Buggy didn't expect what happened next. He had been taken up to a room, given something to eat, and put to bed with a couple of good-looking chicks. He spent the night with them, waking up every so often to play with the women again and to look at the leather bag that contained his slates.

Deep in the night he figured that there was only one thing missing: a way out. He had to get himself a car or a bike and get the hell out of there. A hundred thousand slates! That was just too good to be true. But he had seen armed hard guys all over the place. Buggy had a feeling he wasn't going to be able to walk out of there. He lay in bed between the two girls and tried to think. But Buggy knew that concentrated thought had never been his strong suit. It became even harder to think when one of the little foxes woke up and began kissing her way down his torso, aiming for his thighs.

Fuck it, he said, I'll worry about it tomorrow.

Not half an hour after he was awakened he had a feeling that this was going to be his last day on earth. A couple of men came and got him. They were respectful, to say the least. They bowed and scraped and seemed to avert their eyes. Buggy, who had had very little respect in his life, liked all this deferential treatment.

"Rich Man is waiting . . ."

"Well, I'll come when I'm ready," said Buggy cackling.

He had some breakfast and some quick head from one of the slave women and then strolled down the wide stairs to the Rich Man's throne room. Buggy kept the slates close. He wasn't going to let them out of his sight.

When he swaggered into the throne room he expected the usual bows and curtseys and at least a friendly word from the Rich Man. He didn't get any of that.

"Take the slates from him," ordered the Rich Man. Two brawny gunmen took the heavy leather bag away from him.

"Hey," said Buggy.

Then he noticed that Roy looked awfully worried.

"Here he is, Leatherman," said the Rich Man. "I told you I'd get you Bonner and I have."

Leatherman was ensconced in a big chair with a dozen Radleps on either side of him. He glanced at Buggy.

"Don't be an asshole," he said irritably. "That ain't Bonner. You fucked up. Rich Man. We had a deal. I protect you from the Snowmen and you promised you'd get me Bonner. This piece of shit ain't Bonner ..."

"What!" the Rich Man turned on Roy.

"Rich Man," pleaded Roy, "I . . . I . . ."

The Rich Man picked up a revolver that lay on his desk. He placed the barrel against Roy's lips and fired a slug into his head. Roy toppled.

Buggy was sweating. "Look, Rich Man," he began.

"Be quiet."

"Jeez," Leatherman said, "I can't fucking believe I've come all this way and you end up trying to palm this thing off on me as Bonner. What? Did you think I had mush for brains? I'm sorry, Rich Man, but it's gonna take a lot for you to make this up to me."

The Rich Man looked scared. "Leather, I had no idea . . ."

"Well you shoulda . . ."

Apart from the nasty situation that he found himself in, Buggy found the whole thing pretty interesting. He had never seen Leatherman before. He had to admit to himself that he was one ugly dude—even with all them skaggy Radleps around him, he looked bad. He had a big old nasty scar down one side of his face. An eye was missing and the empty socket was covered by a patch. But it was his hands, or lack of them, that fascinated Buggy. Instead of hands, Leatherman had wooden stumps. Sticking out of one was a single knife blade. From the other stump protruded two. That was weird . . .

"What am I gonna do with you, Rich Man? I fulfilled my part of the bargain. I took care of the Snowmen for you because you didn't have enough men to do it yourself. You got hold of that nigger Seth and you told me that Bonner would come chasing him. And what do I get? This skag-bag." He gestured towards Buggy.

"Leather . . ."

"Don't Leather me." The big vein in his forehead was bulging out. "Don't give me any of your shit. I got a good mind to take over your whole mangy fucking country."

The Rich Man had had about all he was going to stand. Sure, Leatherman and his Stormers and 'leps had more or less fucked up the Snowman expeditionary force on his territory, but now this shit from the Slavestates was acting like he owned the joint.

"Hey," said the Rich Man, "I don't have to listen to this shit."

"So what are you gonna do about it?"

"This," said the Rich Man, reaching for his revolver.

Pandemonium erupted. Bullets started flying and bodies started dropping. Buggy figured it was time to find a safe place . . .

It was just about then that Bonner drove his big machine through the plate-glass front of the pyramid tower. Grace was standing up in the back of the machine blasting away with the fifty caliber, the hot lead scything through the battling 'leps and the rest.

"That's him! Fuckin' A! That's him!" screamed Leather. " 'Leps, get him . . ."

Bonner had seen Leather. Nothing else mattered. This was it. He was going to get Leather now, once and for all.

Bonner's big car screeched to a halt in the huge room, tearing up fifteen yards of the carpet in the Rich Man's great hall. The Sisters fanned out behind him, every gun blasting. " 'Leps first!" screeched Clara.

The Radleps took cover behind some big plants and the Rich Man's desk. But they were caught in a deadly crossfire. The Rich Man's men poured bullets on them, and the Sisters joined in that withering fire.

The Mean Brothers jumped out of the car and busily started killing anything they could get their hands on.

Leatherman had gone. He had grabbed the leader of a squad of 'leps and hissed in the his ear: "Get me outta here . . ."

"Yes, boss . . ."

They formed a human—if 'leps can be considered human—shield around their leader and escorted him the stairs that led to the upper stories of the tower.

