Going for pike, getting a sprat

Father Ling meets them in the old prison cafeteria. He seems to think that they are reasonable men, or maybe he wants to show the trust he puts in his guests. And he gets to hear quite a story: Benefactor Rod tells him of the false benefactors travelling the Desert Heart, dangerous men following an unknown purpose, infiltrating various communities. He confides that one of these agents seems to be targeting Refugium - maybe to subvert the society of the monks to his purpose, maybe to destroy it. Maybe he is after something held in Refugium's walls. Mal Porter chips in: The monastery seems to be very difficult to break into, and it is quite possible that the false benefactor is hiding someplace close, biding his time and looking for weaknesses. The false benefactors are patient - it is quite possible that he has been hiding in the waste around Refugium for weeks, trying to find a safe way in. Father Ling seems to be unmoved by these revelations, even if he utters his concerns and offers his thanks for the information shared. He seems to understand that the visitors preferred to observe Refugium for a while before coming to him with this story. The monastery and the group have a common interest - find the false benefactor and take him out.

A deal is hammered out - a serious deal paid in ammunition, not in scripts. Father Ling offers hundred rounds of rifle ammo, if the group neutralizes the false benefactor, meaning that he is driven off or killed. He puts twenty rounds in the pot if the group does some heavy-duty searching around the monastery, even if they do not find the false benefactor. Mal locks horns with the old master of Refugium (the false benefactor being one of the most dangerous beings walking God's earth, Mal and his people risking - nay, forfeiting - life and limb, being the only ones who are willing and able to tussle with such an entity, remunerations for mercenaries of their caliber being what they are; while on the other hand one could argue that the visitors are just doing what they came here to do, that the false benefactor will surely have some interesting gear on him, that the protection of Refugium and is a long term investment everyone can get his head around, that, contrary to the first impression, the monastery is not rich, not by a long shot etc. etc.) and gets Ling to promise reparations for any damaged armors and depleted first-aid bags - up to a point.

When Balthasar Cut's tanker caravan leaves the next morning, the Nissan Conquistador and a motoscout on a black trail bike follows them. The additional vehicles ride very close to the last tanker's plume of dust, vanishing from sight. When the convoy reaches the hills to the west, the jeep and its escort are gone. A young HanHan, charged with keeping an eye on the route, sees the dust cloud and the glint of moving metal in the early light and starts the long hike towards the road, if only to count the tire tracks.

“What now?” says Dan Hawking. The jeep is hidden in an old canal running parallel to the ancient road connecting Refugium to the world. The decades have it filled its bottom with sand, and all sorts of shrubs cling to its concrete walls. They are about five clicks west of Refugium. “Now we wait.” answers Mal, while he begins to cover his car with camouflage netting “We check our surroundings. We make sure we can move without being seen. If we are lucky, we might even spot him from where we are. It’s one of the few places in this valley where you can easily hide a car – or a small camp. But let’s wait for the dust to settle first”. Hours pass. Mal, Dan and Zed Memphis lurk at the lip of the canal, binoculars scanning the flat country around them, while Rod sits in the jeep fiddling with his grenade launcher.

“Visitor. One guy, slightly to my left, five hundred meters.” Dan whispers. They all see him after this warning. A feral moving carefully from bush to bush, moving with a peculiarly crouched gait, homing in on the ancient road. Rod has joined the men at the top of the canal “Is he alone?” “Maybe” Mal answers “Hopefully. He probably just wants to check out the road.” “What now?” Zed chimes in “I say we take him and ask him some questions about the goings on in these parts. Maybe his mob saw our man and can point us in the right direction.” “Well, it would be a start.” The young man has come closer. Small, sinewy, close cropped black hair. He wears some kind of rusted metal armor, blending into the dusty brown background. A quiver with slender throwing spears hangs over one shoulder, a linen bag over the other. Looking through the binoculars, Mal mutters “Car parts. Lots of car parts. Nice rims on that one.” Zed crawls to the bottom of the canal and starts to prime his trail bike. When the scout is about twenty paces from the canal, he suddenly stops, sniffs the air and draws one of the spears from his back. Mal whispers “Damn, he’s on to us, ” but by then, Rod has already risen from his hideout and made two steps toward the feral, his arms stretched wide, a smile on his face. He looks right at the feral and announces “We come in peace, young man!” The feral casts his spear at him, a powerful throw that misses the benefactor by a yard. In the canal, a small engine revs up. The feral draws another spear and turns to run, as Mal and Dan rise. Then, Zed jumps the lip of the canal on his bike, going after the feral in hot pursuit. The others just watch, as the man from Memphis rams the feral with the bike and goes down with his victim in a cloud of dust. This is not a boisterous youth from the streets of Demeter trying to test his limits but a hard-bitten survivor of the wastes. Nonetheless the outcome of the struggle is never in doubt: After the cursing and kicking is done, Zed returns to the canal, dragging the handcuffed young feral by his neck. “Okay, bub, question time.”