steadily, longblasters ready in patrol position. They were dark-skinned, dark-haired, not very tall, resembling the human raiders who accompanied the muties, but better clothed, armed and fed. Behind them cruised a heavy truck with a fabric-covered bed and a welded-together looking mount for the big Browning machine gun behind the cab. And out in front of it rolled an outlandish apparition: a tall, copper-skinned youth, wearing a feathered headdress, a green loincloth, an odd sort of golden harness over his broad chest and shoulders, and armor braces on forearms and lower legs, riding a big, blatting, outlaw-style motorcycle.
“What do you make of that?” J.B. asked. Ryan could only shake his head.
From a house across the street from their perch and a couple of doors toward the well-armed column, a skinny mutie with an outsize asymmetric head bolted. He seemed to have no better plan in mind than to get away as quickly as possible, running balls-out right down the middle of the dirt lane, elbows pumping.
It wasn’t a good enough plan.
The bizarre feathered rider raised his right forearm. A pale red beam snapped from it with an ear-shattering crack. It struck the fleeing mutie between his churning shoulder blades. His back exploded in a gout of steam. He went sprawling forward, dug a furrow in the dust with his face, lay still.
“Shit!” J.B. exclaimed. “A laser! That shit he’s wearing over his shoulders has a power-pack in it, I’ll just bet.”
“Impressive,” Ryan said.
The rider held up his arm. The column halted. The foot soldiers winged out to the building fronts to either side and lay or crouched, covering the street with their weapons.
“Look at that,” J.B. said admiringly. “They got a couple BARs with them. Beautiful.”
“Serious firepower,” Ryan said.
“Let’s hope they’re friendlier than they look.”
“If they’re not,” the one-eyed man said slowly, “I’m not sure what we can do about it.”
Two soldiers came forward, prodding two captives in front of them with the muzzles of their longblasters. The prisoners, a man and a mutie covered all over in curly golden fur, wore only loincloths. Their arms were bound behind them. One of their escorts leaned forward and apparently cut their bonds, because the two immediately brought their hands up in front of them and began massaging their wrists.
The boy in the feathers dropped his kickstand, swung off his bike, stalked up to the prisoners like a leopard. He was carrying a peculiar-looking weapon in his hand, a flat wooden club maybe two feet long that had pieces of obsidian set in either edge, to create a discontinuous double blade of black glass.
He snapped a question. The human captive turned his face away.
The warrior in the feathered headdress lashed out with the obsidian-lined club. The furry mutant’s right arm leaped away from its shoulder in a gush of blood. He screamed and dropped to his knees, ineffectually cutting the great wound, blood spurting between his fingers.
“Dark night,” J.B. said. “These are some hard bastards.”
The human captive said something to the warrior. The warrior danced a couple of steps to the side, struck down with his weapon. The screaming mutie’s head fell away from its neck, bounced twice on the road and came to rest facedown in a rut. A fountain of blood shot out of the neck stump, once, twice, three times, soaking the thirsty earth in red. Then the blood-flow ceased. The headless, one-armed body pitched forward to leak slowly into the dust.
The human captive pointed straight at the garage where the travelers and their vehicle were hidden.
The feathered warrior turned to study the structure. Then he lashed out backhand. The human captive’s head jumped off his shoulders. Without ever looking back, the warrior stalked back to his ride, forked it, kicked it to snarling life.
The cavalcade rumbled into motion again, right for the companions. “I don’t know about you,” J.B. said, “but I got a bad feeling about this.”
“Get into the wag,” Ryan called down the open hatch. “Get ready to roll.”
“Where to?” Mildred called up.
“Away.”
The truck with the big Browning stayed where it was to provide a fire base, Ryan noted glumly. Its thumb-thick bullets would punch through the Hummer like handblaster slugs through wet paper. The foot soldiers came trotting down the street and took up positions across from the garage, covering the double doors with their longblasters. A BAR-man was winged out to either side on his belly with his weapon’s bipod down.
J.B. whistled. “Them suckers’re toting FN FALs and M-1 Garands. And they pack a punch.”
“Then there’s that wrist laser,” Ryan muttered.
The strapping young warrior in the feathered headdress had been holding back, waiting for his minions to get into position. Then he gunned his V-twin engine with a blat like a submachine gun burst, streaked forward down the street, threw the bike into a dust-raising sidewise skid that brought it to a perfect halt facing the garage doors. He gazed up with a haughty expression on his aquiline features and barked something.
“What’s he say?” Ryan asked.
“Beats me,” J.B. said. “Sure sounds like he means it, though.”
“I say, Ryan,” Doc’s voice wafted up from below, “but yonder fine young bravo has just called upon us to—”
“Throw out your weapons,” the warrior called, “and give up at once!”
“English?” Ryan asked. The Armorer shrugged.
Ryan let his Steyr sling-strap slide off his shoulder, laid the rifle carefully on the rooftop. Then he stood. Two dozen rifle barrels tracked him.
“We’re peaceful travelers,” he called. “Traders. We’re not looking for trouble. We just got caught here by the raiders.”
“If you wish no trouble,” the warrior said, “then surrender now before I lose patience.”
“Who are you?”
“I am Two Arrow of the Eagle Knights. I serve Don Hector, ruler of the valley of the Anáhuac.”
“Sec men,” J.B. muttered bitterly. “Fancy drag, fancy blasters. Just lousy sec men.”
“Why do you wish to make us prisoners?” Ryan called. “All we want to do is trade. Or barring that, be on our way.”
“You travel these lands without permission. How do we know you are who you say? Now, throw your weapons out quickly. Or we will come and take them!”
Ryan held up his hand. “I have to talk to my people. Just give me a moment, please.”
Before the warrior in the gaudy headdress could refuse, Ryan hunkered out of sight. “What do you say, J.B.?”
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
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