Remember Tomorrow (27 page)

“’Cause they was ready for us—don’t know how. Only got out ’cause of Ryan’s way with the wag,” Buckley blustered.

A mutter went through the crowd. Voices yelled at the chief, too quickly and too close together for him to make out what they said. But then one cut through the others. “’Course they’s know you’s coming—one-eye there and his fuckers emptied the barn.”

What little color there was drained from Buckley’s face. “What? What y’all say?” he yelled, his authority now restored by his anger. “Let the fuckers go, but take their blasters and blades first,” he commanded.

The companions felt hands move over them while they were constrained, removing their blasters. Ryan felt the panga unsheathed from his thigh, and Jak was stripped of his camo jacket. Then—and only then—were they released to stand.

Buckley stood in front of them, quivering with rage. “Y’all let the prisoner go and he’s gone told the coldheart fuckers in Duma to be ready for us,” he said, as though this guess were confirmed fact.

“I released him,” Ryan confirmed, figuring it was pointless to lie at this stage. “But he couldn’t have let the sec in Duma know. He went in a different direction and he was going off to take the last train west. He was chilling on his feet and wanted to buy the farm alone. I figured that wasn’t too much to ask.”

“You figured…you figured, did you?” Buckley gritted before spitting in Ryan’s face. Ryan lunged for the chief, but the butt of an old Lee-Enfield long blaster caught him in the kidney, the sudden shock making him gasp and drop to his knees. Buckley took the opportunity to swing his boot so that it caught Ryan in the chest. It could have been worse. Had the chief put the whole of his not-inconsiderable weight behind the kick, and had it connected with Ryan’s jaw, it may very well have dislocated it. As it was, the one-eyed man still went down heavily, coughing up bile.

“So you thought you’d spoil our fun by letting our prisoner go, did you?” Buckley screamed. “And you gets us in an ambush, two’s chilled and no jack or supplies at the end of it? You think we’s gonna let y’all go for that? Fuck no. But I’s a fair man, you knows that. We’s have a little trial for you and then you get punished. And we’s make you suffer. If’n we ain’t got no food, at least we’s can have ourselves some fun with y’all. And who knows, Ryan boy, mebbe y’all gonna be real good if’n we’s cook you. Gotta eat something, right?”

Buckley looked around his people. The thought of torturing the companions after a summary trial had cheered them all up and there were even a few who were cackling in anticipation. The three companions, by contrast, met his gaze with grim stares.

“Where the fuck’s the red girl and the old man?” Buckley asked peevishly, realizing for the first time that Doc and Krysty were missing.

“They’s already in the barn. Put them there soon as we realized what had happened,” the wart-covered woman who had earlier taken control yelled as she stepped forward.

Buckley looked at her and grinned. “Y’all got brains, I’ll tell y’all that. Barn’s the right place for them. Put these fuckers there and we’ll deal with them when we’s dealt with our chilled. Get that sorted and let these fuckers think about what’s gonna happen to them. Now get they’s out of my sight,” he shouted with a dismissive gesture, turning away and heading for the ranch house.

The companions found themselves lifted by the throng of irate Nagasaki dwellers and swept along toward the barn, the bridge pulled rapidly into place. The door was disbarred and they were flung into the gloomy and stinking building, the door slammed shut behind them.

Ryan, Jak and Mildred were covered in cuts and contusions, and they dragged themselves to their feet, looking around. For Ryan, it was too familiar and he thought of the condition Gill had been in when he found him. They wouldn’t even get that far, it seemed.

Doc and Krysty shuffled out of the darkness, the redhead supporting the older man, who was breathing heavily. His jaw was puffy where he had been struck and one of his eyes was closed by a bruise. Krysty was also cut and covered in blood from scratches.

“My dear Ryan, welcome back. So nice to see you again,” Doc husked with as much irony as he could muster.

