Arcadian's Asylum (3 page)

The convoy rumbled on. The suspension on the vehicle was good, but even so they could still feel the bump and jolt of the road beneath. Looking out at the surface, it seemed unbroken, but it was undulating as they passed over it. Root systems from the trees and
bushes on either side had burrowed deep into the soil and spread across the gap between, pushing up the earth but not yet breaking through.

This made progress slower than perhaps J.B. or Mildred would have liked. The sooner they were out of this landscape, the better.

J.B. returned to the scope. To the rear of the convoy, there was nothing except the ribbon of road, the ville of Arcady a distant memory hidden from view by the twist of the road and the canopy of foliage. On either side, all that could be seen were banks of oily, dark leaves and pointed grasses.

Looking ahead, J.B. could see the convoy snaking around a bend in the road. The way in which the vehicles moved erratically across the surface of the flattop gave some indication of how the wag jockeys had to wrestle with the steering, wrenching back wheels that wanted to move with the undulations rather than the will of the driver.

The fourteen vehicles ahead of them were of varied size and shape, some old container rigs, some predark military vehicles. All had been repainted in a variety of colors, the only recurring motif being that the same kind of colors had been used. Maybe, J.B. figured, Toms had found a stash of old vehicle paints and had spread their use among his wags. It wasn’t pretty, but it identified every vehicle as belonging to this convoy. Made sense—no coldheart could hijack one of Toms’s wags and hide it with any ease.

They traveled with a set distance between every wag. There was little variation, and any wag jockey who strayed too far distant or too close was quick to drop
back or to catch up. It prevented them from crashing into each other should the front of the convoy be pulled up, or from being separated and split up if the convoy was attacked from the middle.

J.B. had to hand it to Toms. For such a crude, laughable figure, which he was in many ways, the man had an intelligence that went deeper than was apparent. Which made it all the more odd that he should be taking this route, going to a ville he didn’t know, and all on the say-so of Baron Arcadian. From what Lou and K.T. had told them—indeed, what Toms had said when they had joined him on the way into Arcady—Toms had a high regard for the baron, and felt that it was mutual.

J.B. hadn’t met Arcadian, but he was aware that Lou shared K.T.’s wariness. Was it possible that Toms’s opinion of the baron had blinded him to any possible duplicity or danger?

Trouble was, all J.B. had to go on was a gut feeling. He knew Mildred felt it, too. He didn’t know about Ryan, Krysty, Jak or Doc, but if they’d taken a look at the surrounding land, he was sure that he could guess.

All his foreboding came to fruition as the radio crackled to life. J.B. and Mildred exchanged puzzled glances as Toms’s voice came over the airwaves.

“Wag One to all wags. Slow to a halt over the next quarter of a mile. There’s something we need to attend to. Repeat—slow to a halt over the next quarter mile and maintain distance. Condition blue. No need to fuckin’ panic, guys.”

The trader’s tone had been easy and friendly, with no sign of panic. Yet what could have caused him to call a halt on a empty road, with no sign of the ville up ahead?

J.B., ignoring Lou’s questioning glance, spun the scope through 360 degrees once again, staying when facing front. There was no sign of any obstruction ahead, and through to the next bend there was no sign of Jackson Spire—even given that they had only been traveling a few hours.

“What’s this about?” he snapped at Lou.

The giant sec lieutenant shrugged. “Fucked if I know. Guess we’ll find out soon enough.”

Chapter Two

“And then Corleon turns to the guy who’s been trying to chill him all the way through, and he says, er…” Toms halted midway through the description and tugged at his beard, his beady, dark eyes darting around and taking a good look at the landscape that passed the windows of the wag.

Doc was relieved, in one way. This had to have been the fifth time he’d had to endure a blow-by-blow description of a scene from an old vid in the past few hours. In truth, he had ceased to pay full attention to what Toms was saying sometime back, and he had a sneaking suspicion that this particular scene was on its second run.

However, the way in which Toms stopped midstory was unnerving. The trader had found—he thought—a willing audience in Doc, and one that had knowledge of these old vids. Doc didn’t think it prudent to point out that an interest in one aspect of the past didn’t include an all-encompassing fascination.

Still, while Toms was droning on, Doc knew that all was well. For the trader to interrupt himself, something of moment had to be about to occur.

Hawklike, Doc studied the man as he paused, looked, then turned to the wag jockey. There was an unease in
his manner, as though he had almost forgotten himself; as if he was about to do something that wasn’t necessarily to his liking.

“How far out are we?” he asked the wag jockey, his tone now businesslike.

The driver studied the odometer. “About fifteen miles,” he answered. His tone was curious, as though wondering why his boss had suddenly questioned him.

Toms nodded to himself, muttered, “Fuck, nearly screwed it.”

“A problem, perchance?” Doc queried.

Toms turned back, looking blank for a moment, before shaking his head and smiling uneasily. Doc noted that it didn’t reach his eyes.

“No, not problem. Just something that I nearly forgot to do.”

