“She has a bit of a dry personality,” Letho said. “You get used to it.”

SIX - Hideout

Letho and company followed Zedock and Saul onto the catwalk and through a massive metal doorway. A long hallway stretched out in front of them. The metal walkway below and lighting system above had been bolted to the stone walls of the enclosure.

“Right now we’re about two hundred feet below ground, surrounded by solid granite,” Zedock said, employing the vocal timbre of a somewhat weary tour guide.

At the end of the hall was a twin to the entry door. Zedock typed in a series of numbers into a keypad, and the door opened onto a large area that was attempting in vain to look open and airy. The air was stale with overuse and had a hint of the spicy-stink of people living too close together. Letho’s thoughts turned to the sophisticated air treatment center he had once spent a small portion of his life cleaning, and felt its absence as the fetid aroma of humanity tickled his nostrils.

“This is the dormitory area. There are three floors below us, containing living quarters for a crew of three hundred, including a recreation area. It’s not as nice as, say, a Fulcrum station, but it’s home, and it keeps the Mendraga out,” Zedock explained. “Right now we’re at about five hundred, so space is limited, but we’ll find you guys a place to bunk up.”

“Zedock, what is this place?” Bayorn asked.

“It’s a missile silo,” Letho answered. “Minus the missile, of course.”

“Attaboy, Letho!” said Zedock, clapping him on the back. “We call it Haven.”

Saul stepped toward Zedock and whispered something into the old man’s ear. Zedock looked down at Saul’s belt and his eyes grew wide. There was a wordless exchange between the two; Letho could almost sense it, the transmission between the two men crackling like a lightning bolt in the space between them. Saul was the first to drop his gaze. After a string of curses under his breath, he pulled one of the Black Bears and handed it to Zedock. Letho didn’t like the way Saul handed Zedock the weapon—with the weapon pointed in the old man’s direction. Zedock examined the gun for a moment and then placed it in a holster on his own waist. Saul, somewhat red-faced, turned toward his men.

“Soldiers, we are secure. We’ll see you bright and early for mission briefing,” he said. The men cheered somewhat desultorily, and as they filed past, Saul shook hands with some of them and clapped a few on the back. One of the soldiers shouldered Thresha, causing her to totter on her feet.

“Hey! Watch it!” shouted Letho.

“You better tell your girlfriend she needs to watch it,” said the man with a gap-toothed grin that reminded Letho of a building with half its windows smashed out.

“Soldier! That little maneuver just cost you your evening chow,” Saul shouted.

“I was just funnin’ with her is all, Saul. I didn’t mean no harm,” the soldier said.

“Boy, if I want to hear trash rollin’ out that gutter hole you call a mouth, I’ll ask for it. Now get the hell out of here before I stomp the rest of your teeth out!”

So Saul likes to take his frustrations out on his subordinates.

The poor soldier. There was no look of surprise on his face; in fact there was hardly a discernible change in his expression. It was in the way his eyes were already cast down toward the floor before Saul even began to speak. The way his shoulders slumped forward as though he had long since given up the lifelong struggle to push back gravity. Letho didn’t like to see anyone treated in such a fashion, and he certainly didn’t like to see a grown man dressed down in front of newcomers, shamed not only for his poor behavior but also his hygiene. But the soldier saluted, and there was a cowed expression in his eyes as he jogged off to catch up with his fellow soldiers.

“And get yourself a damned toothbrush!” Saul shouted after him. Letho thought about speaking up for the man, but he knew he was already treading on wafer-thin ice. Zedock said nothing either, but his displeasure was apparent in the way his mouth pursed and his facial expression seemed to sag. The wrinkles were bunched up and craggy around his eyes, and Letho saw a tiredness there.

“How were the mutants tonight, Saul?” Zedock asked.

“Horrible as usual. Your little friend over there stirred ’em up pretty good.”

“Well, at least y’all made it back in one piece.”

Saul made no reply, and Letho suddenly felt as if all eyes were on him and his severed arm. He cleared his throat, kicked the metal plate floor, and finished up his dance of discomfort with a hearty scratch of the skin just above his ragged elbow. Gods, it itched! Zedock’s eyes widened at the sight of Letho’s missing arm. Again he said nothing. Perhaps, like Letho, he was biding his time until Saul went away and took the awkward funk that hung over them with him.

“Well, anyways, thank you, son. Thank you for going out and getting Letho for me. You have no idea how much good it does this old man’s heart to see him alive.”

“Just doing my job, Pops. Like I always do. Everything good here while I was gone?”

“Yep. The digester’s full of enough pig shit to power us for another month, and Cookey’s got some tasty slabs of bacon in the smoker right now. Should be a good breakfast tomorrow.”

“Bacon? What’s that?” Letho asked.

“Oh, Letho, you are in for a treat. Bacon is probably the most delightful indulgence you never knew you’ve been missing your entire life.”

“Well then, something to look forward to.” Letho paused. “You promise nothing bad’s going to happen to the Mendraga?”

“You have my word, Letho,” Zedock said.

“And what of the Tarsi?” Bayorn asked.

“You’re not slaves anymore, if that’s what you’re asking. The way I see it, we all got our asses on the line right now, and there’s no sense in squabbling over where people get to eat and sleep. Most of the Tarsi tend to congregate on the bottom floor though.” Zedock raised his arms and made a two-handed dismissive gesture. “Now I know what y’all are thinking, and you’re wrong. Nobody forced ’em to live down there at the bottom. They chose it. Something about the sound of the pipes down there. Old habits, I guess. Now, Letho, Deacon, you’ll be with me in the officers’ quarters. Bayorn, you’re free to bunk with us or with the Tarsi. Your call.”

“I will stay with my own kind,” Bayorn said.

“Very well. Let’s go then.”

They filed past Saul, who shook Zedock’s hand as he passed. Letho offered his own hand as well, and Saul appeared ready to accept the gesture—but at the last moment Saul slipped his hand past Letho’s and swatted the bicep of Letho’s severed arm instead.

Letho recoiled and stifled a rising gasp, clutching his wounded arm. He was so completely taken aback by the brazenness of the gesture that he was left speechless. He simply had no response to such an affront. So he just gaped.

“See you around, friend,” Saul said. He headed back toward the entrance to the missile silo, humming in an angular, off pitch fashion.

“Yeah, can’t wait,” Letho said, rubbing what remained of his arm.

****

Zedock led them past a non-functioning elevator to the stairs, where they parted ways with the Tarsi. Bayorn gave Zedock a simple handshake, but Maka swooped in and wrapped the old man in a bone-grinding hug.

The number of original Tarsi who had made the trek to Alastor’s ship now numbered low enough that Letho could count them on his remaining hand. Apart from Bayorn and Maka, only three others remained of the original group that went on the failed expedition to Abraxas’s ship. Perhaps for one night they would have a respite from the hell they had known throughout every waking moment since setting foot on Alastor’s ship.

“You will find a large number of Tarsi down below, just how y’all like it,” Zedock said. “Nice and dim and damp. Lots of Tarsi from every Fulcrum station. No doubt you’ll have many tales to tell tonight. I would send some food down, but I think they’ve already got a bootleg protein synthesizer up and running”—Zedock paused—”which of course I’m turning a blind eye to, even though it taxes our power system a little bit more than I’m comfortable with.”