"They might not even show. The higher-ups are more worried about the food situation. They'll probably concentrate on agro in California and Mexico".
"I'd just as soon get going".
"We're still going to give you a couple thousand in gold, you know. That's got to be arranged for".
Valentine wondered if a stall was on. "How you feeling?"
"Better. Whatever juice the bugs put in me, I think it's about worked its way out. Just sore as hell. You're bunking in our house tonight, by the way. Let's go over to the hospital and sign for your gear. It sits there too long, someone might decide to sell it".
"I'm ready to go".
They took a little Volkswagen ("The Mexicans changed the name for a couple years, but people quit buying them", Hornbreed explained). Hornbreed's house was just shy of some of the estates in Iowa. The imposing, Spanish-style house lacked only the expansive grounds to be a true manor. Instead it sat on a small plot of land in a gated community filled with other equally impressive houses. Louisa gave Valentine a pleasant little room of his own on a central courtyard - its fountain made a pleasing sound - where he could look up at the master suite's second-floor balcony.
He startled awake, reaching for the sword under the pillows, but it was only a pretty Asian teenage girl in an apron bringing morning coffee - real coffee, at that.
"Breakfast in kitchen", she said.
After the strictly portioned meal Hornbreed showed him "the neighborhood". There was a swimming pool, a school, and a small golf course, a private store, and a common garage where the favored families "checked out" vehicles. Hornbreed explained that most of the residents rarely went beyond the gates. Necessities were brought to them.
There was a small playground but only a few children, in simple clothes that looked homemade. They shrieked and chased each other, shouting in a Spanish-English patois that sounded like it had a little Chinese thrown in for flavor. "Staff children", Hornbreed said. "They're really not supposed to be there, but no one complains".
"What about the kids who are supposed to be using it?"
"Most of our kids go to church school, or private academies. Class all morning, sports in the afternoon, and tutoring or apprenticeships at night. Really first-class schooling. Tumlo next door has a daughter already beginning medical training, and she's only fifteen. We got to get to the field. But we're making one more stop. I've got something to show you".
He said no more until they took the Volkswagen out to one of the more remote hangars on the big airfield. Hornbreed maneuvered it around piles of junk, engines hanging from chains, and racks of assorted rusting spares. It was half-junkyard, half-machine-shop, worked by men with overalls and close-cropped hair in their last days.
Hornbreed parked in the shade inside the hangar. A radio hanging from a cord played cheerful NUC choir music as it spun in the dry desert breeze.
"This is sort of a private workshop. The men here aren't paid by the Circus or AAC. The pilots keep them to work on their private craft. Hey, Jimmy".
The man who'd trotted up to get the door liked to chew tobacco. His hands had a fascinating patina; the oil had worked itself into every crevice. He wiped them on a rag before shaking hands with Hornbreed.
"This the bounty man?" Jimmy asked, looking at Valentine's ID card. An aluminum can with a rubber lid hung around his neck.
"Max Argent", Valentine said, extending his hand.
Jimmy didn't shake it. "You got a lift all the way back to Yuma. Sure didn't do much for that gold. I could've done that".
"You didn't face down ten-foot scorpions", Hornbreed said. "He did. Where's the crate, Jimmy? Hope you haven't put it in the same spot as your manners".
"Just speakin' my mind, sir. Pat's just over here".
Jimmy led them past a couple of fixed-gear prop planes and to a little contraption in the bright colors of a yellow jacket that looked like a wheeled two-man bobsled under an oversized beach umbrella missing its fabric. It had a big prop sticking out the back.
"This is a Personal Advanced Aerial Transport. It's an autogyro, Max.
Just about my favorite toy for flying out over the dunes. Seats two and some personal cargo. She's a fun little ship, and can run on ordinary high-octane gasoline. Twin rudders. Pretty safe, as long as you watch the weather, and if you stow your gear in to balance the load. Can take off from a cleared field and if the engine conks out, you just rotate back down".
"What works the rotors? All I see is a control mechanism. Or is there an axle hidden in there?"
"Forward velocity. Air resistance keeps the rotors spinning, and they give lift. That's where it's different from a helicopter - you can't hover, and you need takeoff room. Engine's a hundred ten horsepower, and you can engage a driver that works the wheels so it's a motorized tricycle too. There's pretty good ground clearance. This thing was the range model".
"All yours?" Valentine asked.
"No. She's yours now".
Jimmy popped the lid and spit into the aluminum can.