Jak passed him in the doorway. The boy's hair was once again bleach clean, swimming around his lean shoulders.

"Freezie tired?" he asked when he'd joined the others in the lobby.

"Yeah," J.B. replied.

"What now, lover?" Krysty asked.

Ryan sighed, rubbing at torn skin on the knuckles of his right hand. "I don't know. We go or stay. If we go, then now's the time. First light tomorrow. Before this feeding. Before they find the dead snake. And before the big in-fight starts."

"Could help," J.B. said unexpectedly.

"You said that..." Ryan began, but the Armorer checked him.

"Yeah. But now the odds have come down some. They lost three from eleven. We get in first, preempt them?"

Ryan's tongue probed the small hole in his back tooth. "Chill them..."

"Before they chill us," J.B. finished. "Take out the bikers and the Motes fall with them. You can see that, Ryan."

"Sure. Seven of us."

"Six. Sorry, folks, but I was a peacenik then and I have to be a peacenik now. Make it six of us in the killing bits. But this is crazy. We just got to this town. Sure, they're a touch mad about snakes, but it doesn't mean there's going to be civil war. You can't kill people just because of something that might or might not happen."

"Thought you'd gone to bed." Ryan looked around and saw Rick leaning in the doorway.

"I had, but I got a feeling that something like this was going to happen."

Ryan nodded. "You travel with us and you got a voice. Same as we all have. But in the end this sure as fireblast isn't a democracy, Rick. Best you realize that."

"I have," Doc offered, "lived long enough in the Deathlands to know that there is often a mortal imperative and, indeed, a moral imperative, in chilling some people. Baron Teague and Cort Strasser are instances that leap readily to my mind. But the putting down of a beast you know to be rabid or a mindless creature or some... I fear that I have somewhat lost the thread of my argument."

"You're saying don't jump before you've been looking good," Lori explained.

"More or less, my bunch of happiness," Doc replied, smiling toothfully. "More or less what I meant to say."

"Two votes against interfering," Ryan said.

"Last Heroes not fucked us," Jak said. "And baron's not done nothing neither."

"Sounds like a third hand against. Krysty? Do we run, fight or just stay?"

She sat back in the overstuffed chair, booted feet crossed in front of her. "Nobody ever threw me a blaster and told me to run. Don't like running. But Mother Sonja always taught me you don't waste someone for no good reason. Motes might be the slime pits of the universe, but we haven't really seen much that earns them a nine mil through the back of the neck. I say we stay a couple more days and keep the old glims open."

Lori stood, her blond hair tied back in a bunch with a blue ribbon. "How about me? I say we should leave all alone of them. Not nothing to be doing for us."

Ryan shook his head, looking across the lobby at the Armorer. "Five says either go or hang on here and watch."

"What d'you say, Ryan?"

There was an edge to J.B.'s voice, and flecks of color gleamed high on his pale cheekbones. It wasn't like him to become emotionally involved in any situation.

"I say that Krysty summed it up for me."

"Yeah. She would, wouldn't she? Krysty's your woman, Ryan. Speaks like you speak."

"Watch it, J.B." Krysty warned, green eyes glowing with anger. "You just better take some care. I go with Ryan because I want to and because he wants me to. You try and make me out like some fucking echo of his and!.."

Krysty Wroth very rarely swore. The fact that she did now was proof of her rage at what J.B. had said.

"All right, all right. Blackdust!" J.B. took off his spectacles and began to polish the lenses. "I didn't mean that, Krysty. Sorry. But you feel that way, Ryan?"

"I guess so. Baron seems friendly enough. Motes don't. I say we'll stay around Snakefish for a couple more days. Watch and wait."

Supper was a subdued affair.

Rick finally went up to bed without eating. J.B. didn't speak a single word during the entire meal, concentrating on finishing fast. He left the table as soon as he'd eaten his fill, muttering that he wanted to field strip his blasters.

Lori and Doc were having one of their increasingly frequent bickering rows, the girl sniping at the old man, badgering him, trying to elicit a response. But Doc kept his cool, smiling at Lori, managing to eventually shame her into being nice. Before the coffee arrived she'd dragged him off to their room.

"Make it up for being real bitching," she told him.

The main course had been ham, smoked over a slow fire, served with fat-dipped bread and roasted beans with chilies. Ruby served them watered milk as an accompaniment. Some small, sour peaches were dessert, with a small jug of molasses to pour over them.

Jak leaned back in his chair and loosened his belt. He opened his mouth and belched loudly.

"Your manners are terrible, Jak," Krysty protested.

The boy grinned. "No. Really wanted to fart, Krysty. Should be grateful self-control."

"Get out, you red-eyed brat. When I was your age I'd have gotten sent to my room if I'd behaved like that."

"Lady," he said, rising from his seat with unusual dignity. "You nevermy age. Never. Going bed now. Tired. G'night."

Ryan and Krysty were left alone at the table, sitting with a steaming jug of the landlady's coffee in front of them.

"Want to go upstairs, lover?" she asked. "Could give you a healing massage after the fight with the stickies."

"Thanks. You know what always happens when you start those healing massages of yours."

"Sure, I know. You complaining?"

"No. But it's kind of early. How about a walk around the ville?"

"And then the massage?"

"And then the massage."

It was a warm, gentle evening.

The sun was sinking to its rest, far over the snow-tipped peaks that lined the western horizon. Stars were appearing, diamond bright, scattered across the soft velvet of the sky.

The ville was settling down for the night. Lamps glowed in downstairs windows, between undrawn draperies. Here and there they passed folks sitting on their porches. One old-timer was plucking at a banjo, quietly singing a song that neither of them recognized, words about a candy-colored clown who came and scattered sleep over everyone's eyes.

They'd only gone a hundred yards before they spotted Carla Petersen walking quickly on the other side of the street, boot heels clicking on the sidewalk. For a moment it seemed as though she were going to ignore them, but at the last second she crossed over to where they waited.

"Evening, Ryan. Krysty."

"Hi, Carla."

"Taking in the sights of Snakefish?"

"Yeah," Krysty said. "You out on pleasure or business?"

"A bit of each, I guess. Do you know if John's in the hotel?"

"J.B., you mean? Can't get used to hearing him called 'John.' Not after all the years we've ridden together. Sure. He was staying in his room, cleaning his blasters."

"Thanks, Ryan. I might just walk by and see how things are." The setting sun gave a pink glow to everything — including the woman's cheeks.

"I'm sure that he'd be real glad to see you, Carla," Krysty told her.

"Sure," Ryan agreed, the penny finally dropping as he realized what was going on, realizing at the same time how slow he'd been at picking up on the clues. It was just that he'd never, ever thought of the Armorer having any interest in ladies.

"Heard about the deaths. You and Jak weren't hurt?"

Ryan shook his head. "Could've been worse. If there'd been another four or five stickies we'd have struggled. Mote was pissed about it, losing three of his boys."