My guess is that you’re not telling me the whole story, here,” he added, eyeing Ryan carefully.
“My guess is that mebbe some of your patrols aren’t as thorough as you’d like, or not as observant,” Ryan returned coolly.
The baron gave Ryan a cold, hard stare that was difficult to read. It was as though he had deliberately hooded his eyes to block out all his feelings. From what they’d already seen, Ethan didn’t take kindly to not having his word instantly obeyed. But weighed against this was the fact that he was fascinated by the companions and could sense that there was some bigger story lurking behind their guarded words.
He spoke again after a long, considered pause. “Okay, if you won’t tell me, there’s not much I can do. No, that’s not true. Actually, there’s an awful lot I can do. We have methods of torture that would normally break a man in less than a day—that’s if he survived. But you people aren’t like that, I can tell. You’re not the kind who give anything away, and I figure you’d rather buy the farm than give me the satisfaction. Besides all that, you’ve proved yourselves to be exceptional fighters, and we can always do with those in Pleasantville.”
“Really? You strike me as not having much trouble,” Ryan replied.
Ethan gave a small smile that was entirely lacking in warmth. “Why d’you think that is? Because we fight hard for what we’ve got, and we fight hard to defend it. And people—by which I mean other, lazier barons who would want to take rather than build—know this. So they leave us alone. There’s a lot of jack and a lot of goods in this ville, and we wouldn’t be able to hang on to it if we didn’t know how to. Y’see what I mean?”
Ryan nodded. “So what do you want from us?”
Ethan smiled again. This time, there was a knowingness behind the eyes. “You don’t waste words, do you? I like that, although I wish you’d waste a few in telling me where you came from and where you learned to fight like you do. So I figure that mebbe you will if you hang around for a while, get used to us. Mebbe you’ll like it enough to stay. We could always do with people like yourselves, who contribute to the well-being of the ville.” He leaned forward, so that he was looking Ryan directly in the eye. “I’ll tell you what I offer. You can stay in Pleasantville for as long as you like. You’ll work for your accommodation and food, but it’ll be good work, not crap. I want you to work with Horse and look at our sec strategies, in return for which we learn things about combat from you. If you like it, then you join his men and stay on. If not, you leave and carry on to wherever you were going. And mebbe—and only if you want—you tell me how the fuck you ended up in the middle of that forest.”
Ryan looked at the companions. Despite the rest, they were still battered from the firefight with the stickie pack. A few more days or a week in the ville, with good beds and food, would do them a lot of good before they moved on. He didn’t trust Ethan one bit, but if they could play along and buy a few days, then that would benefit them. At the moment they were in no state to stand and fight if they said no and Ethan turned on them.
“Yeah, okay,” Ryan said with an inclination of his head. “We’ll do it.”
“Good.” Ethan said no more, but had a smug expression as he rose and walked over to his desk. There was a bell-push on one corner, and he depressed it. Wherever the other end of the connection may lay, it wasn’t audible, and it had to have been some distance, for they waited a few minutes before the double doors opened and two sec men walked in, their blasters conspicuous from their belts, hands seemingly casual but ready for action.
J.B. noticed this, and he also noticed Ethan indicate with a subtle gesture that relaxed the sec duo.
“These boys will clear you out of last night’s dorm and find you regular accommodation. They’ll also tell you a bit about the ville as you go. Okay, boys?”
The two sec men grunted. They didn’t seem as though they would be garrulous mines of information. Ethan turned away, his audience with the companions over, his attention already focused on the papers on his desk.
Ryan rose, followed by the others, and walked toward the doors where the sec men waited.
“I hope you’ve figured what we could be getting into here,” J.B. muttered as he joined his old friend. “It doesn’t feel right.”
“With you on that,” Ryan returned in an undertone, “but we can’t just leave—not yet. Play them along a while, see the lay of the land.”
J.B. agreed, but his jaw was set tight. This wasn’t like the Ryan he knew. It was as though he were holding back, not sure of a course of action. The Armorer couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Ryan so indecisive.
As the companions walked through the double doors, they noted that one of the sec men held back, so that they were led and followed by an armed man. With no blasters of their own, it was an uncomfortable feeling.
“We’ll collect your stuff, then show you where you’re staying,” the leading sec man said in a deep, coarse voice that seemed out of place with his wiry, shaven-head form. “You’ve been allocated billets around the ville.”
“You mean to say we’re being split up? And that Ethan already had it worked out?” Krysty asked suspiciously.
“Course he did, lady,” the sec man at the rear piped up—literally, as despite his bulk and the beard that sprouted from his cleft chin, he had a voice that was almost falsetto. “The baron worked out what you do from what you were carrying, and made plans accordingly. He always plans for every eventuality.”
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