Seth had agreed to follow them up the valley at his own pace. It wasn't much after midday when his big locomotive steamed onto the railway spur that once served the tank farm.

Bonner was standing next to the track as Seth switchbacked his engine around. The blunt nose of the engine was facing down the valley the way he had come. The three tanker cars were drawn up next to the filling nozzles that arched next to the track. There were large conduit pipes that fit neatly into the filler caps in the tank cars.

"Wish I had two more cars," said Seth, gesturing toward the pipes. "Five pipes we got. Coulda filled five cars."

"No sense in getting greedy," said Bonner.

"You having trouble getting the stuff out?" 

"A little. The pump station doesn't work. Starling and J.B. took the thing apart. The motor is fine, just needs cleaning."

Seth looked around him and whistled softly. "Sure is a hell of a lot of it. Looks like we'll be coming back here for quite a piece of time."

"I doubt it," said Bonner. He explained briefly about the fleeing remnants of Vidor's column. 

"So it's not a secret no more," said Seth. "Too bad."

A snort of smoke belched from a stack over the pumping station, followed by the coughing of rusty old machinery. It clattered for a moment, then died. Bonner and Seth could hear J.B. bellowing curses in his native tongue. A few moments of silence followed, then the engine burst into prolonged, high-revving life. Starling emerged from the pit, wiping dirty grease from his hands.

"Well, it's going. I don't know how long it will last though."

"Okay," said Bonner. "We're gonna drain number-one tank. That's that one. I don't think Seth can take much more than half of that."

"So how does it work?"

"Close all the valves on the other tanks. Open number one and start the pumps. At least, that's how I think it works. ..."

"We'll have to work the valves by hand," said Starling.

"No problem," said Bonner.

Men fanned out across the tank farm. There were a lot of valves but there were more men. Men took their stations next to a valve wheel at some point along the rusty pipes that connected all of the tanks with each other and the. release pipes on the railway siding.

Seth stood guard over the train ready to signal when the tank cars were filled with the precious golden fluid. There was probably a gauge someplace that would do just that for him but he didn't know where it was. Bonner was in the pump house ready to engage the pump mechanism once the appropriate valves had been opened.

Starling stood at the base of the number-one tank and grasped the main petcock.

"Starling!" shouted Bonner.

"Yo?"

"Ready?"

"Any time."

"Then open it."

"Right." Starling leaned into the wheel and grunted with the force of his effort. But it wouldn't budge. "Bonner! Hold it. I need some help getting this thing going."

Louis, the little Hab, understood the meaning of Starling words. He trotted out from the cab of the Habs' truck to lend a hand, his scarred and nasty-looking rifle in his hands. He made a short speech in his crazy language to Starling, testifying to his great strength.

"Okay, Frenchie," said Starling with an amused grin. "Let's do it." Louis spat on his red, gnarled hands and laid hold of the valve wheel. Both men dug their heels into the ground and twisted. For a second nothing happened, then slowly, with a sound like the grinding of gears, the rusty wheel turned.

"Go," shouted Starling. Bonner threw the pump into gear, the other valves opened, and within a minute or two the site was suffused with the sweet smell of gasoline. Some of the old pipes were split and corroded, and sprang leaks. Little rivers of gasoline raced around the cracked asphalt, but they didn't lower the pressure enough to keep the gas from dribbling into Seth's tanks. He heard the gasoline hitting the steel bottom of the tank cars and he smiled to himself.

Bonner stood in the pump room with Beck. 

"Well, we got this shit for good," observed Beck happily.

"Yeah," said Bonner. The old world was staring him in the face. He was busy examining the array ofi dials and gauges that had once indicated something to somebody. Bonner couldn't be sure but it looked as if once all of the valves could have been opened automatically and the gas moved around the site by a single man sitting behind the controls. None of the needles danced and the gauges represented nothing now as the gas slowly drained out of number-one tank. They had been broken years before, probably bombed out of whack by the jolting earthquakes when the bombs crashed down to earth.

