“Second that,” Jak agreed.
Krysty decided to interpret. “It’s an old predark phrase. Doc just means it’ll be a triple-stupe task, like looking for an honest man in a gaudy house.”
The wag made its torturous way through the streets of Salvation until it came to the ville walls, following the roadway around until it reached the gateway. Whether this was the same one they had come through, or one of the other compass points of the ville it was impossible to say, as they weren’t as yet familiar enough with the ville of Salvation.
The fact that they were with the baron of the ville meant that the gates were opened and they were allowed to pass with the maximum of speed and the minimum of good-natured banter. Another point Ryan noted was that the sec men were almost in awe of Baron Silas, suggesting that he ran a hard regime among his sec forces.
Looking back as they drove away down the road from Salvation, they could see the gates being closed on them, and the teeming life beyond, which was in stark contrast to the desert that stretched out around them. The road they traveled was made of concrete, the long slabs being joined together by tar that had worn away in places, making the ride less than smooth. From this, and from the fact that the sun had moved in the sky, they could tell that they were leaving from a different road, and that their destination— the well and refinery—were to the east of the ville.
The desert sun beat down on them, unprotected in the rear of the wag. It was a different kind of heat from that in the ville: drier, more directly intense as they traveled under the sun with nothing to break up the orange-red orb’s rays.
It wasn’t long before they were sweltering. Even the breeze created by the speed of the wag, which had picked up under Baron Silas’s hand since they left the confines of the walled ville, wasn’t enough to dull the heat.
Ryan stood up and made his way to the front of the wag, clinging to the iron bars that lifted naked into the desert air and swinging the top half of his body around so that he could put his head in through the open window on the driver’s side.
As he swung around, he found himself staring a blaster full in the muzzle.
“Fireblast!” the one-eyed warrior yelled involuntarily as he switched the weight of his swing, using the momentum to carry him out of the range of the blaster as the muzzle exploded with a deafening roar, a brief burst, seemingly of flame, and the stink of cordite as the slug ripped past the space where his good eye had been a fraction of a second before.
The wag swerved and screeched to a halt, and Ryan was thrown from his tenuous position, hitting the ground in a roll at a force that took the breath from his body. It was just fortunate that in swerving, the wag had turned so that he was thrown onto sand rather than the concrete road surface that would have pulped his shoulder and ribs.
As he straightened painfully, he saw his friends leap from the back of the wag, and the driver’s door open to disgorge Baron Silas.
“You triple-stupe bastard!” yelled the baron, coming over to Ryan. “Why the fuck did you do that? Instinct made me draw and fire before I could think.”
“Guess I should be impressed,” Ryan hissed painfully through gritted teeth as he rose to his feet. A look to his companions told them to withdraw hands that were poised to unholster blasters.
Baron Silas stopped in front of the one-eyed man and offered him his hand. Ryan took it, and as the baron helped him to his feet, Silas said, “You shouldn’t have done that. I’ve been jumpier than a stallion with fleas and a mare in season since this shit started to go down. Anyone comes up on me like that is likely to end up chilled.”
“I’ll remember that,” Ryan said with feeling. “All I was going to do was ask how long till we reached our destination.”