the barons, who stared at Baron Silas in amazement.
"That's better," he said in a quieter tone, slipping the boot back on. "Now, if you'll all stop playing stupe games to see who can shout louder than the other, let's address the issue at hand here."
"Sounds good to me," Cay said, his voice bluff and deep, ridiculously so for a man who stood at barely five feet. "What's it all about, that's what I want to know."
"You standing or sitting there, boy?" John the Gaunt muttered, directing the piercing gaze of his skeletal face to the rival baron. "Never can tell with you, just as I can never tell if you're asking a good question or talking shit."
"What did you say?" Cay exploded, rising to his feet, which in truth didn't make him much taller than when seated. "I—"
"Cool it, dude," Baron Lord murmured with a dismissive wave of the hand. "Let's leave the rivalries at the door while we're in this. If the well gets screwed, then we all go down together."
"Which is exactly why I don't understand what's going on," Silveen blustered, thumping the table with his large, raw fist. "Who the fuck is sabotaging all our work?"
"And you think I don't want to know?" Baron Silas countered. "Who stands to lose the most out of this? Yeah, sure we all lose out big time if it goes fagazi," he continued, forestalling the complaints from the collected barons, "but who loses most? Not only do I lose my dream, but I owe all you guys enough jack for you to move in and take over Salvation."
"A fair point, Silas, I'll grant you that," Lord mused. "But the fact remains that work is running behind, and taking up more time and jack than it should. So why? And, more importantly, who?"
Silas shrugged. "Beats the hell out of me."
"Well, it shouldn't," Lord continued. "After all, it's your sec boys who are patrolling the work areas, and who are guarding the well and refinery, as well as patrolling the camps. So why don't they spot anything?"
"Because whoever it is manages to make their attacks and plant their bombs between patrols, and I've only got so many men to patrol a big area and a hell of a lot of people."
"So bring in some of our sec," Red Cloud countered.
Silas leaned forward, eyes blazing. "You think I'm some kind of fool? Let some of your sec in and before long you oust me."
"You don't and we do it anyway," Red Cloud said calmly. "This can't continue."
Baron Eddison had been silent throughout the exchange, but now spoke up. "There's one thing that bothers me about all this, though."
Silas raised an eyebrow, unable to hide the contempt he still felt for his old ville. "And that is, pray tell?"
Eddison leaned forward, looking down at the table, marshaling his thoughts before speaking. "Okay, let's look at it this way. We all have our villes near the old blacktop, which is how come we all are in this, right?" He waited for a general agreement before continuing. "Yeah, so that means that the only way there could be any sabotage other than us is if it came from some ville that was from outside the area. 'Cause it'd have to be a big ville to have resources. Now apart from a few small scavenger tribes, there ain't jackshit like that around. Certainly not with the firepower to cause this much damage. We all agree on that?"
There was a muted agreement from around the table before Eddison continued.
" 'Kay. So if it was some bunch of desperadoes from outside the area, ain't no way they could have slipped past every post on the way, or past every outlying sec guard for every ville on the way without getting some kind of interest. That right?"
There was a silence while the assembled barons pondered the words of the quiet man.
"Guess that's right," Baron Silas agreed eventually, on behalf of all of them.
Eddison nodded. "That's what I figure. In which case, it's an inside job. Now we all ain't that stupid to want to shaft each other—" he took a long hard look at the barons gathered around the table "—leastways, not so that we shaft ourselves, as well. So it wouldn't make sense it if it was us."
There was an uncomfortable pause. Silas looked at the puzzled faces of the barons around the table…puzzled apart from Eddison, who was looking deep in thought.
Cay eventually spoke, his deep voice exploding into the silence. "But if it ain't outsiders, and it ain't us, then who the fuck is it?"
Eddison shook his head. "I dunno, but I could guess."
Silas had an uncomfortable feeling that he knew what the quiet man would say, so decided to get his view in first.
The baron coughed before speaking. "You wouldn't happen to be thinking along the same lines as I am right now, would you?"
"Depends what they are," Eddison said.
"It occurs to me that if we aren't responsible ourselves, it could be that our people are."
"You triple stupe!" Silveen roared, bringing his fist down on the table with a thump that made the wood shake. "If we're not responsible, then how could we be if…if…" He spluttered into a red-faced silence, shrugging.
Silas allowed himself a smile. It was obvious that Silveen hadn't used his brain to get the baron's position in Mandrake.
Baron Abraham, who had been listening in silence as the argument unfolded, leaned forward and spoke, directing his comments generally although he looked at Silveen as he spoke.
"We might not be directing it, but our people could still be fighting among themselves, right?"
"I suppose it's possible, but why are they attacking the project and not each other?" Silas asked with a shrug.
"Does it matter?" John the Gaunt asked with soft menace. "The only thing that matters is that they're stopped. And the buck for that stops with you." He emphasized the last word with a jabbing, bony finger that was directed at Baron Silas.
The baron looked from the pointing John the Gaunt to the other barons, all of whom were now staring at him.
