"The Golden Ones are a long way from dumb", Valentine said. "And they know engineering. They've got a network of tunnels under Omaha you wouldn't believe if you didn't see it, and they've rigged a few likely buildings to collapse. I wouldn't want to be part of the Omaha garrison, assuming the Iowa Guard takes it. They're recruiting out of the scrub-country clans again, looking for tribal support. Doubt they'll get it".
"How's business otherwise?" Hobarth asked.
"Lean. Omaha just wants optics and precision tools". It had been so long since he'd talked to another man that Valentine felt his mouth running on of its own accord. "Those are tough to come by, especially when they don't offer much in return. Leatherwork I can sometimes sell, but pottery? Oh, that reminds me. I might have a connection in Springfield for you for tires. That Grog molasses tobacco is getting popular in Chicago".
"Wonderful. Hey, I talked to Gramps again about you. He's upped the offer to a full family share if you join up".
"I told you before: I'm a crap driver".
"You'll learn, Argent. We could use you and that freaky hair of yours". Valentine had once explained that a nearby Reaper had caused his hair to stand on end. "The spring run to the coast is gearing up. See the world, you know?"
"Tourism through scratched-up goggles at the trigger ring? Not my way to see the country".
"Oh, I'm not talking hired-gun stuff. Scout salvage. You have a knack for getting in and out of places none of our clan come within a Reaper's run of".
Hobarth's was a great place to take respite, but Valentine wondered about settling down there. If he joined up, the next thing they'd expect was for him to marry - and there were a couple of widows near his age attached to the truckstart. Lora, who worked in the garage, never failed to do her hair and put on her best when he visited. Problem was, her conversation was limited to engine blocks, fuel injection, and ethanol when she wasn't parroting the New Universal Church propaganda she'd learned as a child.
"I'll think about it. Promise", Valentine said.
Hobarth was canny. He knew "Max Argent" well enough to know that if he wanted something, he jumped at a chance, whether it was a night on clean sheets or a volume in the little library that existed in the Hobarth attic.
"Reading again? Confed..". Hobarth knew parts manuals and truck manufacturers, but preferred the pool table and old pinball machines of the family rec room when it came time to unwind.
"Confederacy of Dunces", Valentine supplied.
"Sounds like the ministers in Kansas City. I hear there's cholera. Both sides of the river".
Kansas was bleeding again, and much on the mind of the whole Hobarth clan. She had broken into warring factions, supported by the UFR in the east and the powerful Kurians of the Southwest on the other side of the Arkansas River. "Route 666" had become tougher than ever.
Valentine contemplated his tea. "One of them will get bled. The Kurians don't like people dying without orders and proper processing".
Hobarth stiffened a little. It didn't do to say such things, even deep in the relatively neutral Grog lands.
Valentine changed the subject. "I'm about done with this. Can I get up in the book attic? I want to look up an item or two".
"Look something up? It's not an archive. It's a paper junk heap. Most of the stuffs falling apart".
"I saw a book there last trip. I just want to read up on it a little more".
"Wonderful. Do us a favor and clean up a few cobwebs while you're up there, okay?"
"Gladly".
"You accommodated?"
"Yes. Don't worry, the Dragon Lady's charging contractor rates. I had some Iowa scrip I wanted to dump anyway".
Hobarth smiled at the use of his aunt's nickname. "I'll tell everyone to be extra nice. You staying long?"
"Maybe a week. My worm needs a few days of feeding".
"You could use all that in-wall time to take a bath, you know. You could read in the tub".
"What, and lose my camouflage? The critters confuse the Reapers, you know".
"Wonderful. Something about you's just a bit out of alignment, you know that, Argent? And I don't mean that busted-up face of yours either".
* * *