He went on to explain in great detail how the radio worked and how to pump the batteries, and it soon became apparent why he was one of the few who were detailed to the radio shack, for despite the drone of his monotonal voice, he couldn’t help but enthuse over the way the old tech worked. To the companions, who had encountered much more in their travels, it was a case of waiting for him to cut to the chase. However, it soon became apparent that this salvaged tech was used by the sec patrols to keep in touch with one another and with their base camp while they were out, and report any trouble that may arise.
“Yeah, but it don’t have to work, does it?” Dean whispered to Doc.
“Of course not, young Dean—I assume you are thinking, as I am, that if the saboteurs have a set, as well, they can track their opposing numbers with ease.” Doc commented, to which Dean readily agreed.
Todd finished his lecture and handed out handsets to the companions, making sure that they knew how to use them to an almost pedantic degree. When he had finished, and Myall had dispatched him back to his post, closing the shack door, McVie allowed himself a chuckle.
“You’ll have to excuse the boy, but I reckon all that heat does something to the brain,” he said, making a screwball motion against his head with his index finger. “But what the hell,” he continued, “it ain’t your brains that are gonna get shaken up now…am I right?” he asked Myall.
The head sec man laughed, throwing back his head. “Last thing, boy. Last thing…”
Chapter Thirteen
It took a few days for the companions to break and to completely master the horses Myall assigned to them. None of the friends had done as much horseback riding in such a short space of time in their lives, and the rough riding combined with the ability of some of the beasts to throw them to the ground meant that the companions had more than a few contusions and cuts. Most of all, they had aching muscles in places that hadn’t been tested in such a manner before. The most common complaint was a stretching of the muscles in the small of the back. Krysty and Jak were able to counter this with massage techniques that differed slightly but had a similar result, and had been learned in their own villes.
“Easy strain muscle while hunting. This help you get out again quick,” Jak commented while pummeling J.B.’s back.
“You sure you got that right?” the Armorer winced as the pain seemed to increase instead of decrease.
Krysty’s technique was subtler. Learned in Harmony, it involved a manipulation of the sore muscle with the balls of her thumbs, softly at first in circles but digging ever harder and ever deeper until it became like a burning needle into the flesh. Her “victim,” Ryan, bit hard into his lip as the pain reached a pitch that he hadn’t known for a long time.
“Hurts whatever way it goes, so don’t think I’m getting off lightly,” he said through gritted teeth at his friend.
It was Doc and Dean, however, who gave the greatest cause for concern. Doc had been thrown four times, and although his body was prematurely aged by his experiences, and he was little older in truth than any of the others. Still that premature aging had given him some physical aspects of a more elderly man. He had landed heavily on his back, and Mildred was worried that he might have damaged his spine.
“Trouble is, osteopathy was never my strong point, especially among geriatrics,” she explained to Doc as she probed along his backbone with her finger and thumb, manipulating the flesh and muscle to feel for the vertebrae.
“Despite that, and despite your insistence on calling me a geriatric,” Doc said somewhat peevishly, “I still find myself—perhaps to my utter amazement—trusting your judgment.” He winced as she hit a sore spot. “Even though it quite literally pains me,” he added.
Mildred finished her examination, and Doc rolled over onto his back before sitting up. He could see that, despite their apparent antagonism, there was a look of relief on her face.