Black Harvest

The baron said nothing for a while, thinking through the problem. “Ah, you need a reason to fight.”

“That’s right, usually it’s to keep from getting chilled.”

“A wise position, but I’m not about to try and chill you just so you’ll participate in my test. However, might I suggest that you agree to participate in exchange for the hospitality I’ve shown you and your friends.”

Ryan gestured to the food on the table. “We didn’t ask for any of this.”

“Quite right.” The baron nodded. “Then what if I said that if you bested my sec men, I’d be willing to provide you with as much ammo as you need when you leave my ville, as well as any medicines and supplies, uh, Mildred, might want to take with her. I’m sure those sorts of things are still useful to you in your travels.”

Ryan looked to J.B. “Running low all around.”

He turned to Krysty.

“Who knows?” she added. “Might be fun, firing a blaster and not chilling somebody for a change.”

Ryan sighed. “All right, we’ll play your game, but J.B. checks all the weapons before we begin, just to make sure we’re all using the same ammo.”

“Of course.”

“When?”

“Is tomorrow afternoon too soon?”

ROBARDS WALKED slowly down the street to Eleander’s residence. Thanks to one of the outlanders, he now had to bring the woman to the dining hall and have her eat and talk to the baron’s guests.

Dammit!

This was an unfortunate turn of events, but not a problem.

There were ways…

The sec chief turned to the sec man following him. “Go find Katz. Tell him what the problem is and bring him to Eleander’s home. And make it fast.”

The sec man turned and ran, double time.

MILDRED TAPPED on Jak’s door with the toe of her boot.

“Who there?” Jak asked. His words were followed by the sound of his .357 Magnum Colt Python being cocked.

“It’s Mildred,” she said. “Brought you some food.”

There was a metallic click on the other side of the door and Mildred knew it was safe to enter.

“I figured you’d be hungry,” she said, pushing open the door and entering the room.

“Guessed right,” he answered. He was sitting up on his cot, one arm hanging limply from the shoulder, the other rubbing a hand in circular motions over his empty growling stomach.

She put the food on the rough wooden stand next to the bed, then sat on the empty bed next to him.

“How’s your shoulder? Does it hurt?”

“No.” Jak shook his head. “You fixed good.”

Mildred lifted the dressing and saw that although there were still a few wet spots to the wound, it was generally healing nicely. She touched the bruised flesh with the point of her finger and Jak grimaced.

“You know, for someone who doesn’t say many words, you’re not a very good liar.”

Jak smiled.

“I’ll clean the dressing later. Right now you should eat. Build up your strength.”

“Food good?”

“Oh, yeah.” She placed a plate on his lap and gave him a fork. “Best we’ve had in months.”

THE WAG HAD PERFORMED flawlessly, taking its rider across the rad-choked land between the two villes in less than six hours. He had stopped twice along the way, once to refill his tank with alcohol, the other to refill himself with food and water.

Now he was approaching Indyville, the engine still running smoothly as the dusty miles fell beneath his wheels.

The ville’s lookouts would have spotted him by now, and the entire ville’s sec force would be on alert. That was good, because by the time he arrived there, the baron would be aware of his approach and curious to know what he wanted.

Now, as he neared the ville’s perimeter, the road got rougher. The surface of the road was spotted with holes and was covered with rocks and chunks of asphalt. He slowed the wag by half, the engine’s song falling from a high whine to a throaty growl.

The gates to the ville grew larger in his sights. Sec men stood on either side of the rolling door made of rusty rebar and sheet metal. One of the sec men signaled to him to slow down by waving both his arms over his head.

He waved back with just his right hand.

The entrance to the ville was less than a quarter of a mile away, and he slowed the wag further. Closer in, there were dead things on the road—the carcasses and bones of long-dead animals, fallen trees, strategically positioned rocks and the odd corpse of a mutie who made the mistake of trying to get into the ville. It was a strange way to protect the outer edges of the ville, but it was doing a good job of it.

The driver was forced to slow to a crawl, just to find a way through the maze of death and ruin.

But at last he was at the gates of the ville. He brought the wag to a stop, but left the engine running just in case it might not start again.

“What do you want?” the sec man asked. He was armed with little more than a pointed stick, but in the towers on the other side of the gate were several batteries of large-caliber automatic blasters, some of which were aimed directly at his head.

“Greetings from Baron DeMann.”

The sec man said nothing.

“I need to speak with Baron Schini.”

“About what?”

“Sorry, but I must speak only with the baron.”

“She’s not seeing anyone tonight.”

The driver nodded. He’d been told that he might be refused at the gate, and that’s why he’d been given a gift to present to the baron.