“You’re enjoying this, Ryan,” the Armorer said. It was a statement, not a question.
“Like the early times,” Ryan agreed.
“You believe we’ll find him, don’t you?”
“Yeah. You?”
“I guess, for most of the time, I never believed the old man was still alive. The rad cancer, or whatever it was, that used to grip at his guts like a nest of red antsseemed like it would chill him in the end. Then, the way he finally walked out on us without”
Ryan yawned. “Time’ll tell. Don’t forget what Trader used to say about trying to guess what the future might bring.”
“What?”
“Save your brain. He said it was as useless as trying to hold a conversation with a dead stickie.”
RYAN FELT EXHAUSTED. In the old days he’d been used to traveling for endless miles in one of the huge war wags, surrounded by the highly trained crews of the twin vehicles. He’d been used to the cramped quarters and the stink of sweat.
Now it felt like all of the muscles in his body ached, and the marrow of every bone had become jelly from the ceaseless vibration of the big wag. His spine had been compressed by the jolting, and his eye still didn’t feel as though it had settled properly back in its socket. Even his voice sounded odd to his ears, grating and harsh.
They had canned pork for their supper, from a hog farm and processing outfit up close by the Lakes, with some pickled cabbage. They’d washed it down with a couple of bottles of beer that Jak had dug out of his cellar for them.
There wasn’t much conversation between the two men.
When you’ve known a friend for close to twenty years and you’ve spent most of the time within twenty feet of that friend, then conversation was sometimes superfluous.
“We got any more ammo for the MG?” Ryan asked.
“No. Got spares of the nine mill for your blaster. That wasn’t bad shooting in the street there.”
“Thanks.” There was auxiliary lighting off the battery, but it gave only a feeble glow.
“Dawn start?”
“Before.”
“Sure.”
And that was about the extent of the conversation between Ryan and J.B. that evening inside the LAV-25 in northern New Mexico.
RYAN DREAMED OF A WORLD that he had never known, a world that vanished more than fifty years before he was born in the Shens, one that he only knew from the memories of the elderly and from fragile books and magazinesthe world before the missiles blackened the skies and blighted the earth.
He was riding on one of the steam wags that had crossed the country on iron rails. The coaches were luxurious, with padded seats and silken draperies. It was difficult to know where he was, as it was deepest night and the bright electric lamps reflected from the dark glass of the windows.
There was nobody else in his compartment, though a table was laid for two people, with fine china and crystal glasses. But nothing there to eat or drink.
From behind the walls Ryan could hear the muted hum of conversation and the occasional laughter of other travelers. The train was moving fast, the wheels humming, the clicking sounding like whispered wordsyou can never go back, you can never go back, you can never go back
Ryan pressed his forehead against the cold glass, trying to make out some feature of the land beyond the coach. But it was blankly invisible. For a bizarre moment he had the illusion that he could see a strange birdlike lizard, taller than a grown man, hopping alongside the train, its feather-crested head turned toward him.
He heard the sound of a gentle rapping on the door of his compartment.
“Yeah?”
A white-coated porter entered.
“Your guest sent a message, Mr. Cawdor, that he has been delayed forever.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. Enjoy the rest of your ride on the good old Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe Railroad.”
He closed the door quietly and Ryan was left alone again, rumbling on through the night.
In the middle of the dream, he fell asleep, and dreamed, though he couldn’t remember what it had been about when be jerked awake again in the luxurious train sleeper.