He had to do something. The success of the oil well and his continuing reign as baron of Salvation would depend on some kind of action…and a visible action at that.
AFTER RECALLING this exchange to the companions, Baron Silas sat back and held up his hands, gesturing to the hall around him.
"So this is all at stake. This and the dream."
Ryan said nothing for a moment. He looked around at his companions. J.B. had an impassive expression, still contemplating the baron's words. Mildred looked unimpressed, as did Krysty. Jak was, if anything, more impassive than the Armorer. Dean caught his father's eye, and Ryan saw his own cynicism at the baron's words reflected back at him. As for Doc, well, Doc was off in a land that only Doc knew.
"I don't buy the dream bit," Ryan said eventually. "I never met a baron yet who didn't place jack, good trade and his own skin below a dream. But I'll grant you need some action. Question is, what."
Baron Silas rose to his feet and walked over to one of the ironwork-covered windows and looked out on Salvation with his hands clasped behind his back.
"You have any idea why the people from the villes would put all this at risk?"
"Because it isn't theirs," J.B. answered. "Salvation isn't theirs, no matter where any baron sends them. And no matter what they're supposed to be doing, there's no way they're going to be happy living and working close to those who've been their enem
y for so long, not without the chance to hit back."
"So why not just fight each other?" Silas questioned. "Yeah, we've had a few bar and gaudy brawls between different ville folk, but that's all. Why attack the project?"
Doc smiled, allowed himself a throat clearing, then spoke. "I suspect, my dear sir, that you already have an answer for that, but wish to see if we are smart enough to work that out. I would assume from what you have said that the camps with the workers are located in close proximity to each other at the site of the well and resurrected refinery." When Baron Silas assented with the briefest of nods, Doc continued. "Then it would be reasonable to assume that they have—if not so originally placed—then certainly gravitated into groups concomitant with their place of origin."
The baron turned and gave Doc a quizzical look.
"They are in groups like miniature versions of their villes," Doc clarified. "And indeed, they are working on their own tasks in these groups."
Baron Silas nodded. "It made more sense to keep them like that."
Dean exploded. "Hot pipe! I got it, Doc! Crow said something about big jack bonuses for getting work done on time. Mebbe the different villes are trying to screw up each other's chances."
"Stupe behavior," Jak said simply. "Longer work take, less jack all round."
"Maybe, but maybe they wouldn't think that far ahead," said Mildred. "People don't when they're faced with their own prejudices."
"Some things haven't changed through history, no matter what," Krysty added.
Baron Silas returned to his position at the head of the table, but remained standing, leaning on the table with his knuckles and looking them over.
"I needed something different, and quick. Then you came out of the desert like the answer to a man's prayers. Make no mistake, I would have had you chilled at any other time, 'cause you would have got in the way. But Crow had a feeling you could come good, and so we let the workers rag you, see what you did without any weapons. You got chilled, then too bad. But you didn't. You did good, real good. And you're just what I need."
"So what's the deal?" Ryan said simply.
"The deal is this—you get your blasters and other weapons back, and you become my elite sec, patrolling the camp, well and refinery until the project is complete. I figure you could whip those bastards into line without too many problems. All you have to do is stop them blowing each other and the project to hell. Shouldn't be too hard."
"And then?"
"Then you leave with a jack bonus. You do me right, I do you right."
Ryan looked at the man. His every instinct told him that Baron Silas Hunter was a ruthless, single-minded baron. And yet his coldness was such that he would be the worst liar Ryan had ever met.
"Why don't you trust your own sec?" he asked.
"I trust them, but I know from experience they can't handle it. Too many other duties. Besides, they've been too involved. You're harder, and you come from outside, with a fresh eye—no offense," he added with a mirthless smile.
Ryan ignored the crack. Either heavy humor or an insult to establish superiority, it wasn't worth the trouble either way. He said simply, "We'll discuss it."
Silas walked the length of the hall to the door in silence. It was only when he was about to close the doors and leave them alone that he tossed over his shoulder, "Not much to discuss, but I'll give you some time."
When he had closed the door, Mildred sat back and blew out her cheeks, tossing her plaits around her head.
"Shit, what have we got ourselves into?"
"What have I got you into, you mean," Ryan said wryly.
"No, you just did what was right at the time," Mildred replied. "I just don't like the look of it."
"Yeah, mebbe you've got a point there," Ryan said, stroking his chin. "It's not a good position, but we've been in worse."
"There's no immediate danger," Krysty said. "But it's going to be hard to get through this. We're walking into what amounts to a ville war where everyone's really within hitting distance."
"And on top of that, we're going to be sitting on top of a fuel dump that could literally blow beneath us," Dean added.
"Thanks for reminding me," Mildred said. "Problem is, we needed to give up our blasters to get food and water, and the chances of us getting better supplies depended on us going along with Crow. Mebbe we could come out of this with some jack to trade with," Ryan said.
"That's if we can trust Silas," Krysty said softly.