J.B. could hear voices…distant, as though they were at the end of a tunnel, but voices all the same. He tried to speak, but all that came out was an incoherent scream. He could hear the voices telling him to take it easy and it made him want to hit whoever said it with a gren. It was important he speak, but he couldn’t.

With an immense force of will, the Armorer dragged himself out of the dark tunnel and forced his eyes open. Everything was blurry, indistinct. He realized he wasn’t wearing his spectacles and swore heavily, groping for them. One of the three figures looming over him passed them to him, and despite having to narrow his eyes against the light, violent as it was after the tunnel of unconsciousness, everything came into focus.

J.B. was lying on his bed in the armory, with Olly, Esquivel and Ella-Mae standing over him. The first two had been in the wag park with him, but how Ella-Mae got to be there…Shit, it all started to come back to him. He’d seen Mildred, he was sure of it. And Jak. The reason he was sure was because he’d got a good look at Ryan and just stopped Olly from putting a hole through him with the Weatherby.

J.B. knew who they were. He knew where he had been for the past few years. He was kind of hazy, but he could even remember something to do with dogs and a cave-in getting him here in the first place. Dark night, he thought. Ryan had been leading the raid on the ville. That put J.B. in a quandary: should he let on what he knew or should he try to play dumb for the moment?

“Dude, say something,” Esquivel said, waving his hand in front of J.B.’s face. “You’re with us, but not at the same time. Care to share what the fuck went on out there?”

J.B. looked at the sec man, still undecided. It was Olly who tilted the balance. The young man said, “C’mon, J.B., something went on and it had to do with that guy I was gonna take out. He only had one eye.”

“Shit, you’ve remembered,” Ella-Mae breathed. “It’s all come back to you.”

J.B. nodded. “Too quickly, I guess. But that’s why I couldn’t let you try and chill him—I couldn’t let Ryan get shot.”

Esquivel whistled. “The famous Ryan Cawdor turns up near you after all and he’s blowing fuck out of our people. Xander is not gonna like this.”

Olly bit hard on his lip, showing all too clearly the thoughts that were racing through his mind. “How did he come to be involved with those mutie inbred fuckers? And why was he doing something so stupe as driving into a trap? And why—”

J.B. cut him short with a raised hand. “Not that simple, Olly. Ryan wasn’t on his own.” He went onto explain about seeing Mildred and Jak, and also that he hadn’t caught sight of Krysty or Doc, giving them the barest detail on each to save time, but also to make them see that the six had traveled together so long that strong bonds had been forged.

Esquivel whistled. “So if they were two down, then what are the odds they’re safely tucked up back in the pesthole those scum come from?”

“Exactly,” J.B. said, levering himself off the bed and pausing as the room spun before his balance was properly restored. “I need to see Xander about this.”

“He’s gonna be real mad and out for blood. He won’t be happy until they’re all chilled, J.B. Tonight won’t make him look good—word’ll spread real fast and that was the one thing he really didn’t want.” Olly shook his had ruefully. “I don’t reckon it’ll matter who they are. He’ll want to go in and wipe them off the face of the desert.”

“But that’s the point,” J.B. snapped. “Those inbreeds may be shit fighters usually, but with Ryan and the others working with them, there’s no way it’ll be easy for your people, especially if Hammick fucks up again.”

“So what do you suggest, dude?” Esquivel asked softly.

J.B. stopped. It was true. He hadn’t thought of an alternative course of action. “I dunno,” he said softly. “But I guess I’ll think of that when it comes to it.”

He pushed past them and swept out of the room, intent on heading for Xander’s palace. Esquivel hurried after him and Olly was about to follow when he noticed that Ella-Mae was holding back.

“What is it?” the dreadlocked youth asked her, puzzled.

She shook her head, smiling sadly. “You see the look on his face when he talked about them? We’ve lost him. Not matter what happens, we’ve lost him.”

Down in main section of the armory, Budd was detailing sec men to strip and distribute weapons from the storage rooms while he kept record of what was released. He looked up as he heard the Armorer descending the staircase.

