nny scream that had distracted the Pilot's
attention and let us get him. Which incidentally made Pop a quick
thinker and imaginative to boot, and meant that he'd helped on the
killing.

* * * * *

Besides all that, Pop did not come in fawning and full of extravagant
praise, as most scroungers will. He just assumed equality with us right
from the start and he talked in an absolutely matter-of-fact way,
neither praising nor criticizing one bit--too damn matter-of-fact and
open, for that matter, to suit my taste, but then I have heard other
buggers say that some old men are apt to get talkative, though I had
never worked with or run into one myself. Old people are very rare in
the Deathlands, as you might imagine.

So the girl and me just scowled at him but did nothing to stop him as he
came along. Near us, his extra knives would be no advantage to him.

"Hum," he said, "looks a lot like a guy I murdered five years back down
Los Alamos way. Same silver monkey suit and almost as tall. Nice chap
too--was trying to give me something for a fever I'd faked. That his gun
melted? My man didn't smoke after I gave him his quietus, but then it
turned out he didn't have any metal on him. I wonder if this chap--" He
started to kneel down by the body.

"Hands off, Pop!" I gritted at him. That was how we started calling him
Pop.

"Why sure, sure," he said, staying there on one knee. "I won't lay a
finger on him. It's just that I've heard the Alamosers have it rigged so
that any metal they're carrying melts when they die, and I was wondering
about this boy. But he's all yours, friend. By the way, what's your
name, friend?"

"Ray," I snarled. "Ray Baker." I think the main reason I told him was
that I didn't want him calling me "friend" again. "You talk too much,
Pop."

"I suppose I do, Ray," he agreed. "What's your name, lady?"

The girl just sort of hissed at him and he grinned at me as if to say,
"Oh, women!" Then he said, "Why don't you go through his pockets, Ray?
I'm real curious."

"Shut up," I said, but I felt that he'd put me on the spot just the
same. I was curious about the guy's pockets myself, of course, but I was
also wondering if Pop was alone or if he had somebody with him, and
whether there was anybody else in the plane or not--things like that,
too many things. At the same time I didn't want to let on to Pop how
useless my right arm was--if I'd just get a twinge of feeling in th