And . . . again with someone coming down Pond Fork. “A kid on a scooter getting through the gulch and washout I can accept,” I said, “but that many riders in formation?”
“Drew’s Creek Road might be open again to State Road 99,” Mateo said, talking about backcountry roads, or what was left of them. “And if that’s open, then the Four County Mine Road switchback connecting Raleigh County to Logan County could be open.”
I frowned.
Four County Mine Road was war-time construction, blasted though mountains, towns, villages, farms, and private property with no compensation to the owners and property holders, a road created to provide transport to and from the Four County Mine. The mine was massive, an area of West Virginia where four counties came together and metamaterials—or the precursors to making metamaterials—had been discovered. The materials had been necessary to the war effort, to solar-system travel and energy warfare, and nothing so unimportant as people’s rights, the condition of the land, or horrendous pollution had mattered to the Gov or the military.
When peace had been forced on Earth by the Bugs, the aliens who had put a stop Earth’s foolishness, the mine had been bombarded from near-earth orbit by a Bug ship. The roads were destroyed. So far as the locals knew, that road was impossible, impassable, and useless.
I tried to picture the route in my head, but Drew’s Creek Bridge had washed away in a flood. There were too many unknowns.
“Drop the drone’s altitude. I want to know which clubs came from the east, together, and which came from the west,together. And if they’re planning to go to war in my new bloody damn roadhouse.”
Tying on a Junkyard Roadhouse apron, Cupcake said. “I’ll get some cold drinks ready.”
“I’d let ’em die a thirst,” Jolene said. “They’s early, and that’s all kinds a rudeness. They’s mama’s shoulda taught ’em better. And don’t you worry none, Shining Sugah. Gomez and Mateo and me done some upgrades on the perimeter defenses.”
“You—” I forced the words to stop and let the irritation go, scanning the bar. There was nothing cooked to feed guests but eggs and big salads. But as Jolene said, they were early. And if my crew had upgraded the security system, there was nothing I could do about it now.
Jolene said, “We got Marconi and Charles Whip of the Hell’s Angels riding together, natch, with the Black Sabbath. Riding fifteen meters behind them are the Sisters of the Cross. They’re heading south from Charleston. The Sisters usually ride with the Sabbath, so this may or may not be significant.” Her tone changed. “We got the OMW, in the person of Roy Gamble, with Logan Jagger and Marconi’s son, Jacopo, who, according to their bike formation, are now allied with the Boozefighters.
“Captain,” she snapped out, dropping the Southern accent and now talking to Mateo. “We were expecting one officer and two one-percenters from one club. We now have sixty-seven riders from five clubs. They are armed.”
“Activating stealth systems,” Mateo said, grimly.
My heart sank. Everything I had worked for required the clubs to be at peace.
I closed my eyes behind my orange glasses. If I cussed, I’d be cussing. If I cried, I’d fall limp to the floor and weep. Unfortunately, I was built, heart and soul, for fighting. The adrenaline in my blood stream activated my nanobots and strength shot into my system. My breath deepened.
“Activating passive defenses and close-range lasers,” Jolene said.
“Activating MJR blaster,” Gomez said.
“Rail Gun activated,” Mateo said.
Bloody damn. If I had to fight this many armed people, friends, and my lover, I’d have to reveal the Bug ship defenses and the armaments of theUSSS Sunstar. To keep the secrets hidden in plain sight on the junkyard property, I’d have to kill them all.
And transition any survivors. No way. Never.
Sixty-seven riders. Two hours early. Coming from different directions, and riding in war formations, with what appeared to be new alliances, to a supposedly peaceful meeting.
Peaceful, my brown ass. This sounded like the beginning to an OK Corral shootout.
“Identify incoming vehicles and all heavy weapons and armaments,” I said. I opened my eyes.
The drones dropped in dizzying spirals, surveying. “No heavy weapons. No armaments,” Jolene said. “Personal weapons only. No battle flags.”
“No—” I studied at the screens on the wall, and my blood pressure dropped. They were flying club colors. No stealth involved at all. Their war bikes were on full throated roar, riding slow, as if on parade. A tiny smile pulling at my lips, I said, “Belay that order. The bikers are arriving at the same time. This is choregraphed. It’s a spectacle, not a war. Deactivate defenses and passive and active weapons. All of them.”
“Are you certain?” Jolene and Mateo demanded at the same time.
“Bloody damn,” I breathed out a silent laugh. “Yeah. Absolutely, one hundred percent certain. Deactivate all weapons.”
“Permission to keep them on standby, Captain,” Jolene asked her former boss, not me.
“Permission granted. In the event of attack, follow agreed upon protocols.”
I shook out my shoulders and arms and took a couple of deep breaths. “Cupcake and Amos. Water and booze with ice. Nuts and pretzels.” Ice was rare. It took power and water to make it and we had both, some of it stolen from the crashed spaceship hidden out back. Nuts took water to grow. In today’s economy, serving ice and nuts together was like Champagne and those fish eggs people used to eat and claim they liked. “First drinks are on the house. All sixty-seven of them. After that, the price list goes up. Way up. Double it for today only.”