Doc could feel Jak stiffen, even though he couldn’t see him. The creeping apprehension that had flooded through him before now returned, and he knew that Jak’s sense of danger had also been pricked.

“Something we should know about?” Doc said, trying to keep his tone neutral.

Toms shook his head. “No. Well, kinda. But bear with me, you’ll know soon enough,” he told him.

Ah, yes, Doc mused, but would they like it?

“WHAT THE FUCK does that fat little shit think he’s doing? We’ve barely got the wags in gear and the prick is making us stop. What was the point of running the asswipe crews into the ground like a bunch of shitheaps if we’re going to stop and start like this?”

K.T. banged the palm of his hand on the side of the
wag. Hard. So much so that Krysty winced, wondering how many bones the idiot had broken over the years because of his temper. It was a hard, flat sound in the enclosed space. K.T. cursed again through gritted teeth as the pain hit: not that it calmed him in any way.

“Pull the fucking wag up, then,” he yelled at the wag jockey. “Might as well pull out the bedrolls, light a fire and bed down for the bastard night,” he muttered fiercely.

“So you don’t know why Toms is doing this?” Ryan asked.

“Of course I don’t fucking know you shit rag. Think I’d be so fucking pissed otherwise?”

Ryan held his peace, knowing K.T. spoke crudely to everyone.

K.T. grabbed the handset for the shortwave. “Lou, bring it down to zero in three-fifty,” he said, visibly controlling his temper. The big man was the only one who could ever put him in his place, and resultantly he was always on his best behavior when talking to him.

“Sure, no problem,” came the big man’s mild tones. “And you keep it frosty, you hear?”

K.T. grinned. “I’ll try.”

He turned to Ryan and Krysty, the grin turning apologetic. “Shouldn’t have said that to you. Ain’t nothing to do with you if Toms goes weird on us.”

“That’s okay,” Ryan assured him. “But is there anything we should know? We’re supposed to be sec for you, so if there’s any problem…”

K.T. frowned, craning his head out the front window of the wag before answering. When he turned back, he had a puzzled expression. “Y’know, I’d tell you if I
could, but I’ll be fucked sideways by a bunch of horny stickies if I can see anything weird at all out there. Far as I can see, there’s no reason why we should be stopping.”

Krysty’s hair pulled tighter around her throat, the coils moving in. “No reason” usually meant a real bad reason—just one that hadn’t jumped out to bite you on the ass yet.

LOU REPLACED the handset after speaking to K.T., pulling a face that bespoke his own bemusement.

“Guess you’d better get ready,” he said to J.B. and Mildred. “Guess we all had.” He stood with some difficulty in the cramped interior and moved to the metal gun cabinet bolted to the side of the wag. He took down a carbine and a Browning Hi-Power hand-blaster, checking that both were oiled and loaded before holstering the blaster and throwing the carbine over one massive shoulder. Both weapons were in decent condition.

“You see anything out there that could be why we’re stopping?” he continued, directing his question to J.B.

The Armorer shook his head. “Can’t see much, for sure,” he mused. “But there isn’t anything close enough to be visible or to cause too much disturbance to the cover.”

Lou chewed his lip thoughtfully. “Then what’s the stupe bastard playing at? Last thing we should be doing is just pulling up on an open road, especially with all that cover.”

J.B. studied the big man intently. There was little doubt that he was genuine. The sense of impending
danger that had infected J.B. and Mildred caused the Armorer to wonder if the convoy itself was the source of apprehension. But if there was an enemy within, then Lou had no part of this. Nor did the other members of the wag crew, who were also murmuring their disquiet.

Was it like this in every wag? J.B. wondered. If so, then what did the fat man have up his hairy-armed and snot-stained sleeve?

The shortwave, up until then nothing more than a constant background undulation with a few crackling bursts of static, burst into life as messages were relayed from wag to wag, synchronizing the slowdown to a halt. At the same time, K.T. and Lou, as sec lieutenants, became focused on sec measures when the convoy had come to a stop. Each wag carried in its crew people who doubled as gear-humpers and sec. At a time such as this, all such personnel were focused on their sec duties. It was agreed that when the convoy had stopped, each wag’s sec contingent would exit first, backs to the wags, one on each side of the vehicle, covering both sides of the densely packed verge.

“Where do we fit?” J.B. asked.

“Good point,” Lou replied. He spoke into the handset. “K.T., if we deploy the usual people in defensive positions, what should we do with the additional sec group?”

“They’re evenly spaced along the convoy, right? I’d say they could act as outrunners, mebbe scout the roadside. What do you think?”

Lou turned to J.B. and Mildred, his expression begging the question. He beckoned J.B. to the handset.

“Sounds reasonable,” the Armorer began as he approached. “Ryan, we take it in pairs or go solo?”

Ryan’s voice crackled. “Way we’re spread, take it solo. One for each side. That way we don’t leave any gaps.”

“Sounds good to me,” J.B. agreed. “Jak? Doc?”