Seth could only tell how full the tanks were by the sound of the gas pouring in. As the thundering note within the steel confines changed from low to middle to high he could tell he was getting close to full. He waited a minute or two then called out.

"Hold it!"

Bonner shut down the pump and the valley was silent. Or almost silent. Grinding up the road that ran next to the murky stream that split the valley was Leatherman and his 'lep battalion.

The force of inertia in the pipes kept the gas coming for a second or two and a fine fountain of the stuff splashed over the tops of the tanks and soaked the ground around them. But no one noticed. The men on the site had paused, standing still, listening to the inexorable roar of the engines of their enemies.

"A fighting now," said J.B. happily.

"Bonner!" shouted Starling. Number-one tank was on the far side of the site, closest to the onrushing Radleps.

"1 see 'em. Seth!"

"Yeah?"

"Your loco fired and ready to go?"

"Yep."

"Then take off."

"Where we going to meet?"

"Chi. Move it." Bonner was darting from the pump house, looking for the right defensive position. They were going to have to slow down the Teps if they could.

Seth climbed up to the cab of his train. He tugged on the throttle and looked out over the site. Leatherman had brought a lot of friends. All Bonner could do was fire enough shots to make them keep their heads down for a few minutes, then beat it the hell out of there. The train began easing itself down the railroad as if it was an old lady with all the time in the world. Then the heavy tanks behind him grabbed the downgrade of the track and began pushing the locomotive along the rails.

Leatherman had Chilly pull the jeep up on the side of the road. That was as far as he was going. He wasn't a coward but he knew his fighting days were over. He consoled himself by reminding himself that he would never fire another shot in anger—but his killing days were far from done. Lennie sat in the backseat, incredibly proud that he was going to watch the battle from Leatherman's jeep.

Leather pulled himself from his seat and leaned on the windshield. The Radleps screamed past like a-long trail of angry hornets. They were headed directly for the old Cyclone-fence gates of the tank park. Leather watched them pass like a general reviewing his troops.

He saw Seth's train move slowly off the site.

Leather wanted it all. He wanted the gas, he wanted Bonner, he might as well take Seth too. He flagged down some of the passing Radleps.

"Get me that train," he ordered.

The 'lep nodded and obediently a piece of the force sliced off the main body and took off after Seth.

Bonner knew it was a battle he couldn't win. The 'leps were roaring onto the site seventy, maybe a hundred strong. His own force was twenty or so men and they were scattered throughout the acreage of the tank farm. A couple were up on the tanks; the rest were down on the ground, digging in for the fierce confrontation that was about to erupt.

Bonner sprinted to his car and picked up the AUG, noticing as he did so that the blunt-ass end of Seth's train was disappearing around the bend in the track with a squad of Radleps in hot pursuit. From the far side of the tank farm came the sound of shots being fired. The struggle had begun.

The 'leps had flooded onto the tank site, filling the narrow valley with engine noise. Bonner dashed up the metal stairs of one of the tanks and braced him-. self against the railing. The sharp snout of the AUG waved over the ground below and began to chatter, cutting down 'leps with surgical precision. The barrel coughed and spat flame and hot lead into the bodies of the brave but foolish half men who rushed by below him. A passing 'lep took a brace of bullets in the head, blasting a furious fountain of gore into the air. His bike cracked up at the base of a tank.

The Mean Brothers perched on a tank stairway, tensed and ready to jump the thirty feet to the ground. A 'lep pulled by them, stopped, and pushed back the goggles that protected his eyes. A Mean silently launched himself into the air, his ax held firmly in one hand. He dropped from the sky, his huge feet thumping directly onto the 'lep's shoulders. The weight of the Mean Brother, coupled with the distance he had dropped, was too much for the delicate bones of the Radlep's shoulders. There was a sound of the tearing of bone and gristle, mixed with the passionate scream of pain of the unfortunate man, and he seemed to split apart. He fell off his Honda, his voice raised high and hot with a wail of pain. He couldn't move his arms to grab for the gun in his belt: the force of the Mean Brother's blow had forever severed the bones and muscles of his upper back.

