old man hadn’t been so damned tragic, Ryan would have smiled at the unusual
sight of J. B. Dix lost for words.
“How did Teague get his blubberin’ claws into you?” asked Ryan.
“I believe… Ah, I fear me that such things are lost in the far-off mists.”
The door opened and Krysty appeared, the brightness of her hair flooding the nav
room with crimson light. “Kathy says Kurt’s goin’, Ryan.”
Very faintly Ryan heard “Claws an’ teeth” from the main part of the war wag.
“I’ll be along. Thanks.”
Doc bowed at the appearance of the woman. But Krysty did not notice.
“Should I absent myself, Mr. Cawdor? Cawdor… I have the feeling I have heard the
name before, but I confess that I think that about many things. The price of my
age.”
Ryan realized that the old man’s brain was nine-tenths scrambled. It was amazing
after what Strasser’s evilly fertile imagination had done to the old man that he
still lived and functioned. But there was no hope of getting any worthwhile or
reliable information out of Doc.
Maybe one day?
“You can go, Doc. Talk to you again, huh?”
“It would be my pleasure, sir.” Nodding to J.B., he added, “Mr. Dix, my best
wishes.”
In the doorway, the old man paused. “Did I understand you to say something about
our ultimate destination? Our ultima Thule, perhaps, is what you call the
Darks?”
“It is.” Ryan caught J.B.’s eye. Maybe this was one of the glimmerings of
sanity.
“Known, I believe, as one of the great parks of the nation. One nation, in… How
did it go? Glacier, that’s it. That was the name of the Darks. Great hills, ice
tipped. Ravines dark as graves. Water pure and clear. I think I have been to the
Darks more than once.” The man’s brow furrowed and the eyes became veiled, their
milky blues vanishing under a thin membrane.
“Doc? Go on.”
“I fear I can no longer ‘go on,’ as you put it, Mr. Cawdor. There is nowhere to
go. But in the Darks there were many wonders. Wonders of F to G and G to H and
on from alpha to omega, they told me, but I saw only… Saw what, I wonder. Ah,
well.”
Shaking his head, Doc walked through the door, reaching behind him and softly
closing it. J.B. looked at Ryan.
“I’d have said he was crazed as an out-brain mutie. Then he ups and talks like
he did just.”
“You think it’s all mutie talk?”
“Who knows?” J.B. shrugged, reaching for his leafy, crudely packed cheroots.
“One of these days I’ll give these things up. I’m told they’ll kill me.” Through
the billowing smoke he reviewed the situation. “Seems from Doc, and Kurt and
Krysty, that there might be somethin’ secret up there. Maybe…”
“Maybe what? Come on, J.B. What?”
“This talk about moving. Suppose there really was a transmitter of matter. I’ve
read about things like that in old books. It was fiction, of course, not fact.
But if there was… I’ve seen them called ‘jumpers’ in books. Worth thinking on,
old friend. A way of getting from Deathlands to the Western Islands in the wink
of an eye. Or from the Baronies out east to beyond the Big Black Water. That,
instead of weeks of danger in a war wag. Think on that.”
Ryan stood up. “I’ve got to go see Kurt.”
As he moved into the corridor, he could hear the screams of the dying blaster.
“The fog. Claws an’ teeth!” But the voice was now weaker.
Out of one of the ob slits, Ryan stood and watched the setting sun on the left
side of the war wag. The sky was dappled pink, streaked with shades of darker,
menacing maroon. There was a big wind starting up outside and all the doors had
been closed, but it was still possible to hear the muted whistling of the gale.
Banks of trees all around them crowded up the edges of the ruined highway, most
of them with their upper branches stunted or broken by the weather.
Once the doors were battened and bolted and the ob slits locked shut, the voices