“What the hell happened to you out there?” he asked, barely able to keep the smug satisfaction out of his voice. “The great J. B. Dix lose his nerve?”

J.B. glared at him. “Another time,” he said, brushing past the old man. Esquivel, close on J.B.’s heels, kissed his teeth at Budd. This was no time for petty scores.

Budd ignored them, devoting his attention to his son, who was now chasing after the Armorer and his sec shadow, Ella-Mae at his heels.

“Hey, son. Heard you did well out there before you were screwed over. Mebbe this’ll show that you’re the one to—”

He was cut short by his angry son. “Dad, this is about more than just you and me and J.B.,” Olly snapped. “He doesn’t want your job and he doesn’t want mine. He doesn’t even want to be here…and neither do I,” he added, brushing his father aside to follow the Armorer.

Ella-Mae, following, could only think of the look on J.B.’s face when he mentioned seeing Mildred. One way or another, a lot of lives were going to change this night.

X
ANDER STRODE THE FLOOR
of his ornate throne room, anger boiling within him, the seething silence broken only by the halting attempts of Hammick to explain why the action had gone wrong. It should have been simple, he knew that, But no one had figured on the convoy crew wanting to join in the action and getting in the way. And surely Xander could see that Hammick couldn’t risk chilling any of them. What would the baron have said if he had to give a trader compensation to stop word spreading? Come to that, surely he knew that word would spread anyway?

Hammick, halting and stumbling through his report, going back over details to try to justify himself, looked to Grant for help or any indication of sympathy. But the healer and sec adviser sat at the throne’s right hand, looking impassive. He hadn’t intended to scheme and leave Hammick high and dry, but at the same time he was too old and had lasted too long under Xander and his father to step in and take some of the storm that was about to break.

As Hammick paused once more in his halting address, Xander stopped pacing the floor and swiftly and savagely moved across to the sec chief, catching him across the face with a backhand blow that stunned him. Xander wore several heavy silver jeweled rings; these scored Hammick’s cheek, drawing blood that he touched delicately as he tried to rise to his feet.

He was stopped by the cold metal barrel of Xander’s Luger pressed against his forehead.

“Tell me why I shouldn’t just do it now,” the baron said softly. “You’re an incompetent fool and my reputation will suffer. To chill you as the one who should take the blame won’t save that, but it will show that I’m strong and that I won’t tolerate failure or fuckup.”

Hammick heard the hammer click back on the Luger, felt the pressure of the cold metal increase on his forehead. He closed his eyes and waited for oblivion, sure that his bladder had released with fear.

Instead, he heard Grant’s measured tones.

“Why don’t you let him take a sec force after them? Wipe them out in their own filth, see to them once and for all?”

“And what if he fucks that one up, as well?” Xander demanded angrily.

“If he does, then who’s to know, out there? We claim a victory, you deal with him as you see fit and then we send out someone who can do the job. At least this gives him a chance to redeem himself.”

“Why should he have a chance?” Xander demanded once more. Hammick was wondering about that himself. Terrified beyond the ability to think rationally, he hoped Grant would supply an answer that he could not—literally—for the life of him.

Hammick could hear Grant’s measured breathing before the man spoke. “Because if he succeeds, he will know how close he came to buying the farm. He will know how closely he walks in the shadow of being chilled. I have found that there is nothing like such knowledge to focus the mind and enable a man to fulfill his tasks with a maximum of diligence and efficiency.”

That was a good answer—a triple-good answer—thought Hammick, his muscles starting to spasm from the awkward, half-prone position he had been forced to adopt. He could only hope that the baron would also think it a triple-good answer.

The barrel of the blaster didn’t move, but Hammick heard the baron begin to laugh. Softly at first, but with a genuine amusement and understanding.