The Mean was disappointed. He had hoped the Radlep would put up more of a fight. Perfunctorily he swung his ax and felt no satisfaction when the blade chopped into the 'lep's broken body. There was no sport in carving up a paralyzed man. But a job was a job. . . .

Beck idly wondered what to do. He had unslung his little machine pistol; the tiny gun looked microscopic in his huge hands. Plainly there were too many 'leps for them to take down. Besides, Seth had already steamed out of the gas yard, so there was no need to stay. The prudent Beck told him that it was time to go. The wild-man Beck hated to leave a fight.

"What the hell," he said, "I'll stay for a minute or two," He squeezed the trigger of his gun, blistering the foul skin off the chest of a passing 'lep. The 'lep flew off his bike, and as he hit the cold ground he smashed a number of bones in his abdomen and thighs, but he squirmed a yard or two to the cover of a tank, almost swimming there in his blood. He unslung his Ml6 as he went. The pain pulsed through his tortured body but it was nothing compared to his driving desire to kill the big man that had brought him down. He clenched his broken teeth, trying to fight off the agony long enough to get a clear, steady shot at Beck. But his whole body was screaming out for help—tortured nerves were sending urgent messages all along his shattered nervous system, demanding that his brain attend to their wants immediately. The first shots at Beck went way wide.

"You fucks don't know when to lie down, do you?" yelled Beck, directing a stream of yellow fire at the 'lep. The man jumped a little as the sharp bullets sliced into him. Blood spurted from him like a fountain and he died, crazy mad that he had not killed the man who had brought him down.

Leather watched the battle dispassionately. By his reckoning he had already lost ten men. Only one force fought that hard against Radleps. Bonner was down there, cutting down Leather's men. Bonner was unafraid of their fierce reputation. A 'lep was just another enemy. Bonner killed his enemies.

A heavy .44 slug slapped against the railing that Bonner leaned against. He was drawing fire from somewhere. Another bullet danced at his feet. The next one wouldn't miss. He darted up the stairs a few feet, sweeping the ground below him with the hot muzzle of the Steyr AUG. Then he saw a lone 'lep crouching behind a pile of rusty pipes, taking careful aim with a long bore rifle. The AUG spat, tearing the Radlep's face into a messy slimy stew. Pieces of nose and cheekbone flew around his head as if suddenly stirred up by a hot murderous wind.

Bullets were flattening themselves against rusty tanks and Bonner knew it was only a matter of time before a powerful high-caliber shell found a, weak spot in the thin metal hide and blew. Time to get out. The man nearest him was J.B. happily murdering Radleps.

"J.B.," yelled Bonner. 

J.B. looked down the barrel of his gun and blasted a 'lep out of the saddle of his Harley. "Oui?"

"I think"—Bonner whipped his cutdown blaster from its holster and tore a Radlep to shreds—"it's time to go."

"I am also thinking this," screamed J.B.

"Beck!"

  "I heard you, man."

"Starling!" Starling and Louis were on the far side of the tank ground, near the gate. The little Hab's heavy hammer had smacked the barrel of his gun again and again, cutting down anything in the path of the wide mouth that vomited steel and fire. Starling hadn't been using his arrows. He knew that his steel shafts would easily penetrate one of the tanks and send the whole place up. His own Steyr was performing the same task as Bonner's. Together, Starling and Louis had piled up quite a large heap of broken bikes and Radleps. But enough had gotten by him. They had established themselves more or less in the middle of the camp, cutting Starling and Louis off from the far side of the valley, from Bonner and safety. Starling suddenly realized that this was going to be one firefight it was going to be tough to get out of.

