Ryan wanted to know the reason why, but knew it didn’t matter and made no difference to the sec men why the baron wanted him dead. “When?” he asked.
“Today sometime. Probably out in the orchards. Just be careful.”
It occurred to Ryan that this might be some sort of trap being set by a group of slaves who’d been friendly to Mog. “Why are you telling me this?”
“You were good in the circle yesterday, and you chilled Richmond and Salazar. I hated those two sec bastards and was glad to see that they got what they deserved. With those two gone, slaves won’t be gettin’ chilled for sport anymore. Way I see it, we all owe you somethin’ for that.”
Ryan understood. “Thanks.”
The man started to get up to leave, but Ryan caught the sleeve of his shirt and pulled him back down.
“Spread the word that something’s going to be happening soon. Something big.”
The youth turned to look at Ryan and for the first time he saw the jagged razor cut that went under the youth’s right eye, across the bridge of his nose and down his left cheek. “You gonna try breakin’ out?”
“No,” Ryan said. “More like somebody will be breaking in.”
“When?”
“Don’t know. Soon.”
The blond-haired teen with the scar nodded.
Ryan couldn’t help staring at the man’s scar. It was red and fresh and reminded him of his own scar.
“Nice, huh? That’s Salazar’s handiwork. And while he did it, Richmond watched…and laughed.”
“Thanks for the warning,” Ryan said.
“Likewise.”
Ryan finished eating his breakfast, and, seeing he was done, other slaves offered him food off their trays. Ryan took them up on their offer, not knowing when he might have another chance to eat a hot meal.
J.B. PULLED THE WAG off the road at the top of a rise that overlooked the farm. He guided the big vehicle behind a stand of trees and cut the ignition. The wag’s engine rumbled for a few more strokes, then came to a sputtering, choking stop. He wanted to try the battery to see if their short trip north had recharged it, but decided he’d find that out later when he really needed to restart the engine. No sense wasting power. Besides, if the engine didn’t turn over, they could always roll it down the hill and start the wag that way.
“Got time before dark,” Jak said, looking at his wrist chron.
“Better to be early than late,” J.B. answered.
Dean hopped off the back of the wag. “What’ll we do till the sun goes down?”
J.B. looked at Clarissa. “You find your mutie friends and let them know what’s going down tonight. And let them know that once we get inside, they can have all the food they can eat.”
Clarissa nodded and headed off.
“Jak and Dean,” J.B. summoned.
The albino teenager and the boy stepped in front of J.B.
“We’ll need to get a message to Ryan, Mildred or Krysty about our plans. Walk the perimeter of the farm and see if you can spot one of them and pass along the word. If I know Ryan, he’ll be expecting you.”
Jak and Dean turned and headed down the road toward the farm.
Alone with J.B., Doc cleared his throat. “And what might you be requiring of me, John Barrymore?”
“You’re going to help me, Doc. The wag’s still running rough, and there’s a few more things I need to do to make sure the blasters and the cannon don’t jam when we need them most.”
Doc nodded. “While I am not well versed in the mechanics of such infernal devices as this wag and those blasters, I’ll endeavor to be the best assistant armorer my limited abilities allow.”
“And I’ll need you to keep your blaster ready, in case any stray muties wander by.”
“Or if need be,” Doc continued, hardly missing a beat, “I will gladly assume the duties of sentinel, guarding against any intruders who might wish to thwart us in our quest to free the noble Ryan of Cawdor…”
J.B. merely looked at Doc for several seconds, then said, “Bring me the toolbox.”
Doc looked up, as if yanked out of a daze. “The toolbox, of course.”