Thunder Road (21 page)

“I may have put it a little differently, but I think that was more or less what I was trying to say,” Corwen said softly.

He turned to his people. If he was quiet, they made him sound as loud as the fat woman. But there was no mistaking the agreement that issued from them.

“So what do you say, Bryanna?” he asked, turning to her.

The black man had moved nearer to her. He glanced in her direction, but his purpose was unfathomable behind those goggles. The lean man they called Cedric, and the chestnut-haired woman with him, glanced over to Corwen with a tacit agreement. That left just Robear and the guy in the ancient T-shirt to consider. The latter looked at Corwen, then at Bryanna, and shrugged. It didn’t take much to see that he would go with whatever she said, no matter what his own opinion may be. Robear was another matter. The man was a ball of hostility, and the fact that he could feel he was being pressured into a decision would make him contrary.

“We gonna let these fuckers tell us what to do?” He spit.

“As opposed to letting her tell you what to do?” Rounda murmured, her comment being met with a venomous glare.

“Now is not the time,” Doc stated. Rounda caught his eye, grinned and shrugged.

“Well?” Ryan rasped after waiting for what seemed like an age, a pause that seemed to stretch from the dawning of this day into the dawning of another, and yet was little more than the blink of an eye. “Better make up your mind quick, lady, ’cause whoever’s with our man in that redoubt is going to be royally pissed that we blew up their little toys.”

“F
UCK FUCK FUCK
! No, they can’t do this. This cannot be happening.” Howard emphasized each phrase by beating his hands against the console like the spoiled child he was in truth. Krysty watched, trying to keep impassive. He was in a very fragile state, emotionally. Vulnerable, perhaps, and easy for her to manipulate?

“Status report—all four initial spycams destroyed. Three before reaching target area. No footage of any import salvageable from digi files returned.”

Howard stopped, looked up. “Three? What about the fourth?”

There was a pause. Krysty could almost hear Hammill—that part of him that was still human to any degree, and wished to be released—struggling with the information. Omission was one thing. He had been asked as direct a question as could be posed. Finally, with a crack in his voice that perhaps only Krysty could hear, because she knew the truth, Hammill spoke again.

“The fourth spycam did attain target area after initial damage. From the information gathered, we can deduce that it was hit by a high-caliber shell, but the casing was only partially punctured. Damage to the internal circuits, and eventual destruction, was caused by fragments of the lens that broke away and flew into the mechanism.”

“So did it gather any intel that is of any use?” Howard barked with rising impatience. “Don’t tell me the useless details. It’s gone, and it’s not coming back. Okay, so I’ve lost four spycams. But what did one of them tell me?”

“The images and sounds are a trifle…confused,” Hammill said slowly. “I think it would be fair to say that the cam was recording sound and vision at only thirty percent capacity.”

Howard was breathing heavily. He looked up at the monitors as though they were the face of the disembodied voice he now addressed.

“You have the ability to take those images and clean them as much as is possible. Digi enhancement is a minor function. Take them, clean them, slow them down so that we can analyze them.”

There was another pause. Then Hammill said, “They are severely damaged images, Howard. It may take a while—”

“Fuck that it will,” Howard screamed. His face was red, the tendons on his neck stood out, and white spittle flecked the corners of his mouth. “You could do that in the time it took you to say it. Priority red on this, all systems switch.”

“Very well,” Hammill said. Almost immediately, images began to appear on the largest monitor screen. Krysty could tell from the speed at which this occurred that Hammill had pushed the waiting and omission tactic as far as he could.

Meanwhile, the few seconds of recorded image, processed and cleaned, looped and played slow, unfolded endlessly in front of her.

Four people stood on top of the dune, taking shots. That part was clear. She could see Ryan, J.B., Mildred and Jak. Three of them had to have shot clean and clear. But before the digi image started to break for the first time, the center of the frame moved. The camera veered erratically, the image breaking up intermittently, the worst of the static wipe clean, causing the flow of images to appear jerky.

