"No. Funny-scary. This is a main source line. It runs back up to an oil-burning plant in Abeline. It's dead, and I mean long dead. I haven't been this deep into the Ranch in years, but I'd say this hasn't carried current in two or three years, judging from bird and insect activity. I climbed the tower and had a close look."
"Maybe they found a new power source," Valentine said, bu|t it sounded wrong even as a guess.
"You know the Kurians, son, they don't bother with something mat's working. Civic improvements are the last thing on their mind. You're talking about a shutdown to at least half the Ranch, probably more, if this line is dead."
"Maybe they gave up on these experiments. Found mem unproductive?"
"That might be. They have the patience of Job, though, which makes sense considering they don't die. What's wrong, guys?"
Her assorted mutts were whining worriedly and slinking around behind her horse. Valentine's horse began to toss its head. He dismounted and soothed the animal.
"It's coming from that brush over there," Baltz said, her horse under better control.
Valentine unlatched the flap on his .45's holster. He handed his reins to Baltz, and pulled his machete from its saddle.
"That's what I call a pig-sticker," Baltz said.
"A Grog would have shot by now. This isn't the right time of day for a Reaper, but I'm not taking any chances. Maybe he's got a motorcycle helmet on."
Valentine cursed himself for not carrying one of Post's spearheads. He took a few cautious steps toward the brush, every nerve alert.
He heard grass move, and whatever was crawling through the brush changed course at his approach. Valentine made ready to leap forward or back, gun in his hand and machete held ready to swing.
A sound like fifty castanets came from the brush. It sounded familiar, only too loud; he hadn't turned up his ears that much. What kind of rattler would make that much noise?
He found out when the snake struck from cover. The king of all rattlers, its head as large as a melon, lashed out with mouth gaping and fangs pointed down and forward. It aimed for Valentine's thigh.
A blur of reflexes saved him from a strike moving faster than the eye could follow. He spun, pulling his leg out of the way as he brought the blade around and down as fast as a propeller. The fine steel edge severed the neck of the rattler two feet below the neck, and the head flopped to the grass, biting at nothing. The decapitated body thrashed back and forth, rattle still buzzing angrily.
"Jesus, that's a hell of a snake," Baltz said as the serpentine body slowed and stopped.
Valentine breathed until his heart slowed and the burning above his kidneys faded.
"You moved faster than the damn snake, boy. I didn't know what happened till it was over. You touched by God or something?"
"Or something," Valentine agreed. "Don't tell me the Kurians made smart, venomous reptiles."
"I don't think it was smart. Creeping up on all of us like that."
"If it wasn't smart, then why did they bother? Breed a few thousand of them and drop them on farmland in the Ozarks from planes?"
"I wouldn't put it past 'em. But they're new here. Dead lines, big snakes, no Grog patrols away from the borders. It
adds up to something. I'd say the Ranch is under new management."
"Anyone see a sign that said 'Animal Farm'?"
The reference was lost on Baltz.
That night Valentine worked with the snakeskin. He found something in it appealing and with Ahn-Kha's help he turned the hide into a bandolier. He didn't intend to be without a spearpoint or two in the future. After the camp trooped past the hide to whistle, gape, and ask the same questions over and over, he and Ahn-Kha went to work. They stretched lengths of snakeskin from wagonwheel to wag-onwheel on one of the supply wagons, peeling off the remaining muscle and salting down the skin.
"The Gray Ones like snakemeat, my David. Even better than beef."
"They're welcome to it-there's enough to last them a week."
"This is good skin. Very light and strong. I think I will try layering it, so the scales go different directions. Make armor for the chest and shoulders. Better man sharkskin."
They ate and drank as they worked, with the other two Grogs squatting by the campfire, toasting snakemeat on sticks and watching their every move.