"I think we can," Ryan said firmly. "He's hard and mean, all right, but that type can't lie. He'd enjoy telling you what he was going to do to you too much. He's put us in a shitty position as it is—there's no need for him to be hiding anything. Besides which, if we don't play ball, we don't get our weapons back."
"That's his winning hand," J.B. mused. The Armorer pushed his fedora back on his forehead and scratched. "Way I see it is this—if we agree, then Baron Silas Hunter gets his extra sec force. If we fuck up, then he blames us and chills us. If we come good, he gets credit and glory in front of the other barons. In return we get our weapons back, put ourselves on the line and mebbe come out of it to the good. But he knows we've got no option. After all, here we are in the middle of his house, surrounded by his sec people and in the middle of his ville, which is heavily walled. He knows we've got no option. We could mebbe get so far, but get right out of here in one piece, unarmed?" The Armorer shook his head and pushed his spectacles up his nose.
There was a moment's silence. For J. B. Dix to make such a long speech was rare, but in the circumstances he had articulated the thoughts of everyone on the subject.
"Shit, I ain't happy about this, but I guess J.B.'s right," Mildred said eventually.
Ryan nodded. "Then we do it."
They all assented, albeit reluctantly in some cases.
Ryan strode to the double doors and flung them open. Baron Silas was waiting outside, leaning against the wall with his Stetson hat pulled down over his eyes. "I knew you'd agree," he said before Ryan had a chance to speak.
Chapter Ten
Baron Silas Hunter led the companions down through the levels of the building until they reached the basement. Each floor, from what they could glimpse on their way down, was stuffed full of pre-dark treasures, both in terms of furniture and art. Certainly, Doc and Mildred, whose existence in the days before skydark gave them a better knowledge of such things, got the impression that Silas Hunter, for all his seeming bluff approach, had a side that relished the finer things of the predark age. And even though these items had little value in the new age compared to essentials like fuel, food and water, those whose business was to trade still knew of select markets that would pay good jack for such things.
All of which added up to an expensive habit that Baron Silas had to feed. It was no wonder that he was keen to stamp out the sabotage to his well and refinery.
"Notice how all the sec men here are kept out of the way," J.B. muttered to Ryan as they descended the staircase from the ground floor to the lower level, and then through a less ostentatious room to a smaller, plainer stair that led to the basement.
"Yeah," the one-eyed man grunted, "unless I'd seen those sec men earlier, I'd wonder if he had any at all."
"So where does he keep them, and how do they know when they're wanted?" the Armorer queried.
No sooner had the question died on his lips than the answer became apparent. The baron opened a small door that sat at the foot of the staircase, which wasn't entirely lit by artificial light as they had descended below ground level. The old light fittings of the house down here were powered by a generator that ran through the light ring circuit with a gentle pulse, causing the slightest flicker of the light. It cast a sinister shadow over the baron's features as he turned and smiled his peculiarly humorless grimace at them.
"Welcome to my nerve center," he said before opening the door and ushering them in.
They entered with Ryan and J.B. in front, followed by Krysty, Jak, Mildred, Doc and Dea
n bringing up the rear. As Dean entered the room, with Baron Silas behind him, closing the door, he let out a whistle that was long and low.
"Hot pipe! This is some setup!"
For the room, with two doors leading off at the far end, seemed to run the length of the building, and housed the sec for the baronial palace. Twelve armed sec men, all heavily muscled, milled about the room. Some were talking among themselves, two were ready at each door to move on command and the rest were either stationed at, or observing casually, the bank of monitors that ran along the wall.
"Like most of these old predark places, this must've been used as some kind of local sec building," Baron Silas began, "and I picked this as my dwelling and nerve center because of that. It's built to be almost impregnable, and once I got the metalwork in place, it was virtually impossible to get in without being seen. Which brings me to this…" He moved in front of the monitor systems, the screens of which all had a slight shimmer that ran in sync with the pulsing light and, presumably, the pulsing of the generator. "This," he continued, "is my secret weapon when I'm here. This makes the place about as safe as you can get. All of this was in place when I took over the building. Lord alone knows what they did here before the nukecaust, but it must have been pretty damn important, and they must've liked to spy on whoever was here, 'cause when I first saw this I wondered where the hell the cameras for these were. Shit, some of them are so well hidden in the rooms that it took me hours to find them, even trying to work it out from what I could see. 'Cause first thing I did was get a generator fired up and get some good ol' boys in here to take a look at what we had. It's a good system, and we're fucked if it ever breaks down 'cause no one hereabouts has ever come across one like it. But it works…"
Baron Silas moved away from the monitors and stood in the middle of the dimly lit hall that stretched under the building's length. "It means that I can keep my eye on anything that goes on in here, and listen in to anything, 'cause those cameras've got microphones on them, too." He paused, to allow the import of this to sink in, then continued. "So I know that you're none too keen on this job, but you know you ain't got a choice. And that's true. You either do it or you don't leave…and believe me," he added, addressing J.B. directly, "you were right about how hard it'd be to get out."