But it was clear enough for her to see that it took them over the ridge. She saw Ryan start to turn onto his back, bringing the rifle with him. In the corners of the frame she saw other shapes, other people. She thought she saw Doc, and then the static washed over the screen, the image breaking finally before resolving itself once more into the beginning of the sequence.

“Sid,” Howard barked, “take the last few moments—start from a tenth of a second and work back until you have all the detail you can gather. I want to know more about those shapes. Those are people, equipment…I want to see what they are.”

“Very well, Howard,” Sid intoned, a weariness in his voice that even Howard had to have noticed.

There was a pause. No more than ten seconds, but too much for Howard.

“Sid, priority red. What the fuck is the matter with you? This should take no time at all.”

“I’m sorry, Howard. There was a glitch in the program that has delayed me,” Sid replied. Even to Krysty, who knew very little about comp programs other than what she had taught herself in redoubts, it sounded like a feeble excuse.

Howard had to have picked up on that, too, but he was at a complete loss to understand why this should be. The confusion was visible on his face, and echoed in his voice.

“Sid, why the delay? This isn’t like you at all.”

“We are unused to combat conditions, Howard. A simulation is not substitute for the real thing.”

“Simulations are not supposed to be a substitute for combat. They are there to familiarize ourselves with procedures that can be implemented in times of emergency. Such as now. So please do not use that as an excuse. We are all unused to combat. But we have to adjust.”

His voice was cold, and he enunciated each word clearly and with an evenness of tone that belied the tightness with which he gripped the console, his knuckles white as he hunched over the controls, his face bathed in the glow of the monitor screens.

“I apologize,” Sid said. Howard believed that the apology was directed at him. Krysty suspected differently. The last few moments of the digi images came up on the monitor, slowed down until it was almost a still image, barely moving. She knew that Sid was apologizing to her for what he was compelled to do.

“It’s okay,” she mouthed silently. Howard, with his back to her, had no idea what she was doing. But she hoped that one of the many surveillance cams would pick up her mouthing, and that Sid and Hammill would know that she realized it was not of their doing.

Meanwhile, Howard was studying the image intently. Krysty moved forward to join him, flinching as he put his hand out to her. She took it, hoping that he had not noticed her flinch.

“Who are these people?” he asked her, indicating the women and men who were gathered in two distinct groups at the corners of the distorted image. “And what are those?” he added, indicating the outlines of what seemed to be some kind of transport, yet was too blurred to really make out.

“Sid, is this the best you can do?”

“It is,” Sid replied. “I’ll take the next level of enhancement, to show you.” The image changed again, larger now, and less blurred, but rendered more indistinct by the pixilation of the image. It returned rapidly to its previous blurred form.

“Very well, Sid,” Howard said, biting his lip. “I have no complaint this time. Any intel on who or what?”

“Searching records—” There was a pause, before the voice returned. “The man with the green hair is possibly one of a group who have been known to live down past the old town of Tucumcari. There have been reports of a clutch of people with aircraft of a nonoffensive variety. Reports are sketchy, but it suggests they are part of a loose alliance that also includes the black man in goggles and the blond woman. They come from a faction that reports have tagged as more belligerent. But there is little on any of them other than the occasional piece of radio transmission, and some security transmissions picked up on shortwave from former military bases. They appear to keep themselves apart from the general populace.”

“Sid, is there any record of their having an association with Ryan Cawdor?”

“No, Howard, there was nothing in records about an alliance with Cawdor, nor any indication that they have ever crossed paths before.”

She sighed with relief and could almost hear the relief in Sid’s voice. Unwittingly, Howard had phrased the question in such a manner as to allow Sid an out. Of course they had never encountered Ryan. They had barely encountered the others. It was only Krysty who was really known to them. If Howard had asked that question in any other, less specific fashion, then Sid would have had to…but it didn’t matter.

“Storm Girl, have you ever encountered these people?” Howard asked, clutching her hand. She was so glad that he had asked her that question directly. She had no programmed imperative to be truthful. In fact, she could lie to her heart’s content.

“I have no idea who they are,” she said, wide-eyed and innocent. She peered at the monitor so that she did not have to meet his gaze. “I’ve never seen anyone like that before.”

“Where did they come from?” Howard mused. “More to the point, why?”

