A talk in Bozeman

Benefactor Rod meets a single HanHan in the middle of the street – the others just melted into the ruins of Bozeman, a place each of them has known for years, while Refugium’s ambassadors had only a few hours to scout. Mal Porter looks at the two: Rod leaning on his aluminum staff, his grey poncho thrown over his shoulder, the red crosses on his shoulders on display, facing a large, sinewy man, armored with rusting metal plates, a red hubcap protecting his chest, his large hands never far away from a cruel hacking iron hanging from his belt. All hear the talk between the doctor and the feral via their HiTek headsets, and it is not going too well – the feral is quite sure that Ghosteye, new leader of the HanHan, will never leave the junkyard to talk to the men who captured one of his warriors, however interesting their information might be. But he offers hostages for his visitor's safety. Rod knows that his friends will never consent to visiting the junkyard, hostages or no. Mal Porter, for one, has experienced the inconsistent hospitality of ferales before, in the ruins of Chicago. It’s a mistake you make just once, he whispers via the com. The one won’t come out, the others won’t go in. As the negotiations stall, he has another idea: If Ghosteye is a false benefactor, he should be technologically inclined. He leaves his position and walks up to Rod and the feral. He gets a look at the hard man. Old scars crisscross his chest and arms, his face is sunburnt and painted with rust and chalk – a body shaped by times of hunger, fighting and struggle. A necklace with screws, small bones and teeths around his neck. Two old knives in his belt, apart from the scarred cutter. Improbably bright eyes measure Mal Porter. He probably thinks he can take my head in one swing, and maybe he’s right, better keep a bit of distance…”Does your leader know how a radio works?” The big feral snorts “Our Ghosteye knows how everything works. He could build a radio from scraps and dog’s blood.” Maybe he can, Rod thinks, but I am not quite sure if you know what the word radio means “Then I think I have a solution for our situation: We have some radios, they don’t go very far, so we’ll have to drive up to the junkyard.” The feral gives him a stony look. Mal changes tack “We give you one talkbox and we keep one. We talk using the boxes, so we do not have do go into the junkyard where our presence would just trouble your kids, and Ghosteye won’t have to leave his palace…safety assured for everyone. No need for hostages or such bunk. After the talk, you bring back the talkbox, and we go our separate ways. I think, Ghosteye would agree that this is a very smart solution.” A scavvy through and through, Red thinks. If a problem seems insurmountable, just raise the technological bar. The feral takes his time answering, but then he nods “I have to ask Ghosteye if this is agreeable. Wait here, you will have the answer next morning." Then he vanishes – he moves into the ruins and just is gone. Dan Hawking’s voice squawks though their headsets, crestfallen “Fuck, I lost him, it’s like he stepped into a wall…” It’s their playground, Mal thinks, they know it by heart. A few minutes later, Dan reports that the ferales are moving out of the ruins. They move trough the sparse shrubs and the shifting dust like fish in water, that’s what he tells his friends later, when he returns from his perch in the church tower. Not easy to keep a bead on one of them, not easy at all. Mal nods and keeps his thoughts to himself: If Ghosteye is not in the mood for a radio chat, this playground might become a battlefield right quick. And he sees to his weapons.