Motherlode Read Online Free PDF Page B

lizard man like a giant scalie but with a protuberant muzzle almost like a dog; an enormously fat woman; a pair of what looked like kids just younger than Ricky, a boy and a girl, with arms and legs of exaggerated length.
    And then the woman. He had spotted her on the next wag over. Without thinking, he drifted over, ignoring a soft chirp of inquiry from Jak. He did keep presence of mind to glance between the wags as he passed the gap, to make sure no one was lurking on the inside to leap out at him.
    No one was.
    She was magical, even painted there on the box of a blunt-nosed cargo wag in colors he could tell were bright even by starlight. Her hair was so golden, streaming down the sides of the bed or cloth-covered table or whatever it was she lay on on her back. And her nipples were clearly in evidence poking up the fabric of the evidently flimsy nightgown she wore. The unknown artist’s skill hadn’t been great—Ricky didn’t know a thing about painting, but he did know workmanship when he saw it, or didn’t—but he managed to show that just fine.
    He got so worked up by the picture that he took little notice of the giant beast-man shape looming over the painted lady in the background—whether threatening her or protecting her being left considerably more to the imagination than the contours of her lovely body.
    “Quit gawking, kid,” he heard a familiar voice growl in an undertone. “We’re not here to sightsee.”
    Ryan trotted up, straightening after a hunched-over dash across the clear space to the wags. He held his longblaster in both hands, but as he slowed he slung it.
    The others, Ricky realized in sudden chagrin, had already come up to cluster by the other wags. Pursuant to their employer’s wishes, which Ryan had decided to humor for now, they had no weapons in hand and consequently looked even more paranoid than usual.
    “What the Hell’s wrong with you, Ricky?” Mildred demanded.
    “I believe you moderns call it ‘adolescence,’” Doc said with a smile half dreamy, half humorous.
    “Great. It’s the perfect time for testosterone poisoning to strike.” She glared accusingly at Doc. “You probably think it’s funny, you old coot.”
    “Indeed.”
    She turned away in disgust. “Men.”
    “Pipe down, everybody,” Ryan said.
    He pointed first at Jak, then at Ricky. “You and you, go scout the wag in the middle.”
    Jak insisted on going first, and Ricky followed hard on his heels.
    The circle left about twenty yards of open space between the outer wags and the side of the mobile home. It was huge, at least to Ricky’s eyes, covered with paintings of stars and planets, galaxies and nebulas and other fantastic things. Ricky only knew what the stuff other than stars was because his parents had insisted he read old books as part of his education growing up.
    He wondered what Jak made of the paintings—which again, even in the darkness, the yellow glow spilling out curtained windows did little to alleviate, he could tell were colorful to the point of gaudiness. He wasn’t sure Jak’s mind even registered them. He was so tuned to immediate survival, and the natural world in general, that his disdain for technological artifacts, including signs of civilization, struck Ricky sometimes as bordering at least on deliberate obliviousness.
    He joined Jak beside the trailer. Its interior was obviously heated somehow. He could feel the warmth beating from its thin-gauge metal sides. He fought the desire to press his body against the painted panels and suck up the warmth. The others seemed to find the high-desert spring evening no more than pleasantly brisk. He, Tropics-raised, found it freaking cold . He shivered when he remembered their sojourn in Alaska.
    Jak flicked his ruby eyes toward Ricky. He nodded.
    His pale hands made a complicated series of gestures, which Ricky, after a beat, understood to indicate that Ricky should look for a way into the trailer. The albino wasn’t much for talking,