“Doc,” she said in a firm and clear voice, “it’s me. I haven’t found a damn thing.”
“I know it is you, dear lady. I would recognize that most delicate of steps anywhere. I fear that I have also found nothing. Could it be that the site truly has been deserted, and we’re not going to strike lucky with a saboteur?”
“That’s a funny way of looking at things, wanting to find trouble,” Krysty replied with a smile as they came into view of each other. “Though I guess if we did find someone messing with the site we could get a whole lot of answers out of them.”
“It would simplify our task somewhat,” Doc mused. “But sometimes things don’t run as smoothly as—”
He was cut off by the sound of voices and blasterfire. Without even looking at each other, both he and Krysty immediately set off to assist Ryan, who evidently had stumbled on something.
THE ONE-EYED MAN had been making similar progress to that of his companions. He jogged out to a point where the single pipeline from the oil well hit a series of wheels and junctions that carried the raw product off to the refinery buildings and then ferried it back before diverting it to the tanks. The knot of pipes, some piled four stories high with heavy metal brackets between, was a denser maze than the points he had sent his two companions to recce: but Ryan believed without question that, as leader, he had to take the most difficult tasks. Otherwise, what right had he to call himself leader and make decisions for others? Although his upbringing in Front Royal had ended in deceit and treachery, his father, Baron Titus, had certain ideas of what a baron or leader should be. His son had learned lessons that he carried with him always.
So Ryan took the hardest route to anything. There were always things to learn from that route. Although sometimes you could regret such ideas—such as now, when you were jogging across open ground toward an area where someone in concealment could pick you off as easily as shooting crows.
But this was a fortunate day for Ryan Cawdor, as he reached his destination with nothing in the way of danger. Squinting down the single pipeline to the well, he could see no sign of any activity or habitation. So anything that was going on would be within the knot of pipes that now stood to his left.
The one-eyed warrior didn’t hesitate before plunging into the morass of metalwork, taking it in with a single glance. Although there was a complex maze, there was little room within for maneuver, and so it would be difficult for any enemy to conceal himself. But there was still that chance.
Ryan soon found the conditions as troublesome as Doc and Krysty had on their own recces. The reflected heat and the dust made his head pound, forcing him to concentrate even harder…which, in turn, made his head begin to ache even more. But he grimly set his jaw, ignoring the sting of salt sweat that ran into his one clear blue eye, and trickled beneath the patch, tracing the line of his scar and settling in the empty socket.
It was because he could be so focused that he heard the slightest of movements to the left of him, about ten yards ahead. A snuffle of breath, a shuffle of foot…it was enough for him to seek a cover position.
In the maze of twisted pipes, there was little to be found, but he had just turned a corner, and a quick step back took him to the cusp of the turn, allowing him a slight angle in which to seek cover.
“I got you,” he yelled, “get into view with your blaster butt first and I won’t rip you to shit.”
“Big words when I’ve got the cover,” returned a voice with a slight lilting brogue to it. It then said something in a language that Ryan couldn’t understand. He had a feeling that it was something Krysty and Mildred had spoken about after their mat-trans jump to what remained of the United Kingdom. A language called .Gaelic. But it was impossible to think—