Toys - James Patterson [44]
Lucy had already arranged passage for us on one of the cargo rockets that made constant flights to North Sea ports.
Then we’d be taken straightaway to England, where the human leaders we needed to meet were based—though Lucy told me there were also leadership councils in Berlin, Madrid, Stockholm, Tokyo, and Beijing. Of course, these were all cities that—according to Elite history books—no longer existed.
At any rate, Tazh Khan’s men obviously weren’t comfortable with Vlosk, or probably even with buildings; they stopped well short of the outskirts.
Khan rode on alone with Lucy and me to where a classic Russian motorcar was waiting to take us to our transport.
I gave my pony an affectionate pat as I jumped down to the ground. I’d become fond of the little brute. It was tough, loyal, gave everything it had, and asked little in return.
Tazh Khan spoke a quick couple of sentences to Lucy, but his gaze was on me.
“He asks how your shoulder feels,” she told me.
“Already better. I’m good,” I said, rotating it easily. He’d taken the arrow out himself, then washed my wound and dressed it with the soothing balm they used on their horses. My own rapid-healing powers had taken over from there.
Looking rather somber, Tazh Khan spoke again.
“He says he knows you deliberately let his arrow hit you,” Lucy said.
“Tell him I mean no disrespect, but he’s mistaken. His shot was so swift and sure that I barely managed to save my life.”
When she relayed this, his grin appeared, even as he spoke. Lucy kept on translating.
“He says you’re a bad liar but he’d be proud to call you his brother.”
“The honor’s mine,” I said, and I actually meant it.
“After this war is over, you must come visit him again,” Lucy said. “He’ll lend you his fattest wives to keep you warm at night, and take you spear hunting for wolves.”
Now it was my turn to grin. “Sounds like a dream vacation. Tell him—no way.”
Tazh Khan clasped my forearm, leaned down from his horse to embrace Lucy, then rode off to rejoin his band—without a backward glance.
“That is some kind of man,” I said. “They all are.”
Lucy nodded sadly. “Exactly the kind of barbarian the Elites can’t wait to exterminate.”
Chapter 61
IT TURNED OUT that most of the mining labor in Vlosk was robotic; there weren’t many human inhabitants, and though they’d tried to add touches of warmth—brightly painted houses, for one thing; greenhouse gardens; a couple of roughhouse taverns—the place was still as grim as an addict’s funeral.
But our driver, a bristly-mustached young man named Sergei, seemed cheerful enough—maybe because, like the nomads, he wasn’t living with the Elite boot pressed down on his neck.
Our flight was ready to depart, so we said a hasty good-bye to Sergei and drove with a robot attendant to a bulky transport missile waiting on one of the launchpads.
Trouble was, these ships didn’t have passenger accommodations; there wasn’t much demand for them. The few occasional travelers were sealed into small cargo units that were pressurized, heated, and oxygenated.
Lucy and I climbed into the one that was ready for us. It was about the size of a double coffin and just big enough to get us both in—not all that different from the trunk of her car, only with a little more legroom.
After the jolts and metallic clamor of final loading and the fierce roar and terrific acceleration of blastoff, everything settled down into a deep, dark silence.
Lucy and I lay there side by side, close enough to touch, but not touching.
I could hear her breathing though. And I was surprised that she wore some kind of fragrance. She must have put it on before getting into the cargo space. Was the perfume for me?
“Just in case you’re getting any ideas, don’t,” she said after a minute.
“Farthest thing from my mind. Hadn’t occurred to me.”
“Oh, really? It didn’t look very far from your mind when I found you in your car yesterday, making out with your dream girl.”
I could feel my face redden. “I can’t help what happens when I’m asleep.”
“Asleep!” she