Doc’s voice came over the airwaves. “A perfectly reasonable assumption, John Barrymore, and one which I think the good Mr. Lauren and myself would find ourselves in agreement. It only remains to be given the nod, as it were, by our immediate superiors.”

Lou gave J.B. a look that was half confusion, half amusement. “Does that old crazy mean me and K.T.?”

J.B. couldn’t resist a grin. “Yeah.”

Lou shook his head with a throaty chuckle. “Weird old fucker.”

He was about to speak into the handset when Toms’s voice cut across.

“CANCEL THAT, boys,” Toms said quickly, moving in front of Doc and taking the handset from him. “Go ahead with the usual plan for our people, but make none for Ryan and his people. You guys, I need to see you urgently up by my wag. As soon as the area is secured, then get yourselves up here.”

He signed off and turned away from the handset, at the same time turning his back on Doc and Jak.

“What is this about?” Doc asked calmly, trying to keep the tension from his voice. He could feel Jak at his back, like a coiled spring, yet he knew that to the casual observer, the albino would seem at ease. The other crew members in the wag were exchanging puzzled looks. It was obvious that whatever agenda Toms may have, he hadn’t chosen to share it with the rest of his crew. And their reactions showed that his actions were uncharacteristic.

Doc was sure that whatever was going down wasn’t something that Toms was fully comfortable with.

The trader didn’t answer the old man for some while—or so it seemed—before saying in a voice that was cracked with tension, “You’ll soon find out. Best you know with the others.”

“You tell now,” Jak said. His voice was quiet, but as hard as flint. Doc could see unquiet in the eyes of the other crew members. They were scared of the wiry and impassive albino. They’d seen him in action. If he exploded as they seemed to be expecting, it could trigger a situation that couldn’t easily be controlled.

“No, Jak, it is perhaps for the best that we discover what is behind this when we are with Ryan and the others,” Doc said slowly. There was weight in his words, and an inference that the albino picked up on.

“Okay,” he said simply.

Over the shortwave, they heard K.T. and Lou give the synchronized order, once the convoy had stopped rolling, to disembark. Giving the old man and the albino a sideways glance, the sec detail in the lead wag slipped out to cover either side.

“Well, then,” he said softly after a pause, “should we be going?”

Toms turned to Jak and Doc. He looked everywhere but directly at them, nodding without being able to bring himself to utter the slightest word. He picked up a portable handset and made for the side door of the wag, Doc and Jak at his rear.

Both were poised, even if they still had—as yet—no idea what for….

R YAN AND K RYSTY climbed out of the wag, followed by K.T. Looking up and down the length of the convoy, they could see J.B. and Mildred walking toward them, the giant Lou in their wake. Between the middle and end wags, sec men were strung out in a line, backs to the wags, facing the blank wall of oily green vegetation with expressions that veered between the nervous and the confused. They had no doubt that their sec compatriots on the other side of the road looked exactly the same.

Looking toward the lead wag, they could see Trader Toms, shuffling on the pavement, holding a shortwave handset and pointedly looking away from Doc and Jak. Even at this distance, it was obvious that both men were having trouble in not betraying the tension they felt.

Ryan and Krysty stood still, intent on waiting for J.B. and Mildred to join them. It was pretty obvious that K.T. was in no hurry, either, an impression reinforced when he spoke softly as Lou came within earshot.

“Lou, what the fuck is shortass doing?”

The giant smiled amiably. “You think I can ever work out how his mind works? He knows, and we will soon enough. C’mon, let’s move.”

The six people began to move toward the front of the convoy, feeling the questioning glances of the sec men bore into them as they passed. The handsets that K.T. and Lou carried crackled briefly before Toms’s voice sounded.

“C’mon, what are you waiting for? Hurry up.”

His tone was far from happy, and Ryan couldn’t help but notice the look that shot between the two sec lieutenants. They had no idea what the fat man
wanted, and they were concerned at the way he sounded.

If Toms wanted a firefight, he could have it. His people obviously had little idea, if this was his intent, so despite being outnumbered, Ryan was sure his people could take out the sec force, or go down with most of them. Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that.

As they drew level with the leading wag, eye contact with Doc and Jak made it clear that they should be ready to fight. The ghost of a smile crossed the albino teen’s visage. When was there a time when he wasn’t ready for such an eventuality?

Toms stepped back from his sec lieutenants, Ryan’s people and the sec man who had stepped out of the lead wag with him. He looked over all of them, slowly. It seemed to go on forever. In the elongated and pregnant pause, it seemed to Ryan that the land around them closed in. He was aware of the humid heat as the sun rose in the sky, its rays of light barely penetrating the thick canopy of leaves even though the heat bounced off the road before reflecting back off the oily, dark leaves. They absorbed the heat and moisture before bearing it back down on the people beneath.

The entire world seemed amplified. The quiet in which they found themselves now that the wag engines had died and they waited for the silent trader to speak only served to make the undertones—otherwise hidden—seem greater.

Ryan felt like his nerve endings were stretched taut enough to break; he knew without looking that the rest of his companions felt the same.