Chapter Nine

 

"Ambush!" Dean cried out in a voice pitched high and tight with shock, but his warning arrived a second too late as the men in the tree revealed themselves with a sudden, murderous intensity.

 

Alton Adrian fell like a dropped doll, taken totally by surprise as the weight of his attacker came down hard and swift upon his head and upper body. The second man wasn't as lucky. He had chosen Ryan as his target. The one-eyed man reacted much more swiftly than the bearded guide, his reflexes inhumanly quick as he brought up the muzzle of the SIG-Sauer in a swift, practiced motion and fired off a trio of shots, each slug catching his assailant in the chest. The force of the bullets at such close range flipped the attacker backward, causing him to hurl his weapon away.

 

He landed hard on his lower back and rear once his feet clumsily hit heel first on the broken road. Between the force of the bullets and the impact of the fall, the man was wheezing, gasping for air as he writhed helplessly in pain.

 

J.B. was in motion the instant the ambush begun, swinging the butt of his own weapon in a forward arc across the back of the man who had focused his energies on the unsuspecting scavie. The sound of hard blaster on softer skull was loud and unforgiving. Even with the disadvantage of poor vision, the Armorer was a deadly foe in close-quarters fighting.

 

The othersJak, Mildred, Doc and Krystyall came to instant readiness, their own individual weapons springing up from their holsters and other places of concealment to find safe haven in their hands.

 

No other ambushers revealed themselves.

 

"That it?" Jak asked in disbelief, still peering hard into the foliage above.

 

"Looks like it." Krysty said.

 

"Stupes," Jak muttered, shaking his head in amusement.

 

Mildred was kneeling and checking the broken cranium of the man J.B. had taken down. She felt the bloody skull and winced.

 

"This one's alive, but he won't be answering any questions for a while. Some lump he is growing on his skull."

 

"Could improve his dumb-ass looks," J.B. muttered angrily.

 

The sec man Ryan had drilled staggered to his feet, holding his chest and ribs with both hands. His face was a twisted mask of agony as he tried awkwardly to stand. Ryan reached over and shoved him back down hard on the ground.

 

"Ow, goddammit!" the man roared. "Wearing armor under those work clothes, aren't you?" Ryan remarked calmly.

 

"Best purchase I ever made. Saved my ass twice before," he managed to gasp in a voice tight with pain and fear.

 

"Too bad they don't make it for the head."

 

"You weren't aiming for my head."

 

"I am now," Ryan said, making a point of aiming the SIG-Sauer right between the man's eyes.

 

"Shit!" the man cried out, bringing his hands up to his face.

 

"Hold still. No, don't keep trying to get up or I'll drop you coldcocked like your pal over there."

 

The man looked over at his comrade lying unconscious at the edge of the road.

 

"He chilled?"

 

"No, just sleepy. What I want you to do is roll over flat on your stomach with your hands above your head. Cross your legs like a bashful gaudy slut and keep them that way until I tell you to move," Ryan ordered.

 

The man complied, groaning with the effort of contorting his already aching body.

 

"Now, I'm going to ask you some questions," Ryan said. "I want answers and I want them fast, or I'm going to start blowing you apart piece by piece, and no body armor is going to stop it. You get me?"

 

"Wait a second. We're sec men out of Freedom. You're getting awfully damn close to the area we're supposed to protect."

 

Ryan looked to Alton for confirmation. Alton shrugged and pointed to the identical green denim jackets the two men wore. On the right arm of each was a white patch with an ornate cursive F in a circle.

 

"They're wearing Freedom colors and patches like sec men. Could be telling the truth."

 

"Don't mean much. They could've stolen the clothes from Freedom or even chilled the real guards for the threads and hardware," J.B. said.

 

"What are your names?" Ryan asked.

 

"I'm Michaelson. The guy you knocked cold is Isaac."

 

"Mike and Ike. That's real cute," Ryan said mockingly.

 

Dean had collected the dropped handblasters the men were carrying in the attack and gave one of them to J.B. for identification.

 

"Twin Colts, the 2000 model," the Armorer said. "This was the first gun from Colt that broke away from the old John Browning original design of the locking breech that drops and swings. The top lug locks into a recess in the slide, and the bottom lug rides in a cam path cut into a cam blocksee? The block rests in the frame. The firing mechanisms on these pistols were also innovative. The mag release is ambidextrous, and there's no form of applied safety. The self-cocking mechanism is set up so you can't accidentally shoot yourself in the foot."

 

"Thanks, J.B. That's probably more than I needed to know," Dean replied.

 

"One more thingthese blasters use 9 mm ammo."

 

"Good, we can use the bullets," Ryan answered, turning his full attention back to the prone captured man. "Ready to talk, Mike? Why were you and your buddy out here?"

 

"Looking for stickies. They been giving us holy hell at Freedom. Every night they slink around, starting fires, chilling travelers, blowing things up. Not only is it a major pain in the collective ass, but the sons of bitches are getting dangerous. We've started widening the perimeter of our patrols to see if we can catch them out in the daylight."

 

Ryan nodded. "And what happens if you do?"

 

"Then we chill the stickie bastards."

 

"All two of you?" Mildred asked sarcastically. Jak snorted in derisive agreement.

 

The fallen sec man looked insulted. "We're the advance team, the lookouts. Looking down, we got carried away and thought you were stickies."