“What are those?” she countered, pointing to the parasails, hoping the bafflement in her voice sounded genuine. She had flown in one, when they had attacked the heavily armed train MAGOG, flown, in fact, with Corwen himself. She knew only too well what they could do in the right circumstances.

“I’m not sure. Sid? Hammill?”

There was a slight pause, then Hammill’s voice rang out.

“There is insufficient data to compile a complete report. They appear to be something on the lines of a glider, going by the information drawn from the image, and from prior reports.”

“Dammit, that tells us nothing. Who are these people, and why are they intruding on our conflict?” Howard raged.

Krysty kept quiet. Not only did she know who they were, but she recalled that Ryan had the locket Paul Yawl had given her.

Yeah, she knew who and why. She only hoped they weren’t being as difficult as she knew they could be. If that was the case, they were more a part of the problem than a part of the solution.

“I can’t believe you’ve just said that!” Robear exclaimed, gesturing wildly with the hand that held the crossbow. “I can’t believe that you’d just—”

“You’d better believe it,” Rounda said in softer tone than any would have expected from her. “Even the Bitch Queen herself can see when it’s time to stand up and be counted. You can’t stay apart forever, right?”

“I would certainly agree with that sentiment,” Corwen added in an equally soft tone. He cast his gaze over those gathered around the land yachts. “I wonder how many others agree with friend Robear, though?”

Cedric shook his head. “I do not. I think Bryanna has made the right choice. Of course,” he added with a shrug, “that could be merely because it was the decision I wished her to make.”

The chestnut-haired woman with him spoke. “No, it isn’t just that. Sure, we want to keep ourselves to ourselves, and I still don’t see anything wrong with that. I don’t see anything wrong with wanting to come together to make a force to be reckoned with, either. But if we do that, ain’t we got to come up against people like this anyway?”

Bryanna nodded. “She voices my own arguments well, Robear. Think about it, and you’ll see I haven’t given any ground on our aims. Wouldn’t you say?” she asked of the black man.

“Absolutely,” he agreed, to be met with a snort from Robear.

“C’mon, she’s right. We need to be together on this,” the guy in the Garcia T-shirt whined.

Ryan’s patience was wearing thin. Beyond thin. It was like the membrane a person got when raw meat was cut and pulled away from the bone. That membrane that started thin and became more translucent the more pressure applied, until it started to render.

He was at the rendering stage. Admittedly, there was something he could draw from this: the strange group dynamics that were being played out told him a lot about the characters of the seven people. When it came to deploying them in the offensive to come, that would be useful. He couldn’t say the same of Corwen’s people, for instance, who had remained mute behind their leader. But maybe it was simply that they really were the image of the man, in which case Ryan was pretty sure that they could be relied upon. Not something he could have said of Bryanna or her people.

So this heated exchange had some value. But if ever there was a wrong time, it was now. Bryanna had made a decision. Being the woman she was, she had decided to make a declaration of it. Rounda and Corwen had simply assumed tacitly that they would band with Ryan’s people after the aerial attack. That hadn’t been the case with Bryanna or her people, and even after Ryan had virtually issued her with an ultimatum, she had paused as if for dramatic effect before agreeing to join the fight.

And as she had, so it had started this argument. He could understand Rounda and Corwen being dubious about the group as a whole. They knew these people, had history. But fireblast, he wished they hadn’t inadvertently added to the argument.

Time was of the essence. He looked at his own people. Jak was as impassive as ever, but from his body language it was easy to see that he was disgusted at the delay, and would run the stupe bastards through with a knife given the word. J.B. looked puzzled, exchanging glances with an exasperated Mildred. Doc, of all of them, seemed to be almost enjoying the debate, following it with the ghost of a smile flickering around his lips, which kind of figured. Doc always did have the weirdest way of looking at things.

Enough. Ryan drew his SIG-Sauer and fired one shot into the air. The sharp crack of the blaster rent the early-morning quiet, cutting through the sounds of argument and pulling them up short. Oddly, it seemed as though Rounda, Corwen and his people were not at all surprised by Ryan’s action. Neither were his companions, except perhaps to wonder why he hadn’t put a shell through the head of that idiot Robear. Indeed, it seemed to amuse Doc so much that he audibly chuckled.

