"One of the biggest villes I've seen for a while," J.B. said. "Can't recall seeing any big place on the old maps in these parts."
"Could be a new place," Ryan said. "Some sprung up where the old villes got chilled by the nukes. Best step light and find out who the baron is down there. Make sure we get a friendly welcome."
They all looked at the sign: Ginnsburg Falls. Population 8,407. Alt. 4,950.
Printed neatly beneath that, in dark blue and gold paint in an elegant sans-serif type, were the words: Walk the Line and You'll Be Fine.
"Stout right-wing statement," Doc Tanner said, leaning on his sword stick. "Sets well with happiness being a warm gun and telling folks to either shape up or ship on out."
"That's a big population," Krysty said.
"Yeah. From higher up we couldn't see the whole ville. There's hundreds more houses on that strip development to the west, across from the lake. Laid out like a square grid."
"Got to be one of the biggest villes I've ever seen," Ryan said, agreeing with J.B. "But it doesn't look like it's military. No lec-fences. Nothing like that."
"Mebbe it's just left behind. Kind of shut away after the long winters and running all along on its fucking ownsome. You figure?" Finnegan suggested.
"Let's go find out," Ryan answered.
"This blacktop's been swept clean," J.B. said, pausing when they were still a good half mile from the nearest building.
Krysty smiled uncertainly. "Yeah, it has. There's dried leaves lying all around, but the road's virtually clear of 'em. I never heard of a ville that's as clean as that."
"Neither have I," Ryan agreed. "Most villes... you can smell 'em before you see 'em."
"I hear something coming," Krysty warned. "Small wagon, gas power. Like one of the swamp bugs. Lighter sound to the engine."
The wind was blowing toward the ville, making it hard to hear anything from that direction. But within seconds they all heard the whining sound of a small, powerful engine approaching quickly. Each of them saw it at the same moment, breasting a rise in the road, a couple of hundred yards ahead. It was a small open wag, like a jeep, painted light blue. Four men were seated in it, all holding blasters.
"Easy," Ryan warned. "Nothing hasty or foolish. Could bring the whole ville down on us. Just keep ready."
"Winchester carbines," J.B. breathed. "Selective fire, M-2 models, thirty caliber. Look't the polish on them."
The guns glittered with a parade-ground patina, reflecting the dazzling sun. The jeep stopped in a squeal of brakes about fifty yards away. Three of the men leaped out, forming a skirmishing line across the center of the road. The driver moved to the back, swinging around a mounted machine gun. Ryan recognized the blaster. It was a M60E2. The 7.62 model.
The Trader had sometimes considered working on the principle that every stranger you encountered was an enemy and should be chilled before he had a chance to chill you. Nonetheless, it was equally true that most folks living throughout the Deathlands were reasonably honest and didn't have blood in their eyes and murder on their minds. So, you just stepped careful.
Ryan, too, was wondering whether they should have sent the newcomers off to buy the farm as soon as they had stopped their jeep. That way they wouldn't be in this standoff situation.
The men had the unmistakable look of a sec unit: dark blue pants and thick jackets; cross-belts with brass buckles on them; knee-high leather boots; caps with shiny plastic peaks; dark glasses that hid the eyes.
"Fucking sec men, Ryan," Finnegan hissed nervously, fingering the butt of his HK54A2.
"Easy, Finn, easy," Ryan warned again.
The center man of the trio called out to them, voice neither harsh nor friendly. "You outworlders?"
It didn't sound like that difficult a question. But Ryan knew from previous experience that it was the sort of query that might have a lot behind it, the sort of question where the wrong answer could bring down a hail of lead to sweep a man away.
"Outworlders?"
"You have to ask, then that has to be the answer. You don't come from around here?"
"No."
"Where from?"
"Different places."
The man gestured with the muzzle of his carbine. "Got a lot of blasters. You mercies, or guns for one of the traders?"
"Neither. Just friends. Passing along."
"Where?"
"Where we want to go."
"You want to come into the ville of Ginnsburg Falls? That the idea?"
"Mebbe. How's that set with you?" The constant questions were beginning to grate with Ryan. He could feel a pulse beating at his temple, a sure sign, he knew, that there was a risk of his temper slipping out of control.
"You come in with us. Walk ahead."
"We got a choice?" J.B. asked.
"Sure." The man almost smiled. "Walk ahead or we chill you. All of you."
"Some fucking choice," Finnegan whispered.
Chapter Nine
The jeep growled along after them, keeping in low gear. One of the sec men kept position on the machine gun in the rear, covering the seven of them.
"Sure is a big ville," J.B. said.
Doc Tanner shook his head. "There is something about it that puts me unconscionably in mind of a trim little town in the Bible Belt before the war."
"In vids, you mean, Doc?" Finnegan asked.
"Yes, of course."
The leader of the patrol called out to them as they neared a barrier across the road: a single striped pole beside a small stone hut. Two sec men, carrying brightly polished carbines, marched briskly to and fro in front of the barrier. Ryan was struck again by the neatness and cleanliness of the whole operation.
"Hold it there."
They stopped. Ryan turned to face the jeep. "This going to take long? We're real tired and we could do with some food."
"You don't have any passes. Don't have any Ginnsburg Falls creds. No food slips. And you haven't seen Mayor Sissy."
"Who?" Ryan asked incredulously.
"Mayor Sissy. And I surely hope that isn't a smile I see on anyone's face. Best learn first off that rule number one isn't to find names funny. Believe me, an outworlder can get chilled faster than a fish down a fall. You'll meet Mayor Theodore Sissy before you reach your quarters. First, we got to get your names. Corp!"
The taller of the two guards on the barrier came smartly forward, giving a salute that involved patting his left shoulder with his gauntleted right fist. "Yes, Sec Commander?"
"Note of names."
"Sir."
The man in charge of the jeep came closer. "You're the leader here," he said, addressing Ryan Cawdor. "Watch your people and walk the line. You'll enjoy your time with us in Ginnsburg Falls. You'll do fine."
"Have a nice day," Doc Tanner said, making the sec commander turn and look at him suspiciously, as though he suspected the old man was sending him up.
"You," the tall guard said, pointing at Ryan. "Name. Place."
"You mean, where have I come from?"
"Yes. Place of habitation."
"Name's Ryan Cawdor. I came from..." he hesitated, wondering just where he did come from "...Front Royal out in the Shens."
"Don't know it. That's outworld here."
The Armorer answered next. "Name's J. B. Dix."
The guard wrote it down on a large pad. "Another outworlder. What are the letters for?"
"What letters?"
"Your name? Your first name?"
Ryan's jaw dropped. He'd known the little Armorer for something approaching ten years, and he realized now that he'd never even known what the initials stood for. It had always been J.B., nothing else.
"First name's John."
"What's the Bfor?"
"Barrymore, you double-stupe bastard! John Barrymore Dix. You got it?"
"Don't let anger lead you into dangerous pathways, my outworlder friend," the sec guard replied, calmly writing the name down.