All at once, the shooting stopped. The 'leps had dismounted now and were crawling around looking for riders. The rest of the battle would be fought hand to hand.

"Starling!" shouted Bonner.

"What?"

"Where are you?"

"Next to the gate."

Bonner swore silently. Starling couldn't be in a worse place. He was far away and the bulk of the 'lep force sat between him and Bonner.

"We'll come and get you," yelled Bonner.

Starling waited a moment before replying.

"Don't be an asshole, Bonner. Me 'n Frenchy got plans of our own. You head up the valley and we'll meet you in Chi."

Bonner knew that Starling knew that he was a dead man.

"Starling," yelled Bonner.

"Beat it, Bonner. I'll see you at Dorca's."

"Starling!" yelled Bonner again.

"Goddammit!" Starling's angry voice echoed across the smoky gas yard. "I always did what you told me to. You were always the boss. I followed the orders, on account of you being smarter than me, okay? But this time, man, do what I say. Move it. Got it?"

J.B. grabbed Bonner by the shoulder. "He will be fine, okay? He has Louis with him. Now we go, yes?"

Bonner slid behind the wheel, and just before he fired up he heard Starling's voice.

"Bonner? Get Leather for me. One day, okay?

You get him."

Leather heard the threat and smiled at Chilly. "No fuckin' way," said Leather.

That's a promise, thought Bonner.

"Let's go," bellowed Beck. 

As Bonner and company moved off, racing up the far side of the valley, the 'lep force split in two. One half jumped for their bikes and began following the riders up the steep valley sides. A Hab had jumped into the back of Bonner's car and cocked the big machine gun; he stared down the barrel for a second and with a Mean Brother feeding ammo began peppering their pursuers with big, tearing bullets. The Habs in the back of their truck took up the fire and cut into the 'leps who struggled to ride their bikes up the hill and fire at the same time. They were good, but they weren't that good. In the closing minutes of the battle the riders took down another eleven 'leps. A good day's work.

Starling watched his friends battle their way up the side of the valley. They were going to make it. He knew he wasn't. So what, he said to himself. He had nothing else to do really. A few more drinks at Dorca's, a few more rides . . . That's all. He'd miss Bonner and Beck too, the big fuck. . . . But it was better this way. Let Bonner get away. Bonner had work to do. He had to kill Leather. If anyone was going to do it, it was Bonner. . . .

"Okay, Frenchy, it's just you and me."

"Yez," said Louis.

A 'lep peeped around a comer and Louis smacked his gun with a hammer and the 'lep turned instantly into a hanging curtain of blood, bone, and juice.

"If they come at us one at a time, we might have a chance," said Starling optimistically.

But they didn't come one at a time. Starling and Louis were flat-backed against one of the tanks when twenty 'leps rushed them. Louis's terrible gun cut down a few, but Starling didn't bother. He unslung his bow, turned his back .on the charging 'leps, and pulled back the bowstring. The sharp point of the deadly arrow was aimed point-blank at the skin of the tank.

"Bye, Frenchy. Sorry I said anything about your gun there. She's a beaut."

"Au revoir. Starling," said Louis.

The steel point cut through the rusty side of the fuel tank and detonated inside. An enormous ball of flame exploded into the gray day like a second sun. The fire enveloped Starling and Louis, killing them instantly. The wave of flame washed across the park, frying the 'leps in their own fat, and then swept on, reaching another tank. That one blew, setting off another, fire spiraling up into the dirty sky, bright like the Bomb itself. ...

Bonner had reached the top of the valley and looked back. The tank site was a swirling sea of flame, a raging vortex of fire so strong he could feel the heat hot and tight on his face. One mile away, on the far side of the valley, Leather watched his gasoline and his 'leps bum. Bonner was too far off to make out the expression on the Leatherman's face, but he could see the fire glinting bright on Leather's metal hands.

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