Her husband knew this to be true, once the future year he’d been trawled into was revealed and his mind had wrapped itself around the inescapable truth that he had indeed traveled one-hundred-plus years in the span of a single heart-bursting moment.
He looked down at the photograph and wished more than ever to be at her side, alive or dead.
“I wish to go to Deadwood,” Tanner said.
“Uh-uh. No way. You know the rules. If the powers that be find I snuck you photos of the family tomb, they’d have both our asses.”
“How did you happen to come upon said photographs, dear Allan?”
Allan Harvey grinned mischievously, his wide black face crinkling inward in a maze of smile lines. He liked Tanner. The burly security man had spoken with the refugee from time to time on many a long night, finding him to be one of the most gifted conversationalists Allan had ever encountered.
“Your file. Hard data. Most of what they have on you has been encrypted and scanned into the Chronos master database. I don’t have proper clearance to take a peek, and even if I did, they’d soon find out about it. But even records stored on computers have to start somewhere, and when I had a chance to glance through your paper file, I snatched those babies up.”
“Will they not be missed?”
“Doubt it. Like I said, most of the idiots in here can’t deal with anything unless it comes over a computer screen.”
“One day, Allan, one day I shall be joined with them. Dear sweet Emily and my son and daughter.”
The large black man nodded. “You mean when you die, old guy?”
Doc snorted. ‘ ‘No, noble Allan. I mean when I find my way back home.”
Chapter Seven
“You have me at an advantage,” the man who’d introduced himself as Dr. Silas Jamaisvous said in a mild tone of petulance.
“How so?” Ryan asked, the SIG-Sauer P-226 aimed squarely at the heart of the well-dressed speaker. Behind the one-eyed man, the rest of his people had struck similar positions of defense with their own weaponry as they exited the mat-trans chamber. The two sec men Ryan had spied earlier had now lost their nonthreatening stances and held their own autorifles aimed at him, responding in kind to the positions Ryan’s group had assumed. “No advantage here. You got blasters. We got blasters.”
“All God’s children got blasters, my friend. Having a firearm is of no real advantage to either one of us here, since there would be more casualties than survivors,” Jamaisvous replied silkily. “What I was referring to was that you have my name, but I do not have yours.”
Sometimes the giving of names had been a thorny subject between Ryan and J. B. Dix. The Armorer, being of a more subtle nature would just as soon give out an alias when shoved into an unknown situation with guns aimed at their vitals. Their true names weren’t unknown in the Deathlands and both men had left behind plenty of enemies in their travels, at least, the few enemies who had survived the run-in.
Ryan was of a different opinion. As a part of his own personal code a man was only as good as his name, and as such he chose to offer his freely if asked unless doing so would assure him of being chilled on the spot. A long time ago, when he first joined Trader’s caravan of war wags, he’d stopped using the last name of Cawdor and rejected the family heritage. Now, he took some quiet pride in being a Cawdor, while remaining true to how his father would have wanted him to live.
Still, Ryan Cawdor might be stubborn, but he wasn’t stupid. In this case, his real name wouldn’t be a factor in ending or prolonging their current situation.
“Name’s Ryan Cawdor,” he said to Jamaisvous, gesturing with his head to the rest of the group. “That’s my boy, Dean. Lady with the red hair is Krysty Wroth, and next to her in the specs is J. B. Dix. Dr. Mildred Wyeth is on the far left in the denim jacket and beside her is Jak Lauren.” Ryan immediately regretted the slip. Usually the knowledge that Mildred was a physician was a closely guarded secret. He hurried. ‘ “The skinny gent with the walking stick is known as Doc Tanner.”