The eyes of all were on him. Good. At least it had shut them up.

“Listen up, you stupe bastards. I don’t give a fireblasted fuck if you want to fight with us or not. We’ve got ourselves, and we know we can rely on you—” he indicated Rounda and Corwen’s group “—so that gives us some kind of numbers. If you think you’re up to the threat these coldhearts may give us, then fine. If not, get the fuck out now. Makes no difference to me, but it could make a difference to whoever you’re fighting next to if you don’t have the balls.”

He could see that Robear was itching to turn on him. The guy with the T-shirt held out a hand to restrain him. Robear turned, and the guy’s head shook almost imperceptibly.

“Whatever your decision,” Ryan stated, “shit or get off the pot now. ’Cause we’ve got to move.”

“In daylight?” Corwen questioned. “Should we not sit out the daylight and then attack? At least it could give us time to plan.”

“Time is one thing we don’t have,” Ryan returned. “Any planning will have to be quick. Not that we can do much except think on the run. We don’t know the full extent of what they can throw at us. The land is mined, and fuck knows where the redoubt actually is in there. Let alone what other weapons they might have.”

“Then surely darkness would aid us?” Corwen pressed.

“If we were attacking a regular ville, I’d agree with you,” Ryan argued. “But this isn’t an ordinary ville. This is old tech shit, and I’d lay jack on them having—Shit, Doc, what is it?”

“Infrared. Sees in the dark,” Doc replied perfunctorily. “I’m sure at least some of these ladies and gentlemen have come across it in the past. Perhaps even possess it,” he added pointedly as he looked at the black man.

The latter acknowledged the unspoken question. “Yeah, I can do that with these,” he said, indicating the goggles that covered his eyes. “They’re adjustable to light. I wear them because without them normal daylight really screws me. And you’re right. With that, daylight or dark makes no difference. They could pick us out as they wanted.”

Ryan nodded. “Exactly. And if I’m right, then those bastard things they sent over weren’t missiles, but flying cameras of some kind. Okay, so we knocked them all out eventually, thanks to Doc, but I wouldn’t bargain against that last fucker having sent back some kind of intelligence before it was blasted to hell and back. And if it did, then they’ll have some kind of idea of how many of us there are, and who we are, which means they can move against us.”

Corwen nodded. “Agreed. I understand, now. We must move before they have a chance to move first.”

“Glad you see it that way,” Ryan said. “We don’t know what kind of ordnance they have, but come to that, I don’t know what we have right now. It’s time to get it out and see who has the biggest and best.”

H
OWARD HAD CALMED DOWN
. Krysty had found herself calming him as she would a child. She had stroked his head, keeping her revulsion hidden and maintaining the facade by imagining what an enraged Howard could do to the people on the edge of the territory.

Krysty had no doubt that, beyond the range of the intel equipment, Ryan and the tech-nomads were planning an attack of some kind. She also guessed that they wouldn’t wait around for Howard to initiate the assault. She knew her friends and their capabilities well enough; the tech-nomads she knew less well, but the time that she had seen them in action had been more than enough to convince her of their abilities.

“Sid, Hammill, anything going on out there?” she asked gently.

Howard turned to her. His face was confused.

It was Hammill’s voice that answered. “Status within secured boundaries is normal. There is no sign of intrusion, and no indication of encroachment. As far as intel and surveillance for the immediate area, there is nothing. They remain beyond the range, and have shown no sign of wishing to come closer. It may, perhaps, be possible to monitor them if the remaining spycams are launched, and the flight patterns are planned so that they can fly above the range of the ordnance used. However, while this would give some intelligence, the quality of such would be compromised.”

“No, Hammill, I think that at this stage it would serve no purpose to risk equipment. Can you or Sid provide refreshment for us in the recreation area, please? Meantime, keep surveillance on triple red—I mean, maintain at the highest level. If anything happens, let us know immediately.”

“Certainly, Storm Girl,” Sid replied.

