Black Harvest. James Axler
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“Isn’t she a thing of beauty,” the baron said, gesturing for Moira to take the seat next to him.
Moira appeared to hesitate, then reluctantly joined the baron at the table.
“She’s charming,” Doc offered.
Moira smiled in Doc’s direction.
Ryan had to admit that she was a good-looking young woman, especially now that she’d had a chance to clean up and put on some clothes. And the fact that Moira was the baron’s mistress explained why they had been treated so well since entering the ville. Any man would be grateful to the people who saved his lover from a gang rape. Still, if Moira was the baron’s lover, then why had she been so afraid of Robards and the sec men at the river? Ryan had never met a baron’s woman who didn’t act as if she ran the baron’s ville for him.
“Now that she’s here, perhaps we can begin eating.”
In minutes, a man and a woman were bringing in trays of food for them to sample. Most of it was grilled vegetables such as eggplant, zucchini and red and green peppers, but there was also some fresh corn bread, dried nuts and one small sausage each, the meat of which smelled like chicken but could have been anything from possum to snake.
Ryan was famished, and when the food began appearing on the table, he looked forward to eating his fill. However, something didn’t seem right with the picture.
Doc pointed out the problem to all of them.
“Uh, excuse me Baron DeMann,” Doc said, trying to be polite.
“Yes, sir,” the baron answered.
“Oh, I appreciate the compliment, but I assure you I’m not a member of any House of Lords. My name is Theophilus Algernon Tanner.”
“Theo…”
“Most people call me Doc.”
“Doc? Are you a scientist?”
Ryan looked at Doc, curious to hear his answer.
“Not exactly,” Doc said. “I have some knowledge of old sciences, and I dabble a bit in the new ones. I suspect I earned the nickname because I’m the only one in the group who can divide three-digit numbers without the use of a stick and patch of sand.”
The baron laughed at that.
J.B. seemed to find it funny as well.
“All right… Doc. What is it?”
“Well, when my colleagues and I saved your lovely, uh, mistress from certain harm, she was with another, older woman…”
“Yes.”
“Moira here referred to that woman as her mother…” Doc’s voice trailed off, leaving the question unsaid.
The baron nodded.
“Well, if she is her mother, and we saved her from the muties as well this afternoon, I just thought that, well, it would be nice if she could join us, too.”
The baron looked inquisitively at Robards.
“She’s not feeling well,” the sec chief said.
“But she was fine when she got off the wag this afternoon,” Doc said.
“Yes, bring her here,” the baron ordered. “I’m sure she’d enjoy the company.”
The sec chief slowly got up from his seat. “I’ll see if she’s feeling any better.”
“You do that,” the baron said.
“Thank you.” Doc nodded graciously.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Mildred said, piling some vegetables on a pair of metal plates, “I’ve got to check on Jak. If he’s awake, I’m sure he’ll be hungry, too.”
“Give your friend Jak my regards,” the baron said.
“I’ll do that,” Mildred responded, collecting a bit more food for herself and preparing a tray for Jak.
The baron turned his attention from Doc to Ryan. “Am I right to assume that you are the leader of this group?”
“Name’s Ryan.”
“Then you are the leader?”
“You can assume that if you like.”
The baron said nothing for a moment. “As you’ve probably noticed, I’ve got a decent sec force here with plenty of well-trained men and some of the best blasters around.”
“We noticed.”
“Hard to come by,” J.B. interjected. “Some of those blasters look right out of the box.”
“Baron DeMann,” Ryan said, “this is J.B. He’s the weapons expert of our group.”
“A man who appreciates fine craftsmanship and design, no doubt.”
“Did you get your blasters new?” J.B. asked, avoiding any mention of the redoubt.
“I can’t be sure,” the baron replied. “I sell drugs. Good drugs that people need to survive. And when people are dying, they can get rather desperate. I can pretty well name my price for my drugs. I know that may sound hard, but I’m a trader and traders don’t give their wares away when they can hang on to them and get top jack.”
Ryan nodded. He’d seen top traders in action, and the baron’s assessment was right on.
“So, if I’m in the market for anything, be it blasters or blankets, I make sure I get the very best available. The best blasters, the best blankets, the best food, wine…”
“Wags,” J.B. said.
“Everything,” the baron responded. “The best that jack can buy.”
The baron paused and everyone took the opportunity to take a bite of food.
“I also like to think I have the best sec force of any ville in the area. They’re the best equipped and well trained, but one can never be sure about such things.”
“I’ve seen plenty sec men,” Ryan said. “Yours look as disciplined as any.”
“But are they the best?”
“Won’t know that until they’re tested in a firefight.”
“Exactly,” the baron said. Then he went silent, staring at Ryan a moment, as if expecting the man to comment.
“Not sure I follow you,” Ryan said.
“I have a favor to ask of you and your friends.”
Ryan shrugged. “No harm in asking.”
“We have an obstacle course we use for training sec men. In addition to blaster practice, I also use it for pitting sec man against sec man in order to see where they should fall in terms of rank.”
“Must make for a lot of dead sec men.”
The baron laughed. “No, not at all. I have blasters that fire tiny balls filled with colored water. They’re just like regular blasters, but can’t chill people. A good tool for training, and for turning poor sec men into good ones.”
“Point to all this?” J.B. asked.
“Well, my sec chief was wondering if you and your group might agree to test several of his best sec men in a contest.”
Ryan shook his head. “No, thanks. We’ve had plenty of real firefights out in the Deathlands. We don’t fight for sport.”
“I can appreciate that, and I would have the same opinion if I were in your shoes.”
“Then you know my answer.”
The baron said nothing for a while, thinking through the problem. “Ah, you need a reason to fight.”