"Cantankerous hunk of junk," he muttered. "Does a sim have to be this historical?"
David, on the other hand, patted the varnished coach- work fondly. "This, my friend, is a 1901 Mercedes Simplex-named after Mercedes, the daughter of Emil Jellinek, the man who pushed through the design of the car.
"A historical junk-pile," Leif grumbled.
"Get a horse!" P. J. cried.
"You'd need forty of them to match the output of this engine," David continued to defend their vehicle. "Given the era, this is something of a speed machine."
"Not on these roads," Leif said as they bounced over ruts in the hard dirt.
"Oh, look!" Megan pointed to a peak overlooking the road. Three horsemen seemed almost to be posing against the afternoon sky. They were dressed in brightly colored woolen jackets-and each had a long-barreled rifle strapped across his shoulder.
"The first Graustark novel had a couple of guys like that," David said. "A bit of local color. Although they looked like bandits, they were actually border guards."
The Mercedes chugged upward around the side of the mountain, then swung downward into a dip in the road- and a welcome patch of shade cast by tall bushes.
But the road ahead was now blocked by the three picturesque "border guards," who were unlimbering their rifles, while more characters in colorful local dress came out of the bushes, waving clubs.
"Looks like this sim is different from the old books," Megan said. 'They really are bandits!"
"Out of the car!" Leif ordered as he pulled the car over. "Otherwise, we'll be sitting ducks. Er-Jack-" He stumbled over P. J.'s player name. "Deal with those fellows on horseback blocking our way. David, er, Mene- lik, you cover him. I'll protect Miss O'Malley."
Two guys with clubs were charging up as he leaped from behind the wheel, his hand dropping to the hilt of his saber.
Lucky I stowed it right by the seat, he thought, pulling the blade free. "Meg… Miss Marguerite… stay back!"
He went into the en garde position, a little hampered by his heavy coat. This wasn't exactly like a fencing competition. The saber he held was a real weapon, somewhat heavier than he was used to. And, of course, it wasn't blunted or button-tipped. It would cut any of the club-toting bandits who came too close.
Then a cannon seemed to go off by his left ear. Leif half-turned to see Megan daintily aiming a small gold and ivory revolver.
"What are you do-" Leif began.
That was when the robber's club came down on his shoulder. It wasn't a huge stick-somewhere between a cane and a baseball bat in size, not that Leif was in any shape to worry about it. But it was enough to take Leif out of the fight. His vision dissolved in a bright-red nova of pain as he sank to one knee, struggling to hold onto his sword and his consciousness.
Megan aimed carefully, pulled the trigger, and drilled the club-wielder in the shoulder. He staggered back, joining his friend that she'd shot in the thigh on the ground. While covering them, Megan glanced around to see how the fight was going.
"YEEEEE-HAA AA!" P. J. stood on the backseat of the Mercedes, leveling a pair of Army Colt pistols. The six-shooters roared, taking out two of the mounted bandits before they'd even aimed their rifles. The third mounted bandit abruptly crouched low in the saddle, urging his horse into a retreat.
But even as P. J. fired, one of the brigands was rushing at him from the side, waving a club that looked like a young tree trunk. David stepped into his way, uncertainly hefting a curved scimitar.
I hope he knows how to use it, Megan thought. Just as I suddenly knew how to use this particular model of gun.
The bandit swung, and David backpedaled, bumping into the side of the Mercedes. Megan tried to aim, but couldn't get a clear shot. Desperately David took a two- handed grip on his sword as the brigand raised his club again. David whipped the scimitar around was if it were a baseball bat… and got more results than he'd ever anticipated.
The steel blade swept right through the robber's forearm, slicing across muscle and bone to complete a very rough amputation. With a high-pitched scream, the bandit staggered back, clutching at the wound.
The rest of the robbers also pulled back momentarily. Leif and his friends had taken out more than half of the robber band. The others were clearly wavering between running away and staging another attack. Megan decided not to fool around with them. "P. J.! Cover our rear!"
As P. J. turned to stand on the seat facing the remaining bandits, Megan bundled the still-dazed Leif into the back beside him. Then she jumped behind the wheel, thankful that the engine was still idling. David jumped into the passenger seat, and Megan tromped on the gas pedal. The Mercedes lurched forward, nearly toppling P. J. from his perch. Even so, a couple of wild shots from his big Army Colts discouraged the bandits from following.
Safely away, Megan glanced at David sitting beside her. His dark face seemed tinged with gray as he obsessively wiped the blade of his scimitar.
"That was just too real. It cut right through-" he began. Then he gulped and shook his head as if to clear the memory away.
Megan thought she understood. Lots of the games and sims she'd played involved zapping or shooting enemies. But commercial sims didn't feature the kind of combat David had gone through. A sword usually chunked into an opponent's shield or clanged off armor, or protective scales on some sort of mythological monster. Even in virtual reality, people didn't generally experience anything quite like what they'd just witnessed.
"How's Leif-er, the baron-doing?" she asked rather belatedly.
"Could have been worse," P. J. reported while Leif gave a low grunt of pain. "These coats we're wearing are thick, and his shoulder padding managed to break a lot of the impact."
"Break-that's a word I really don't want to hear right now," Leif muttered, giving another yelp as P. J. probed where he'd been hit.
"You wouldn't be able to squirm around with that arm if your collarbone were really broken," P. J. announced in his best country-doctor fashion. "At worst, you'll have a beautiful bruise to show for it."
"One thing's sure," Megan said. "I'll do the driving until you've had a chance to get your wind back. What was our destination supposed to be, anyway?"
"We're heading for Herzen, the capital of Latvinia," Leif said, his voice tight with pain. "It's the one big city there, located in the middle of the kingdom." His breath hissed between his teeth as the car jolted over a pothole. "Which is also where the few decent roads are to be found."
"And how do we get there?" David asked, opening a leather map case.
"This road will take us alongside, then down into the Dubok Valley," Leif replied. 'That's where the rail line from Vienna runs into the country. Once we get down into the valley, things should be a little less wild. We should reach the outskirts of Herzen by nightfall."
"Which means we should be moving now, while we have sunlight," Megan said. They jounced along the mountain track until they finally reached a ridgeline that overlooked a valley below. Megan spotted the glint of sunlight off steel rails.
"So, this is the Dubok Valley?"
Leif leaned carefully forward, still favoring his hurt shoulder. "Yes. There should be a fork in the road ahead. Take the path leading downward-and be prepared for a rather steep grade. These roads see more mules and goats than motorcars."
Leif's shifted to a more turn-of-the-century style of talking, Megan thought. Maybe he's feeling a bit better.
They continued along the rim of the valley, which was still pretty narrow and rugged. In the distance, however, the lowlands began to spread out. Megan could even make out what seemed to be plowed fields.
Then she saw the train stopped on the tracks far below, and heard the pop of gunfire. About twenty black- clad riders on equally black horses swarmed around a gilded passenger car at the rear of the train. A handful of guards in crimson uniforms and shining brass helmets struggled against the horsemen. Even as Megan watched, the last defender went down.