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"You volunteering to go there?" he asked, slightly amused.
"Fuck no," the lieutenant replied curtly. Then hastily he added, "Sir."
The baron allowed the discourtesy because he felt the same way. Nothing
imaginable could ever force him to set foot on that rad-blasted hellhole.
"Didn't think you were that stupe," he admonished. "I have enough flash for a
while, but the mills must have more, and soon."
"Can't risk using any of our own stores," Brandon said, thinking aloud. "It
would weaken our defenses too much, and the pirates are getting bolder every
day. At least we don't have any muties to fight on our home island."
"Not since my father slaughtered them twenty seasons ago," Kinnison agreed.
The hairless giants with forked tongues were immune to fire and possessed
inhuman strength. Incredible fighters, the last to die had sent his father on
the last train west and made him the ruler of the world.
"I don't like this," Kinnison muttered. "Cold Harbor loses a ship just when we
need their flash the most. This could be a trick of some kind. Weaken us,
catch us off guard."
Reluctantly Brandon was forced to agree. "We could send a single ship to Cold
Harbor and report to their baron that we found the wreckage of their cargo
ship.
We chilled the pirates who sank it, and now want our original shipment. Plus a
bounty for the pirates."
"They can't refuse that," Kinnison stated, moving to the only chair in the
room and gratefully sitting down. His leg was hurting again. "Yes, very good.
We'll go with your plan."
"I'll need reinforcements," Brandon stated. "In case they refuse to pay or
outright resist. One ship, far from home, and some coldhearts could
night-creep us and steal the entire vessel."
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Kinnison stopped massaging his sore leg. "Refuse!" he roared, his face
contorting into a feral mask. "Refuse one of my sec men?"
"Or they could plead poverty," Brandon suggested hastily. The baron was
becoming more and more violent. Perhaps the rot was spreading to his brain.
That wouldn't be good. "You know the same old stories, that shipment was all
they could spare, blah, blah, starving children, boo-hoo. Might even be true,
but what do we care? Pay or die. That's the law."
"Blasted people might even be working with the pirates. They have a base
somewhere, why not Cold Harbor?"
"That's true, sir."
"All right, take a couple of the windjammers and " The baron scowled. "No,
can't take any chances. Better take an armada, ten of the PT boats, fully
armed with rapidfires, torps and Firebirds. Hide the fleet on a nearby island,
and then go in alone to ask about the tribute. If they apologize and pay, take
the flash and come home."
"If not?"
Kinnison sneered. "Then level the ville and put everybody in chains to work
the mines. Afterward, ace the men and bring me the rest alive. The brats will
become slaves, and I'll choose a new bitch to fuck."
The baron grinned lustfully. "Mebbe I'll finally get a son if I seed enough of
the women."
Hiding his emotions, Brandon was pleased. The sec men would have the pick of
the sluts once the fat bastard was exhausted. And the women would do anything
the sec men asked, anything at all, to avoid the terrible bed of the baron.
"I'll leave on the morning tide," Brandon said, giving a salute. "I would like
to sleep in a bed that doesn't move for one night."
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"Acceptable," the baron said leniently. As with any valuable animal, a good
master had to know when to beat his dog and when to pet. Too much one way and
it became useless; too much the other, and it would turn and attack. "But I
want you to leave before dawn, and return by the end of the week. I need that
flash, Lieutenant. Get it, and do not fail me."
"Have I ever, sir?"
"Not yet," Kinnison grunted. "Which is why you're still alive."
Brandon said nothing aloud, but his eyes were smoldering pools of hatred as he
marched from the room and down the long corridor of the predark castle.
Chapter Eight
With Mildred and Krysty setting up sick bay, and Dean helping to raise the
sails, J.B. stayed on the
Constellation to cover Ryan, Jak and Doc with his Uzi while they retrieved
their backpacks. The three men on shore then did a recce of the ville with
some of the sailors from the ship to make sure that none of the slavers was
still alive. None had survived the wrath of the women prisoners. Body parts
lay strewed along the beach, the crabs scuttling among the dead, dragging
everything they could into the shoals. High above, hungry scream-wings circled
the ville, waiting until it was clear for them to join the bloody feast.
Suddenly there was a motion in the sky, and the scream-wings were gone,
clutched in the beaks of golden condors. Then they were gone from sight.
Knowing the women would sooner believe Doc before the young sailors, Ryan had
Doc invite the females on board as crew. Cowering in the empty houses, most of
them laughed wildly at the suggestion and declared their intention to stay and
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make the deserted ville their own. The few who decided to board the ship, did
so hesitantly, as if afraid to disobey.
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Once they were back on board the
Constellation
, Captain Jones had O'Malley free the sea anchor and started to shout
incomprehensible orders to Daniels at the wheel. The crew dashed about pulling
on ropes and climbing like monkeys in the complex rigging above. Soon the
great ship was moving away from the shore, then past the breakers and into the
open sea. Now the mainsail was raised, the yards of patched canvas billowing
taut as it caught the wind and the ship lurched forward with renewed speed,
the waves breaking into white spray across her bow.
Standing at the port-side gunwale, the three men watched as the lush tropical
island receded. Now the second island with its vine-covered mesa rose into
view above the forests of the lower woody atoll.
"Any sign of the gateway?" Doc asked softly, glancing behind them.
"None," Ryan replied, squinting. "Nor the bridge."
"Good," Jak grunted. "Others not find."
"Hey!" Krysty shouted from the other side of the ship.
They waited as she rushed across the deck to rejoin the companions. "It just
occurred to me," she said, breathing normally as if the one-hundred-foot dash
had been nothing. "If that short circuit ran through the whole building, it
might have blown the comps!"
"Don't know much about comps, but we have to hope for the best. Mebbe it just
affected the fuses. And there usually is a full replacement set underneath the
console. The comps will be fine."
Krysty exhaled in relief.
Standing motionless at the gunwale, J.B. didn't join the conversation,
concentrating on his work. Carefully aligning the half mirror of the
minisextant, he tried to focus on the tropical sun hidden in the roiling storm
clouds overhead.
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