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“Beats me,” J.B. said. “Sure sounds like he means it, though.”
“I say, Ryan,” Doc’s voice wafted up from below, “but yonder fine young bravo has just called upon us to—”
“Throw out your weapons,” the warrior called, “and give up at once!”
“English?” Ryan asked. The Armorer shrugged.
Ryan let his Steyr sling-strap slide off his shoulder, laid the rifle carefully on the rooftop. Then he stood. Two dozen rifle barrels tracked him.
“We’re peaceful travelers,” he called. “Traders. We’re not looking for trouble. We just got caught here by the raiders.”
“If you wish no trouble,” the warrior said, “then surrender now before I lose patience.”
“Who are you?”
“I am Two Arrow of the Eagle Knights. I serve Don Hector, ruler of the valley of the Anáhuac.”
“Sec men,” J.B. muttered bitterly. “Fancy drag, fancy blasters. Just lousy sec men.”
“Why do you wish to make us prisoners?” Ryan called. “All we want to do is trade. Or barring that, be on our way.”
“You travel these lands without permission. How do we know you are who you say? Now, throw your weapons out quickly. Or we will come and take them!”
Ryan held up his hand. “I have to talk to my people. Just give me a moment, please.”
Before the warrior in the gaudy headdress could refuse, Ryan hunkered out of sight. “What do you say, J.B.?”
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