“Yeah…Yeah, I like that. I like it a lot. It’s a very good point.” Xander took the Luger away from Hammick’s head, thumbed the safety, and reholstered it. The sec chief risked opening his eyes to find himself looking into the face of the baron. “You can stand up now, you stupe bastard,” Xander said softly. And as the sec chief did so, he continued. “That’s what I want you to do. We’ll mount a raid and we’ll wipe out those ugly fuckers.”

“I’ll get the armory right on it, sir,” Hammick said, trying hard not to sound too grateful and pathetic for being spared.

“I think you’ll find I’ve already instituted a plan,” Grant said softly. When Xander gave him a quizzical look, he added, “Regardless of what you did to Hammick, it was something that I felt would have to be our next move.”

“I shall have to watch for the day when your next move is to dispose of me,” the baron murmured with a deceptive mildness.

Hammick sighed to himself. As the two men exchanged looks, they had—thankfully—forgotten about him.

But before the exchanges between Grant and Xander could move into potentially dangerous territory, the door to the throne room was flung open, and J.B. strode in, followed by Esquivel.

“What do you mean by bursting in without appointment or announcement,” Xander yelled, his baronial pride further dented by this intrusion.

“Sorry, chief,” Esquivel addressed to Hammick, “but he’s got something kinda important.”

“It’s okay, Es. No one apologizes for me,” J.B. said shortly.

Addressing Xander, he continued. “I’ve got my memory back—”

“Very interesting, I’m sure, but we are in the middle of a battle here,” Grant interjected mildly. “There are things that are, to be frank, more important than—”

He was cut short by an impatient gesture from the Armorer, who interrupted. “This is important. I’ve remembered how I came to be here and when I last saw Ryan Cawdor. In fact, I don’t even have to remember, as I saw him only an hour or so ago.”

The announcement dropped like a bombshell. Grant had guessed that Cawdor would be involved in the raid from the earlier information; Hammick had seen a one-eyed man during the battle and had drawn the obvious conclusion; but Xander had no knowledge at all that Ryan was associated with the raid. Whereas the other two fought to show surprise, there was no mistaking Xander’s astonishment. As his jaw dropped, J.B. explained about the moment when it had come flooding back, seeing Ryan in the middle of the firefight.

“But why would someone like Cawdor be involved with inbred filth like that?” Xander asked, genuine bemusement in his voice.

J.B. explained about seeing Mildred and Jak, and how that meant that two of the companions were missing. He added, “It’s true that they could have bought the farm in the same accident that landed me here, but somehow I doubt it. I figure they’re being held as leverage to make Ryan, Jak and Mildred do what these bastards want.”

“That’s certainly feasible,” Xander said softly. “But it doesn’t alter the fact that we need to go after this scum and wipe them out. And if that means—”

“Wait. Before you say anything else, hear me out,” J.B. said quickly. “Ryan and the others are only fighting for those bastards because they have to. If I’m with your people when you go in and they see me, they will join us and turn the tables on their captors.”

“Fine words, but you are, after all, assuming that Cawdor and his people aren’t fighting against us out of choice,” Grant said.

J.B.’s eyes flashed. “If they’ve got Doc and Krysty as prisoners, then Ryan would fight for them. No other reason. And why not? What do you mean to him?”

“What do we mean to you?” Grant countered.

“Not as much as Ryan, Jak, Mildred, Doc and Krysty,” J.B. said heatedly, and cursed himself as it came out of his mouth. If Xander thought he would sell out Duma for them, then he wouldn’t trust him on the raid. Would the baron see that it was more—so much more—than simply a matter of ville loyalty?

“If we mean nothing to you, then I fail to see how you can be trusted on this mission,” Grant snapped immediately.

He addressed the baron. “We can’t let this man endanger the mission. We have a point to prove.”

“Grant’s right.” J.B. turned in surprise. Olly was standing in the doorway, Ella-Mae at his elbow. They had followed close behind the Armorer and his sec shadow and had listened to the explanations and arguments within the chamber. Now Olly had decided to step forward.

“You of all people know he can’t be trusted,” Hammick blustered. “It was your shot on the one-eyed man that he deflected.”