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stopped ringing. Soon it was replaced with the much louder danger bell, its
brassy rings summoning every able-bodied person to come to the defense of the
ville.
HIS BARE FEET PERCHED comfortably on a cushioned footstool, Overton carefully
sliced a summer apple.
"Stop worrying, Ki," he said, munching on the juicy piece. "I have the ville
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completely under my control. By the end of the week, I'll be baron."
Jian Hwa Ki took an offered slice and ate it without enthusiasm.
A soft pattering noise came from the courtyard below, followed by several
screams, then silence.
"What the hell was that?" Ki demanded, rushing to the window.
With a shrug, Overton ate another slice of fruit off his knife. "My sec men
executing a thief, or just target practice. Relax, old friend. Ryan is no more
a danger to us than those serving wenches we bedded last night. Mine was
pretty good, fought like a wildcat. How about yours?"
"There's a lot of commotion," Ki warned nervously, straining to see into the
distance. "And smoke's coming from the direction of the barracks. Mebbe we
better sound the alarm."
Overton rose languidly, brushing the sticky apple bits off his robe. "What
kind of commotion?" he demanded, amused. "Anybody running around firing a
blaster and throwing grens?"
Just then, the low boom of a gren shook the room, closely followed by the long
rip of a blaster on full-auto. More blasterfire was followed by another
explosion.
The sounds of battle didn't stop, but escalated in volume steadily.
Standing brazenly in the window, Overton spread his arms as if to embrace the
world. "At last!" the big man shouted in delight. "The rabbits have finally
been roused. The rebellion is here!"
Overton turned with a smile. "Colonel Ki?"
Bent over the desk, Ki was already at the radio, trying to contact the
barracks.
But the speakers only crackled with unmodulated static. "Yes, sir?" he asked.
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"Kill the hostages!" Overton snapped, pulling on pants, then boots. "Send off
a pigeon to the cave and get us reinforcements, plus the LAV 25. Hell, both of
them. All of the reserve troops, the heavy machine guns and the flamethrower.
And tell the snipers it's open season. They can shoot anybody they wish.
Anybody not wearing blue, that is."
"At once, Commander!" The man saluted.
Bare chested, Overton belted the Desert Eagle about his waist. "I'm going
after
Ryan personally."
Chapter Fifteen
Daffer hobbled over to the small fire in his hut and tossed another handful of
twigs on the flames. A whole chicken was roasting on the spit in his
fireplace, crackling above the wood fire, but he hadn't been able to force
down more than a few mouthfuls. Mildred had claimed his stomach would have to
stretch again, having shrunk from starvation. That sounded reasonable, but the
sec man knew better. Wings resembled hands far too closely for him, what with
all those little bones, and legs were legs. But Daffer had been able to spoon
some of the rich drippings over a loaf of stale bread, and that was a fine
meal. No complaints.
His wife had left him while he was gone, and moved northward to new territory.
Daffer couldn't blame the woman. She had little future except as a gaudy slut
with her husband dead and so few unmarried men in the area. So his home had
been deserted on his return, aside from a few rats and a miniature bear. How
they had gotten inside, he had no idea. The walls were solid concrete, predark
material as strong as granite, the windows had been bricked shut for some
unknown reason by a prior tenant, and the door, although streaked with rust,
was metal in a metal frame. These were the reasons why he had chosen it for
their home in the first place, strong and safe. Sure was a hell of a lot
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better than a log cabin with winds cutting through the door as if it weren't
there.
The chimney! Cracking a smile, he studied the field-stone chimney he'd built
so
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many years ago. The little animals had to have simply climbed down the open
flue! Well, of course. Once you figured it out, the mystery was plain as a
blaster in your face.
Situated by itself away from the other ruins of the predark ville, Daffer
believed it was a jail or bunker of some kind. There were some letters set
above the door lintel, but he never could figure out what DPW Substation stood
for. Had to have been something special to be this well made.
Shuffling over to the table, Daffer poured himself a drink of red
'shine mountain wine, as it was called and took a sip. The cool brew went
down easy and took the pain from his joints. Mildred advised him to drink a
lot to replenish his tissues, and that sounded fine by him. With the bag of
bullets the outlanders gave him, Daffer could damn near drink himself to
death. Sometimes at night, it was almost enough to stop the nightmares and
make him sleep.
Pulling close a chair, Daffer sat down and continued to disassemble the
blaster
Lord Ryan had given him for protection. The internal parts were small and his
fingers clumsy, but Daffer tried again to take the weapon apart to clean every
nook and cranny. A Webley, he called it. Odd weapon. Instead of the cylinder
swinging out from the side as normal, the blaster broke apart at the top, the
cylinder staying with the barrel. At first it seemed as if the revolver had
broken in two, but he was slowly coming to appreciate how easy it was to load
the blaster with so much space for his hands. Damn thing was a real
handcannon, too. The fat .44 cartridges were as thick as cigar butts. As an
experiment, Daffer tried to load the blaster with just one hand, and a
precious cartridge fell to the concrete floor and rolled away.
Mumbling in annoyance, he crawled under the table to reclaim the live round.
Holding the blaster backward by the barrel, as Ryan had showed him, Daffer now [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]