themselves, dear lady. They could simply afford to act more genteelly, owing to generally less brutal circumstances.”
“But what are you getting out of this?” Mildred asked the baron. “You’re already spending lots of resources on J.B. Your healer is prepping for surgery—that’s why I left, to get out of her hair. Why are you trusting us? What’s the catch?”
For a moment, no one spoke. Ricky waited for the baron to assure them there was no catch. Instead, he continued to look at Ryan with calm, somber eyes.
Ryan vented a gusty sigh. “You’re right, Mildred. I do know better than to rely on a baron’s gratitude. But a baron’s vengeance—that’s like sunrise.”
“But they don’t have any guarantees we can get this girl back from the slavers! Or even that we’ll try.”
“As for what can be done,” Frost said, still in a perfectly calm and even voice, “whether she...can be rescued depends largely on fate. This my wife and I know. As for your capabilities, we know them, for we have seen them in action. And as for your exerting all your formidable abilities to return Milya safely to us, I believe we have all the guarantees we need.”
“Are you going to walk away and leave J.B. here?” Ryan asked Mildred. Her eyes went wide. Her face went pale. “Or do you reckon I am?”
She turned away, tight-lipped .
“Come,” the baron called.
The door opened. A woman stood there. Or maybe a girl. On the tall side for a female, an inch or so taller than Ricky, an inch or two shorter than Krysty. She stood as straight and slim as a bayonet, and wore a drab uniform tunic and trousers closely cut to her frame. She wore a handblaster in a flap-covered holster in front of her left hip, with butt reversed for a right-hand cross-draw. Ricky thought it was a CZ-75 semiauto, which would have made it a 9 mm weapon.
He felt his own brows rise as he recognized her as the girl who’d ridden to their rescue, knee to knee with the baron himself, shooting and sabering slavers with cold ferocity.
She didn’t show much of a figure, but he liked her already.
“Ah, Alysa,” the baron said, brightening.
“Baron,” she replied, stepping into the room.
Ricky caught himself staring. He blushed and moved his eyes back to the lamp-lit contour lines of the map.
Then they strayed back to her as if magnetized.
When the baron’s men had rescued the party from the slaver ambush, the girl had slaughtered with a fierce and fearsome joy. Now her posture and face were stiff, as if she was not just uncomfortable but trying to keep some powerful emotion in check. Fear? He wasn’t sure.
“My friends, permit me to introduce Lieutenant Alysa Korn. Despite her age, or lack of it, she’s earned the rank among our baronial defenders.”
Frost didn’t seem to care for the universal Deathlands term “sec men.” Not that Ricky saw how that made much difference.
Frost finished introducing Ryan’s group with Ricky. He stammered some nonsense he hoped sounded polite. She barely flicked him a glance with her pale green eyes. She might as well have been a lizard on a rock. Or he might.
“Alysa will be your guide on your journey,” the baron stated.
Ricky looked at Ryan. The one-eyed man frowned.
“You know the area we’ll be searching in?”
“I have some familiarity with it,” she said.
Her already hard face hardened another degree. Oddly it made her look younger and more vulnerable to Ricky, somehow.
“At least,” she said, as if the words were being pulled from her mouth like teeth, “I know whom to ask for information.”
Ryan stared at her a moment more. She didn’t wither under the blue flame of his glare. Ricky sure would have.
He nodded. “More than we’d know,” he said.
He looked back at Baron Frost. “What else can you give us?”
Chapter Eight
Through half-open lids J.B. saw a dark, concerned face hovering over his. It was mostly covered by a surgical mask, but what he could see of it seemed
“But what are you getting out of this?” Mildred asked the baron. “You’re already spending lots of resources on J.B. Your healer is prepping for surgery—that’s why I left, to get out of her hair. Why are you trusting us? What’s the catch?”
For a moment, no one spoke. Ricky waited for the baron to assure them there was no catch. Instead, he continued to look at Ryan with calm, somber eyes.
Ryan vented a gusty sigh. “You’re right, Mildred. I do know better than to rely on a baron’s gratitude. But a baron’s vengeance—that’s like sunrise.”
“But they don’t have any guarantees we can get this girl back from the slavers! Or even that we’ll try.”
“As for what can be done,” Frost said, still in a perfectly calm and even voice, “whether she...can be rescued depends largely on fate. This my wife and I know. As for your capabilities, we know them, for we have seen them in action. And as for your exerting all your formidable abilities to return Milya safely to us, I believe we have all the guarantees we need.”
“Are you going to walk away and leave J.B. here?” Ryan asked Mildred. Her eyes went wide. Her face went pale. “Or do you reckon I am?”
She turned away, tight-lipped .
“Come,” the baron called.
The door opened. A woman stood there. Or maybe a girl. On the tall side for a female, an inch or so taller than Ricky, an inch or two shorter than Krysty. She stood as straight and slim as a bayonet, and wore a drab uniform tunic and trousers closely cut to her frame. She wore a handblaster in a flap-covered holster in front of her left hip, with butt reversed for a right-hand cross-draw. Ricky thought it was a CZ-75 semiauto, which would have made it a 9 mm weapon.
He felt his own brows rise as he recognized her as the girl who’d ridden to their rescue, knee to knee with the baron himself, shooting and sabering slavers with cold ferocity.
She didn’t show much of a figure, but he liked her already.
“Ah, Alysa,” the baron said, brightening.
“Baron,” she replied, stepping into the room.
Ricky caught himself staring. He blushed and moved his eyes back to the lamp-lit contour lines of the map.
Then they strayed back to her as if magnetized.
When the baron’s men had rescued the party from the slaver ambush, the girl had slaughtered with a fierce and fearsome joy. Now her posture and face were stiff, as if she was not just uncomfortable but trying to keep some powerful emotion in check. Fear? He wasn’t sure.
“My friends, permit me to introduce Lieutenant Alysa Korn. Despite her age, or lack of it, she’s earned the rank among our baronial defenders.”
Frost didn’t seem to care for the universal Deathlands term “sec men.” Not that Ricky saw how that made much difference.
Frost finished introducing Ryan’s group with Ricky. He stammered some nonsense he hoped sounded polite. She barely flicked him a glance with her pale green eyes. She might as well have been a lizard on a rock. Or he might.
“Alysa will be your guide on your journey,” the baron stated.
Ricky looked at Ryan. The one-eyed man frowned.
“You know the area we’ll be searching in?”
“I have some familiarity with it,” she said.
Her already hard face hardened another degree. Oddly it made her look younger and more vulnerable to Ricky, somehow.
“At least,” she said, as if the words were being pulled from her mouth like teeth, “I know whom to ask for information.”
Ryan stared at her a moment more. She didn’t wither under the blue flame of his glare. Ricky sure would have.
He nodded. “More than we’d know,” he said.
He looked back at Baron Frost. “What else can you give us?”
Chapter Eight
Through half-open lids J.B. saw a dark, concerned face hovering over his. It was mostly covered by a surgical mask, but what he could see of it seemed
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