Baron Silas moved away from the monitors and stood in the middle of the dimly lit hall that stretched under the building’s length. “It means that I can keep my eye on anything that goes on in here, and listen in to anything, ’cause those cameras’ve got microphones on them, too.” He paused, to allow the import of this to sink in, then continued. “So I know that you’re none too keen on this job, but you know you ain’t got a choice. And that’s true. You either do it or you don’t leave…and believe me,” he added, addressing J.B. directly, “you were right about how hard it’d be to get out.”
“So if you know how we feel, why all this?” Ryan said, indicating the room and the sec men, who were listening curiously.
“Just to let you know, and to say that I know how you feel. And that’s okay. But don’t try and slack on me, ’cause I’ll come down hard. You’re outnumbered here, remember that.”
Ryan allowed himself a wry smile. Of course, that was why they were getting the warning and the view of the palace’s full sec force and facilities.
“Point taken, so just give us back our weapons,” he said simply.
Baron Silas nodded, and two of the sec men left the room by one of the far-flung doors, returning a few moments later with a collection of weaponry that they placed carefully on the floor in front of their baron. Silas stepped back and indicated that the companions retrieve their individual weapons.
Ryan picked out his SIG-Sauer, his Steyr and his trusty panga, as well as the ammo for his blasters. Jak followed, collecting his .357 Magnum Colt Python and his leaf-bladed knives. They were secreted in his jacket so swiftly that no naked eye could follow where he hid them. Krysty retained her .38- caliber Smith & Wesson Model 640, while Dean went for his Browning Hi-Power and Mildred her Czech-made ZKR. Doc reholstered his LeMat pistol, and was pleased to see his silver lion’s-head swordstick once more, with its blade made of the finest Toledo steel. Which left a pile of weaponry that belonged to J.B. alone. As he sheathed his Tekna knife and took up his Uzi and Smith & Wesson M-4000 before pocketing the supplies of ammo, the grens and plas-ex in the capacious pockets of his jacket, it was easy to see why he was called the Armorer.
For almost the first time since they had encountered him, Baron Silas Hunter showed some genuine emotion as he whistled long and low. “Shit,” he said softly as he watched J.B., “you’re a one-man army, boy. No wonder Crow figured you people’d be useful.”
As the companions settled themselves back into their weapons, adjusting once more to the weight and balance of the hardware about their bodies so they became as one with the weapons, Baron Silas moved toward the far door, beckoning them to follow.
Falling into the regular line with Ryan in lead and J.B. behind him, they left the sec room and the sec force who were still openmouthed in amazement and admiration at the load carried by the Armorer, and joined Baron Silas in a large underground garage space that housed two wags. Both were open-topped trucks of the type used for the transportation of men and goods, similar to the one used for taking the construction materials to and from the cinder-block site where they had first encountered the people of Salvation. The garage space stank of fuel, and had tools and engine parts scattered on a workbench. It was lit by a single low bulb, with an old spotlight lying idle unless needed for repairs.
“Not much like a Baron’s wag,” Krysty said, indicating the two vehicles with a toss of her red mane.
“I like good things, but it don’t do to show too much,” Baron Silas said. “If I need to travel far, then I use one of the armored wags from the depot we have—like the one you came back in. Otherwise, these do fine for getting out to the well, seeing as every time I go I have to take men or supplies. I seen some of them old wags come through our hands that other barons might use, but they just look pretty and don’t have no purpose. First thing I learned about wags and fuel when I came here is that they ain’t jackshit good unless they do something. Otherwise they’re just a waste. Besides which, one of those fancy wags wouldn’t fit all of you in, and since we’re headed out for the well right now…” He let the sentence hang in the air with a slight shrug.