"I had it figured as close to eighty years," I said. "The trees, the condition of the buildings-"
"Not far off the mark. Seventy-eight years this spring."
"You're a well-preserved hundred and ten, Toby."
He nodded. "I know how you feel. Rip Van Winkle had nothing on us."
"Just one question, Toby. The men you sent out to pick me up seemed more interested in shooting than talking. I'm wondering why."
Mallon threw out his hands. "A little misunderstanding, Jackson. You made it; that's all that counts. Now that you're here, we've got some planning to do together. I've had it tough these last twenty years. I started off with nothing: a few hundred scavengers living in the ruins, hiding out every time Jersey or Dee-Cee raided for supplies. I built an organization, started a systematic salvage operation. I saved everything the rats and the weather hadn't gotten to, spruced up my palace here, and stocked it. It's a rich province, Jackson-"
"And now you own it all. Not bad, Toby."
"They say knowledge is power. I had the knowledge."
I finished my drink and put the glass on the bar.
"What's this planning you say we have to do?"
Mallon leaned back on one elbow.
"Jackson, it's been a long haul-alone. It's good to see an old shipmate. But we'll dine first."
"I might manage to nibble a little something. Say a horse, roasted whole. Don't bother to remove the saddle."
He laughed. "First we eat," he said. "Then we conquer the world."
6
I squeezed the last drop from the Beaujolais bottle and watched the girl, whose name was Renada, hold a light for the cigar Mallon had taken from a silver box. My blue mess jacket and holster hung over the back of the chair. Everything was cosy now.
"Time for business, Jackson," Mallon said. He blew out smoke and looked at me through it. "How did things look-inside?"
"Dusty. But intact, below ground level. Upstairs, there's blast damage and weathering. I don't suppose it's changed much since you came out twenty years ago. As far as I could tell, the Primary Site is okay."
Mallon leaned forward. "Now, you made it out past the Bolo. How did it handle itself? Still fully functional?"
I sipped my wine, thinking over my answer, remembering the Bolo's empty guns…
"It damn near gunned me down. It's getting a little old and it can't see as well as it used to, but it's still a tough baby."
Mallon swore suddenly. "It was Mackenzie's idea. A last-minute move when the tech crews had to evacuate. It was a dusting job, you know."
"I hadn't heard. How did you find out all this?"
Mallon shot me a sharp look. "There were still a few people around who'd been in it. But never mind that. What about the Supply Site? That's what we're interested in. Fuel, guns, even some nuclear stuff. Heavy equipment; there's a couple more Bolos, mothballed, I understand. Maybe we'll even find one or two of the Colossus missiles still in their silos. I made an air recon a few years back before my chopper broke down-"
"I think two silo doors are still in place. But why the interest in armament?"
Mallon snorted. "You've got a few things to learn about the setup, Jackson. I need that stuff. If I hadn't lucked into a stock of weapons and ammo in the armory cellar, Jersey would be wearing the spurs in my palace right now!"
I drew on my cigar and let the silence stretch out.
"You said something about conquering the world, Toby. I don't suppose by any chance you meant that literally?"
Mallon stood up, his closed fists working like a man crumpling unpaid bills. "They all want what I've got! They're all waiting." He walked across the room, back. "I'm ready to move against them now! I can put four thousand trained men in the field-"
"Let's get a couple of things straight, Mallon," I cut in. "You've got the natives fooled with this Baron routine. But don't try it on me. Maybe it was even necessary once; maybe there's an excuse for some of the stories I've heard. That's over now. I'm not interested in tribal warfare or gang rumbles. I need-"
"Better remember who's running things here, Jackson!" Mallon snapped. "It's not what you need that counts." He took another turn up and down the room, then stopped, facing me.
"Look, Jackson. I know how to get around in this jungle; you don't. If I hadn't spotted you and given some orders, you'd have been gunned down before you'd gone ten feet past the ballroom door."
"Why'd you let me in? I might've been gunning for you."
"You wanted to see the Baron alone. That suited me, too. If word got out-" He broke off, cleared his throat. "Let's stop wrangling, Jackson. We can't move until the Bolo guarding the site has been neutralized. There's only one way to do that: knock it out! And the only thing that can knock out a Bolo is another Bolo."
"So?"
"I've got another Bolo, Jackson. It's been covered, maintained. It can go up against the Troll-" He broke off, laughed shortly. "That's what the mob called it."
"You could have done that years ago. Where do I come in?"
"You're checked out on a Bolo, Jackson. You know something about this kind of equipment."
"Sure. So do you."
"I never learned," he said shortly.
"Who's kidding who, Mallon? We all took the same orientation course less than a month ago-"
"For me it's been a long month. Let's say I've forgotten."
"You parked that Bolo at your front gate and then forgot how you did it, eh?"
"Nonsense. It's always been there."
I shook my head. "I know different."
Mallon looked wary. "Where'd you get that idea?"
"Somebody told me."
Mallon ground his cigar out savagely on the damask cloth. "You'll point the scum out to me!"
"I don't give a damn whether you moved it or not. Anybody with your training can figure out the controls of a Bolo in half an hour-"
"Not well enough to take on the Tr-another Bolo."
I took a cigar from the silver box, picked up the lighter from the table, turned the cigar in the flame. Suddenly it was very quiet in the room.
I looked across at Mallon. He held out his hand.
"I'll take that," he said shortly.
I blew out smoke, squinted through it at Mallon. He sat with his hand out, waiting. I looked down at the lighter.
It was a heavy windproof model with embossed Aerospace wings. I turned it over. Engraved letters read: Lieut. Commander Don G. Banner, USAF. I looked up. Renada sat quietly, holding my pistol trained dead on my belt buckle.
"I'm sorry you saw that," Mallon said. "It could cause misunderstandings."
"Where's Banner?"
"He… died. I told you-"
"You told me a lot of things, Toby. Some of them might even be true. Did you make him the same offer you've made me?"
Mallon darted a look at Renada. She sat holding the pistol, looking at me distantly, without expression.
"You've got the wrong idea, Jackson-" Mallon started.
"You and he came out about the same time," I said. "Or maybe you got the jump on him by a few days. It must have been close; otherwise you'd never have taken him. Don was a sharp boy."
"You're out of your mind!" Mallon snapped. "Why, Banner was my friend!"