Raynor felt as though he’d been punched in the stomach. “Thanks, Hiram.” He rubbed his eyes and held his hand there for a few seconds, deep in thought. Finally he lifted his head. “Okay, roust Harnack, Kydd, and Doc. But don’t bother the rest of the platoon. Understood?”
Feek nodded. “What about Tychus?”
“I’ll take care of Tychus.”
“How?” Feek asked. “I mean, no offense, Jim,” he added, “but Tychus isn’t known for random acts of philanthropy.”
“These people are bandits, right? So they have loot,” Raynor responded. “That’ll get his attention. Plus, don’t underestimate Tychus. He may look hard—but he has a heart of gold.”
When Feek smiled, his mustache went up and sideways at the same time. “And a liver of gold, lungs of gold, and kidneys of gold,” he responded.
Raynor forced a chuckle. “Yeah, something like that… .” He patted Feek on the shoulder approvingly. “We’re going to need a vehicle.”
Feek nodded. He had the truck that was used to ferry the Thunderstrike armor around and run errands. “I’ll supply that.”
“Good,” Raynor said. “It’s nice to know that we won’t have to steal one.”
The better part of an hour was required to get everyone up and off base where Feek was waiting to pick them up. The civilian was driving, Doc was riding shotgun, and Tychus, Raynor, Harnack, and Kydd were sitting in the back of the truck, sorting through the weapons that Feek had hidden there prior to leaving base. They had absolutely no idea where their friends were being held. But Raynor had a plan.
The single cargo light was on, but most of the illumination was coming in through the open roof vent. “This is farm country for the most part,” Raynor said, shifting position so Harnack, Kydd, and Tychus could see him, “and I know something about farming. This area might look empty, like nobody’s around, but believe me, there are eyes everywhere. So the locals know where the bandits are, and are either afraid of reprisals, or related to them! So they aren’t going to talk. Not to the authorities, anyway. But if we can find the right person and make it worth their while, we might get a lead.”
“Or we could take someone aside, kick his ass, and choke the location out of him,” Harnack suggested hopefully.
“We’ll use that as the backup plan,” Raynor replied agreeably. “I told Feek to stop in a little town called Finner’s Crossing. Odds are they have a pub there—that seems like a good place to start.”
“And have a beer,” Tychus put in. The truth was that he figured both Zander and Ward were dead. But he wasn’t about to say that to Raynor, especially in light of Omer’s recent death. Plus, it was to his benefit to hold the squad together. “A few brews and this trip will actually seem worthwhile.”
“Ignore Sergeant Sunshine,” Raynor advised as he shifted his gaze from Harnack to Kydd. “Kidnappings have been common around here ever since the wars started and the economy tanked. Some people will make money any way they can. Odds are the bandits are hoping that someone will come along and pay a price for our friends.”
“Our idiots is more like it,” Tychus said sourly. “You give them more money than any private has a right to and what do they do with it? They buy food and then give it away! Now that’s stupid.”
“Getting kidnapped sucks,” Kydd mused aloud. “Look where it got me: I got drugged by some hooker and now I’m stuck with you jerk weeds for God knows how long.”
A palpable silence filled the truck as everyone turned to look at the blank-faced sniper. Several seconds passed before Kydd erupted into boisterous laughter, and the rest of the crew followed suit.
Tychus shook his head in wonderment. “Look at Kydd, talkin’ like he’s one of us grunts and not some frou frou Old Family prick. The military’s done you good, boy.”
The small door that provided access to the cargo compartment from the cab was open, so Doc had been able to listen in. And she knew that if her squad mates had large sums of money there had to be a reason. That was the sort of information Vanderspool would want to know about.
It was too early in the day for a dose of crab, especially if some sort of fight was in the offing, but the stimpack was legal, and would help tide her over. The device made a gentle hissing sound as she pressed it against the back of her neck.
NEAR THE TOWN OF FINNER’S CROSSING, ON THE PLANET TURAXIS II
Finner’s Crossing was five miles short of the spot where the food shipment had been hijacked. Rather than roll into the center of town where the vehicle would almost certainly attract attention, Raynor told Feek to park on the outskirts of the community next to a fueling station.
Then, after a good deal of argument from Harnack, it was agreed that Raynor and Tychus would walk into town while the rest stayed back to guard the truck. “We’ll bring you something to eat,” Raynor promised. “And remember, two of you should be awake at all times. That includes you, Hank.”
That request provoked more complaints, and Raynor was in the process of explaining why his instructions were necessary when Tychus cut the conversation short by slamming the door and walking away.
The main road led the men past simple, wood frame houses that were equipped with solar-collecting roof tiles and satellite dishes. The dishes weren’t operational, of course, not since the battles in space had begun, but might become functional again someday.
“Here’s what we’re fighting for,” Raynor observed. “Neighborhoods like this one.”
Tychus directed a sidelong glance his way. “You’re kidding, right? We’re not fighting for the people who live in these houses, we’re fighting for the people who run the government, and believe me, there’s a big difference.”
They passed a few isolated stores and came across what was obviously the town’s main street. It was a sad-looking affair that consisted of oneand two-story commercial buildings, many of which were in desperate need of paint. “No, these people are the problem,” Tychus continued, “because they choose to believe all the lies, and allow themselves to be victimized.”
Raynor frowned. “Maybe some of them are like that—but plenty aren’t. Take my parents. They know the government isn’t perfect, but what’s the alternative? The Kel-Morians? I don’t think so.”
“Nor do I,” Tychus replied, peering left, then right, down the street. “Which is why I want to put a shitload of money aside, find a comfortable hole, and crawl inside. Which way?”
“I’m guessing left,” Raynor replied.
“Left it is,” Tychus replied, and turned in that direction.
They walked half a block before Tychus broke the silence. “What a dump.”
Raynor, who still felt homesick from time to time, frowned. “Spoken like someone from a big city,” he said neutrally.
“No,” Tychus replied. “Spoken like someone from a crummy little nowhere dump. A place where truckers stopped to take a leak, where the smartest person in town was the waitress in Pappy’s Café, and each day felt like it was a year long.”
As they approached Hurley’s Bar, Raynor realized that these were the only details Tychus had ever shared about his past. They’d gotten closer, but Raynor felt as though he knew nothing about Tychus. He wondered if he’d ever really know him, or whether it even mattered.
The tavern was housed in a low one-story building with plenty of empty parking places out front. Once inside, Raynor found himself in an atmosphere so familiar he might have been back home. A bar backed by what was clearly a kitchen occupied one corner of the large space. A row of sturdy posts supported the low, smoke-stained ceiling, and four-person booths lined the outer walls. A man who might have been a truck driver was seated at one of the mismatched tables at the center of the room, the bartender was drying glasses, and an elderly dog came out to greet them.