All of a sudden a hand cupped Owen’s neck from the side and his feet were kicked out from underneath him. The world seemed to turn upside down as he was catapulted to the ground. A blast of air shot out of his mouth as he hit the dirt, deflating his lungs.
A cold ring of metal was pressed against his head.
“What have we here? Did someone get lost in the dark?” A man asked, his acrid breath buffeting Owen’s face.
Owen tried to respond but he had no air left to expel from his lungs. And try as he might he couldn’t make out who had grabbed him. All he could see was one more vague form blocking the stars above him.
“You better speak up string bean,” the invisible man said.
Finally Owen was able to breath in. “I… I’m Owen.” He breathed once more. “I’m with Preston.”
“Oh with Preston? Please forgive me,” the voice responded sarcastically. Owen’s arm was then wrenched into a painful angle behind him. It wouldn’t take much more force to dislocate his shoulder or break his arm, he was sure. “It’s true!” Owen objected. “Ask Preston!” It took all his energy to get the words out.
“Okay, now, don’t cry about it.”
Owen was forced to stand up. The man pushed him toward the fire, with one hand holding his arm at the same obtuse angle, and the other maintaining a firm grip on his neck. Owen’s chest heaved, still trying to catch his breath.
The talking had stopped, and now Owen was thrust into the light, almost directly over the dying fire. The probing eyes of four men rested on him.
“Found your spotty-faced friend following you, Preston,” the man behind him said. Owen turned to see his assailant was Rourke Rama, one of Bartz’s security personnel. Rourke had a slanted nose, an artifact of some old scuffle, and a half-shaven head. A plentiful crop of tattered hair grew from the other side. For now it flopped over the bald side.
Owen tried to explain. “I was only following Preston so I could talk about the plans for tomorrow.” He knew he sounded like he was whining.
Rourke reached out and grabbed his neck again, choking him. “Plans? Let’s be clear, boy. You’re just tagging along for the ride. You come when we tell you to come, like an obedient dog. Otherwise, you keep yourself scarce.” Rourke’s eyes bulged and his face trembled. It was well known around Seeville that he wasn’t a man to be trifled with.
“It’s okay, Rourke,” Preston said, frowning. “He doesn’t know the details, but he knows we aren’t here for train parts, either.”
Rourke’s grasp of Owen’s neck slackened.
A mousy looking man, one Owen knew as Thorpe, spoke up next. Spectacles adorned the ridge on Thorpe’s nose. He was higher up the railroad ladder, one of Bartz’s right-hand men. He’d been added to the expedition at the last minute.
Thorpe’s voice was raspy and thin. “Let him be Rourke,” he said. “Let’s finish this topic and then Preston, maybe you take your friend for a walk.”
Rourke finally let go of Owen’s neck altogether. Owen tried to massage out the marks. They would surely turn to bruises by morning. He felt like objecting to his treatment, but nobody, including Preston, seemed at all surprised by Rourke’s behavior.
Owen went from being center-stage to being wholly ignored. Thorpe said, “don’t worry about the other mules. We have Newton in our corner. He’s a respected wrench. He’ll get the rest of the mules to buy in. He should also be able to smooth over any concern with the other wrenches. Bartz has helped fund the whole expedition. They know not to bite the hand that feeds them.”
Jeroun, the man who had been cycling behind Owen on the way to the towers, spoke up. “And when do we tell them where we’re going? They’ll realize something is—”
Thorpe put up his hand to cut him off. He cleared his throat and then spoke. “We only tell them when we arrive. It shouldn’t matter to them where we’re going. If we have to cross through the fever lands we’ll address the issue at that time.”
People fidgeted about after the last comment. Thorpe addressed their apprehension. “Our wrenches and mules are well compensated. What are they going to do, leave us out there and not get paid?”
Thorpe shook his head to answer his own question. “No, they won’t. We break off at noon. By then they should be done with the bikes and eager to get back. Preston, Jeroun, Rourke—you take Newton aside and make him do the announcement. It’s better coming from him than us.”
The other members of the circle nodded. Thorpe glanced at Owen, wrinkled his tiny nose, and then strolled over to Preston and whispered something in his ear. Preston nodded and sauntered over to Owen.
“Owen, let’s go for a walk,” Preston said.
“Sure,” Owen said, welcoming the chance to get away from the group’s probing eyes.
They walked until they were out of earshot of the others, pausing nowhere in particular, about halfway between the railroad contingent and the main congregation.
“Talk to me before doing anything like that again,” Preston began.
“Like what?” Owen objected. “All I did was follow you back to our fire pit. Why is that wrong?”
“The railroad folks, they’re nervous. They’re taking this pretty seriously, and they should be. Yeah, we’re hiding things, but for good reason. We have to be able to show people some progress—results no one can refute—or the Adherents and bureaucrats will shut us down before you know it.”
“I get it. But can you at least tell me what we’re after? Why am I here?”
Preston was silent for a moment and then said, “Yeah. Yeah, I suppose so. But you have to realize if you breathe a word of this to anyone it’s on you. I can’t help.”
“Hey, I’m not fond of Rourke Rama’s hand around my neck. Don’t worry.”
Preston didn’t laugh, and it was too dark to see if he smiled. Owen doubted it. Preston was always so serious now.
Preston said, “we’re going after some basic electronic equipment, and maybe even a few power generators—gas powered ones. Also maybe some more advanced stuff that we can’t usually forage for, like some computers or laptops.” He trailed off as he said it, as if it was nothing, an afterthought.
Nobody in Owen’s lifetime had found any working computers or laptops, never mind gas-powered generators. “How do you expect to find that stuff?”
“We have our sources.”
It was confounding. Everything within a hundred miles of Spoke territory had been picked over. Finding working electronics was a thing of the past. If they hadn’t been destroyed by bandits, certainly the retchers would have gotten to them.
“Are you consorting with bandits now? The SLS? Oh, and we better not be going through fever lands.”
Preston shuffled his feet. “We might be skirting it. Look, I can’t tell you everything.”
“Sure, but it seems to me you’re telling me almost nothing.”
“I’ve already told you more than you need to know,” Preston countered, this time with some vinegar in his voice. “Think about the future, Owen. We can have refrigerators, freezers, electric motors—even electric cars. Imagine the benefit to the Spoke community. First everything will be done in bunkers, but eventually, when we solve the retcher problem, we can make real progress. Do you want to risk all that opportunity, just so we can keep everyone informed, just so some Adherent fanatic can raise a stink, bring up the old traditions and stop us in our tracks? No, that’s not how progress will be made.”
Owen understood the need for discretion, despite how much being kept in the dark frustrated him. And he shared Preston’s passion for the cause. But there was something else that bothered him. Maybe it was that the railroad people seemed so ruthless, or maybe it was the way Preston seemed to be possessed by some kind of fervor.