Bonner dashed through the bullets and smoke after them. At the base of the stairs he knelt down and with the Steyr leveled at the backs of the retreating Radleps, he fired. Three fell. One pushed Leatherman around a twist in the stair and then turned to face Bonner.

The hideous killer stood in the middle of the staircase and doused the carpet behind him with every bullet he had. Bonner dived for cover. He cursed to himself. While that maniac was occupying the steps, Leatherman was getting away.

Bonner slipped a knife out of the sheath on his thigh. When the 'lep got hit he had to die—instantaneously. Bonner knew how to fight 'leps better than any man alive. Anything less than a killing blow allowed them to keep on fighting and Bonner didn't want to lose another second.

As soon as he launched the Knife, Bonner knew it was a perfect score. Bonner started running right behind the throw, as if he was trying to catch up with the seven inches of steel death he had hurled at the 'lep.

The knife hit the 'lep just where Bonner wanted it. The blade slipped straight as an arrow into the 'lep's face. It split the confluence of bone where the nose met the forehead. The blade sliced into the soft brain, divided it into two neat halves, and stopped it like a smashed clock. The 'lep dropped like a fallen oak tree.

Bonner didn't even stop to retrieve his knife. He jumped over the dead 'lep and ran up the stairs. On the next floor, a wide open space that was littered with blankets, suggesting that some of the Rich Man's people slept there, was empty. Bonner dashed for the stairs, his heart pounding.

Meanwhile, the 'leps had taken Leather to the far side of the building and down the emergency stairs. Leather's Jeep was waiting.

He climbed into the passenger seat. "Home," he said.

He had a few 'leps behind him and he knew there was a Stormer force on the other side of the mountains. He had enough men to get home, but not enough to hang around and do some real damage. He couldn't fight the Rich Man and Bonner. But on the whole, things had gone pretty well in the Bay City. As they climbed the hills out of the town, he figured that he'd probably be back.

That Bonner, he said to himself, that guy could really fuck up a party . . . Never mind, there would be other chances . . .

The 'leps that Leather had left behind knew the risks. They sliced up a couple of Sisters and a lot of the Rich Man's shooters. But there were just too many enemies to take them all—the Sisters were a very tough set of bring downs on their own.

"Them's the breaks," rasped a Radlep as a message from Miss Colt posted itself in the middle of his forehead.

Bonner kicked open the door of a room in the pyramid and he advanced quickly, his Steyr and his shotgun protecting his progress down the hallway.

Something moved to his right and Bonner blasted. A gunman fell over, his legs torn to shred by the two barrels of shot.

"Oh God," moaned the man, crawling across the blue carpet.

Bonner knelt down-next to him. " Where's Seth?"

The man looked over at a shoe on the far side of the room. It contained the man's left foot. The ankle stuck up out of it, dripping blood.

"Where's Seth?"

"If I tell you," groaned the man, "will you kill me?"

"Yes," said Bonner.

The man reached up arid took Bonner weakly by the arm. "Promise?"

"Yes," he said, "where is he? The black man?"

"He's down the hall a ways. There's another guard ..." Bonner slipped a knife from his thigh holster and slit the man's throat, stepping back to avoid the spray of blood.

The other guard squeezed off a round or two at Bonner. Bonner paid little attention to him. The Steyr, seeming to act with a mind of its own, took down the guard in a single, short rip.

Bonner smashed open a door. Seth sat on the windowsill of the empty room admiring the view.

"Figured it was you. How you doing, Bonnerman?"

"Just fine, Seth. Let's get out of here."

"I'm for that." Bonner tossed Seth his weapon and together they made their way back down the stairs.

The armed men they encountered during their descent had no chance. Together there were no men on earth who could equal the fighting power of Bonner and Seth. They were consummate professionals. The men they met on those bloody stairs were only men with guns.

Bonner and Seth chopped their way through a dozen or so of them. The Rich Man's men were caught in a maelstrom of death. The Sisters were driving them up the stairs and Bonner and Seth were meeting them as they ran from the women and their murderous fire.

Eventually, the last man fell and Bonner and Seth found themselves faced with the Sisters.

"Bonner," said Clara, "I got bad news . . ."

"What?"

"That fuck we been chasing all over the Continent. He bought some lead in the head."

Bonner shrugged.

"All amounts to the same thing, I guess."

"Bonner," said Seth, "I'm a little tired of this landscape. What do ya say we get the hell out here?"

"The man has a point," said Clara.

"Fine with me," said Bonner.

They trooped down the stairs. The Mean Brothers were waiting in the lobby looking disappointed. They had had very little luck. The engagement had been almost exclusively a gun battle.

One of them had Bonner's knife. He had cleaned it up and gave it to the Outrider reverently.

"Thanks, Meanie."

"That reminds me," said Seth. He kicked over a few bodies, looking at the faces. He found the one he was looking for. Roy.

"What are you doing, Seth?" asked Bonner.

"Looking for my lighter."

Bonner started up his car and reversed out into the street. The Sisters mounted up. Seth climbed in with the Mean Brothers, Grace moving over to ride behind Clara.

"Let's go, Bonner," the Sister leader yelled.

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