He catches on quickly, Krysty thought. Howard would like him calling her that. It was a way of letting her know, too, that he and Hammill had understood her plans.

Howard still looked confused, but he smiled at her.

She resisted the temptation to sigh and said, “Come on, there’s nothing we can do here at the moment. While they remain out of range, then there’s no way of knowing what they plan to do. And if we try to gather intelligence, they’ll just take it as a hostile move and shoot down the spycams. Best thing we can do is take some downtime and rest.”

Howard nodded, letting her lead him from the console room.

Okay, so she’d got him away from the controls and the possibility of doing something both drastic and stupe. It didn’t solve her long-term problem. She still had to work out how to get the hell out and also to ensure the destruction of the bunker. But it did mean that she had bought some time for her friends.

And maybe that was all that they’d need.

T
HE ENEMY WAS CLEVER
. But they could not outfox Thunder Rider. Not now that he had Storm Girl at his side. Her actions during the recent engagement had shown him where her loyalties now lay. Indeed, the solicitous manner in which she was caring for him following his efforts in the latest skirmish only served to reinforce this.

The loss of the spycams was nothing in itself. They were not weapons, had no defenses of their own, and in many ways were flags run up the pole to tempt fire, to instigate action. What had pained him was the fact that he had lost face in front of his new partner. But perhaps she had not seen it this way: her attitude suggested otherwise. She had assumed command as naturally as though she had always been there. She had ordered the defenses, commanded Sid and Hammill to act if necessary, and had arranged for them to rest while they waited.

While they did, he had to plan: a plan of action was of necessity, he felt. And yet…When he looked at her, the idea of spending time planning for battle seemed somehow less appealing than it had in the past.

Perhaps now…

W
HEN THEY REACHED
the recreation area, the robot workers were still present, depositing the coffee and hot food that they had prepared in the kitchens. They looked like automatons, and would not have stirred any feeling in her if she hadn’t heard Sid’s story. Instead, all she could think about was how these scuttling cans on wheels had once been living, breathing human beings. It made her sick to the stomach to contemplate this, and she had to force the coffee down her constricted throat.

Howard, on the other hand, had no such problems. Although she wanted to blame him, she knew rationally that he was an innocent in this. Born to it, he knew no different. That didn’t make him any the less dangerous, though. As she watched him rooting among the vids and comics, looking at covers and pages as though he sought inspiration from them, she knew that his detachment from reality could lead him to acts that had no thought for their consequence.

He turned to her, holding a vid case that said something about a savage—somehow she couldn’t imagine Doc being that way, let alone looking like the bronzed hero on the cover painting.

“I’m glad you took me away from the control room,” he said haltingly. “I’m still very new to all this. I trained, of course, but nothing prepares you for the real thing.

“You see, that’s where you score over me. You’ve lived on the outside all your life. That means you’ve seen the dirt, and you know how to deal with it. That’s an invaluable skill, you know.”

“I know,” she said simply, knowing he craved response, but not wanting to deflect him.

“I want to show you something,” he said almost shyly. “Come with me.” He held out his hand. Krysty rose from her seat and took it. Her guts were churning. So this was it, was it? Well, she’d done worse things, but nothing that felt so grubby.

It was a feeling that she couldn’t shake off as he led her out of the room. And yet he wasn’t leading her toward his room or hers, as she had expected. Confusion joined revulsion. But this was nothing compared to the feeling that she had when he opened the door to a room that was, like the console room, lined with comps. But on the monitors for each of these, a different kind of weapon was on display.

“The ordnance chamber,” Howard said proudly.

Krysty took it in. “Oh, my,” she whispered.

Howard beamed like the child he still was. “I knew you’d be impressed.”

Impressed was not the word she would have chosen.

T
IME TO LAY THE CARDS
on the table. It was a phrase that came back to Doc at this time, and set off an association of ideas in his head. He remembered the ace of spades—the death card—and the dead man’s hand. He should be a dead man, by rights. Many times over. But he wasn’t, so maybe he had a lucky hand. Maybe they had a lucky hand. Certainly, there seemed to be a variety of weaponry now on display that he had not seen before.