Pilgrimage to Hell By JACK ADRIAN

in deep with the Trader.”

Ryan heard her voice change, heard a slight catch in it.

“And that was when it hit me,” she said, “that maybe I hadn’t been so smart.

They started laughing, told me to forget about the Trader. He was finished.

Everyone with him was kaput. No more Trader. I got a touch of the horrors then

because they seemed so sure of themselves—”

“They took you to Strasser?”

“Yeah. He’s…” There was a definite change in her voice. Now it was almost a

whisper. He had to strain to catch what she said over the truck’s engine rumble.

“Ryan, he gives me a chill. Maybe I was stupid. I didn’t really take in what you

said about him, all that shit about getting off on pain, humiliation,

perversion. But it’s in his eyes. At times they’re like, I dunno… No feeling, no

emotion. Like pebbles on a beach. He said—well, among a lot of other things he

said I’d be a fine taster before the main course.” She laughed suddenly. It

sounded like a nervous hiccup. “I guess I must’ve panicked because I didn’t feel

the presence of Earth Mother right then and there. Not at all. Not for one

damned second. He had a bag with him, with…shit, really weird gear in it.

Nozzles, rubber tubes, plastic spatulas, shit like that. But before he could

really get busy, some guy rushed in and gave him a message. Then he said maybe

I’d be more useful for the moment… unblemished.”

“Must’ve been when they told him I was on the loose somewhere,” muttered Ryan.

“Whatever. After that, it was okay. I got my head together. Sometimes I can cut

off. That helps.” She said, faint bitterness coloring her voice, “I guess you

think that was all pretty dumb…”

“On the contrary,” Ryan replied. “If it wasn’t for the fact that we’re shackled

up like this, it could have been the smartest thing you’ve ever done.”

“I don’t get you.”

It hit Ryan that she really didn’t know. Of course she didn’t know.

She didn’t know that Strasser had destroyed every single human being on the land

wag train. That they were all, without exception, dead meat, and that but for

the grace of some god or other—presumably, he thought, her Earth Mother—she’d

have been wiped with them.

Not that that made much difference to their current lousy predicament.

“Strasser gassed the train. Leastways, that’s what he says, and I see no reason

to disbelieve him. We’re all that’s left. You and me for sure. J.B. and the

rest, probably. And the Trader and the other guys on the convoy. They’ve been

tranquilized, but I don’t know for how long. And their survival is entirely

dependent on me getting my blasted hands free, and even then it’s gonna be touch

and go because—”

The truck lurched to a halt, engine throbbing.

Krysty said, “Oh, hell” fiercely, although Ryan couldn’t figure out why she said

it in quite the tone she did. After maybe a half minute the rear doors of the

truck were unhitched and flung open.

“Out!” said Kelber. Then he guffawed harshly, and this made him cough, and he

choked for a while. “C’mon, c’mon!” he managed. “Hurry up outta there!” He

erupted in another paroxysm of hoarse, wheezing laughter. Now he couldn’t speak

properly—it was too hilarious for him, so he jabbed at them with one hand and

two sec men vaulted up into the truck and proceeded to roll Ryan and Krysty out.

Ryan forced himself to relax as much as possible—which wasn’t a lot in the time

he had, about a half second—and as he hit the ground he managed to shove himself

with his boots so that for a second he hopped on them before keeling over

sideways. That broke his fall. What terrified him was landing hard on a shoulder

or arm and cracking it. That would truly write finis, as the Lost Language said,

across any possibility of ultimate survival.

Talking to Krysty, though bruised and battered and wrench-tied as he was, had

had the effect of soothing him, calming him when he needed calm most. Now he

felt not too bad. Not too bad at all. At least the idiot who’d been using his

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