 

Ryan lashed out with the steel-reinforced toe of his scuffed boot, catching the man in the hipbone, making him cry out. "Wrong answer, friend. Want to try again?"

 

"Damn, mister, you don't have to kick me!"

 

"I'll kick your teeth in if I take a notion, and stomp your balls for an encore if you don't stop jerking me around."

 

"It's the truth, it's the truth!"

 

"Do we look like any stickies you ever saw before?"

 

"No, not now. Up in the trees you did. Sun's going down. Getting harder to see. I guess we acted without thinking things through."

 

"That's the first honest thing you said to me yet."

 

J.B stepped forward and added his opinion. "What kind of strategic genius thought it was a good idea for two men to jump a party of eight? Your odds aren't worth a damn."

 

"Thought if we took out you two, we'd have hostages."

 

"Stickies don't give a rat's ass about hostages." Mike's partner, Ike, gave a groan as he started to come around. "Perhaps your partner over there can tell me the truth before we decide whether to waste two bullets on your sorry asses."

 

Alton Adrian's voice broke into the interrogation. "Wait, I think I know who these two are nowor rather, why they're slinking around and jumping people. They're highway robbers. Thieves. Hiding out here to steal the jack off any visitors before they can get to Freedom safely."

 

"You lie!" Mike roared.

 

"No, I think he's made a good point," Ryan replied, pulling out his panga with a flourish. "Now, I'm not one for torture, but let's see if cutting off some fingers and toes loosens your memory."

 

"Someone come," Jak said, pointing down the stretch of road.

 

Off in the distance, a group of men was riding toward them on horseback. They paused a good distance away, and the leader took out a small handheld bullhorn device to amplify his voice.

 

"Hoy to you, friends. We're sending out a representative to talk with you. Hell, I'm coming myself. Don't chill my ass until you hear what I've got to say," the man called.

 

"Getting interesting," Jak said softly, readying his blaster.

 

"Tell me about it," Mildred agreed.

 

The man who'd spoken through the bullhorn handed it to one of his men and rode slowly toward the waiting group. On his approach, the beautifully marked reddish-brown-and-white paint horse became identifiable.

 

So did the black man's attire, which matched the suits worn by Mike and Dee.

 

"Good evening," the man said, keeping both hands on the horse's reins.

 

"Whatever," Ryan replied, alertly insolent.

 

"I'm Rollins, out of Freedom Mall. I head up the sec operation there."

 

"Mall?"

 

"Mall. Freedom is completely enclosed," he replied. "Didn't you know that?"

 

"No. We just thought it was a fancy ville."

 

"'Fancy' isn't the right word. Who are you?"

 

"Ryan Cawdor. Mebbe you can answer a few questions about the men on the ground there."

 

Rollins took a look. "Seems to me like you found Mike and Ike."

 

"Wrong. They found us. Tried to get the drop on us for our blasters and jack. Some kind of shitty welcoming committee. You came along just in time. We were debating whether to waste a bullet on them."

 

"Rather you not do thatwaste a bullet, I mean. We've had them hiding out, looking for stickies," Rollins said.

 

"That's the tale they shared with me. Thought it was bullshit," Ryan retorted.

 

"Some of us still think it's bullshit," J.B. added.

 

"No, it's true. They were up there looking," Rollins insisted. "Not the spot I would have chosen, but I'm not them. We got worried when they hadn't radioed in with a report."

 

"Comm units were off when they came falling out of the tree," Ryan observed.

 

"Standard operating procedure. A live radio unit could give them away."

 

"Is it standard operating procedure to go jumping down on stickies when you're outnumbered four to one?" Krysty demanded.

 

"Not hardly. They sure as hell weren't supposed to try and take them on alone," the leader replied. "If you give the two men to me, I'll see to their punishment."

 

"What is this? Grade school?" Mildred said with a sneer. "Take away their blasters and armor and make them stand in a corner in a pointy hat with no chocolate milk at recess?"

 

Rollins looked at Mildred blankly. "Don't know rightly where you're coming from, ma'am, but these two are my men. My responsibility. I'll take care of them."

 

"We're keeping their ammo," Ryan said matter-of-factly.

 

"All right. We'll deduct it from their pay," the sec man said. "Being on this road, and the end of daylight upon us, I suppose you were heading for Freedom?"

 

Ryan nodded. "The thought had crossed our minds."

 

"Then let me offer an escort," Rollins replied. "You're close, but the more people on the trail, the safer the trip. These boys have horses somewhere. They can walk in, and you and some of your party can ride, if you know how."

 

"Riding's not a problem."

 

"Mebbe not. But something is, the way you're looking me over."

 

"We're invited into Freedom, just like that." Ryan's tone was as friendly as he could make it, despite his suspicions.

 

"Just like that," the tall sec man replied.

 

"Your baron won't mind?" Krysty asked.

 

The big sec man chuckled. "No baron in Freedom, ma'am. There's Mr. Morgan, but he keeps a low profile. He's a behind-the-scenes type of leader. We're all answerable to him, but you'll never see his face unless things go bad for you once you're inside."

 

"Don't guess we'll be meeting him, then," Ryan said.

 

"Freedom is nothing but people, stores, food and sluts. A fully functioning ville under one roof. You got jack to spend? Creds? Metals and stones?"

 

"Yeah," Ryan answered. "We got jack. Stuff to trade, too."

 

Rollins nodded his bald head. "Then you got an invite. Visitors with jack and useful items are always welcome to Freedom."