Arcadian's Asylum Read Online Free Page A

maintain distance. Condition blue. No need to fuckin’ panic, guys.”
    The trader’s tone had been easy and friendly, with no sign of panic. Yet what could have caused him to call a halt on a empty road, with no sign of the ville up ahead?
    J.B., ignoring Lou’s questioning glance, spun the scope through 360 degrees once again, staying when facing front. There was no sign of any obstruction ahead, and through to the next bend there was no sign of Jackson Spire—even given that they had only been traveling a few hours.
    “What’s this about?” he snapped at Lou.
    The giant sec lieutenant shrugged. “Fucked if I know. Guess we’ll find out soon enough.”

Chapter Two
    Chapter Two
    “And then Corleon turns to the guy who’s been trying to chill him all the way through, and he says, er…” Toms halted midway through the description and tugged at his beard, his beady, dark eyes darting around and taking a good look at the landscape that passed the windows of the wag.
    Doc was relieved, in one way. This had to have been the fifth time he’d had to endure a blow-by-blow description of a scene from an old vid in the past few hours. In truth, he had ceased to pay full attention to what Toms was saying sometime back, and he had a sneaking suspicion that this particular scene was on its second run.
    However, the way in which Toms stopped midstory was unnerving. The trader had found—he thought—a willing audience in Doc, and one that had knowledge of these old vids. Doc didn’t think it prudent to point out that an interest in one aspect of the past didn’t include an all-encompassing fascination.
    Still, while Toms was droning on, Doc knew that all was well. For the trader to interrupt himself, something of moment had to be about to occur.
    Hawklike, Doc studied the man as he paused, looked, then turned to the wag jockey. There was an unease in his manner, as though he had almost forgotten himself; as if he was about to do something that wasn’t necessarily to his liking.
    “How far out are we?” he asked the wag jockey, his tone now businesslike.
    The driver studied the odometer. “About fifteen miles,” he answered. His tone was curious, as though wondering why his boss had suddenly questioned him.
    Toms nodded to himself, muttered, “Fuck, nearly screwed it.”
    “A problem, perchance?” Doc queried.
    Toms turned back, looking blank for a moment, before shaking his head and smiling uneasily. Doc noted that it didn’t reach his eyes.
    “No, not problem. Just something that I nearly forgot to do.”
    Doc could feel Jak stiffen, even though he couldn’t see him. The creeping apprehension that had flooded through him before now returned, and he knew that Jak’s sense of danger had also been pricked.
    “Something we should know about?” Doc said, trying to keep his tone neutral.
    Toms shook his head. “No. Well, kinda. But bear with me, you’ll know soon enough,” he told him.
    Ah, yes, Doc mused, but would they like it?
     
    “WHAT THE FUCK does that fat little shit think he’s doing? We’ve barely got the wags in gear and the prick is making us stop. What was the point of running the asswipe crews into the ground like a bunch of shitheaps if we’re going to stop and start like this?”
    K.T. banged the palm of his hand on the side of the wag. Hard. So much so that Krysty winced, wondering how many bones the idiot had broken over the years because of his temper. It was a hard, flat sound in the enclosed space. K.T. cursed again through gritted teeth as the pain hit: not that it calmed him in any way.
    “Pull the fucking wag up, then,” he yelled at the wag jockey. “Might as well pull out the bedrolls, light a fire and bed down for the bastard night,” he muttered fiercely.
    “So you don’t know why Toms is doing this?” Ryan asked.
    “Of course I don’t fucking know you shit rag. Think I’d be so fucking pissed otherwise?”
    Ryan held his peace, knowing K.T. spoke crudely to