Blood Harvest by James Axler

conclusions.
    The wag had come at sundown and despite Doc’s protestations they had forced him to leave Ryan behind in the holding cell, naked and raving in fevered dreams. On the drive into the hillsides Doc saw farms and vineyards. He found that nearly every home and building was of fortlike construction, and he was interested to find that he saw nothing in the way of horses, oxen or farm animals.
    Doc also found the wrinklies who had been conspicuously absent on the smaller isle.
    They all wore the same simple homespun. However, unlike their young brethren on the smaller isle who glowed with health, these men and women were stooped from hard labor, and all over the age of twenty-five. Many were moving wagons and toting bales. All of them without exception walked with a very suspicious limp. Many bore signs of the lash. Others had fresh bandages covering their inner arms.
    All of them moved swiftly and fearfully as the sun set.
    Doc began coming to other unsavory conclusions, as well.
    The sec man beside the old man motioned with a huge, double-barreled blaster that looked suitable for elephant hunting. “Out.”
    Doc exited the wag and was escorted into the manse. The interior was opulent by Deathlands standards and furnished in a hodge-podge of ancient, predark and cruder new manufactured items. Baron Barat stood in the foyer. He wore an elegant red-and-gold brocade robe for the occasion. A semiauto blaster was tucked into the belt for the occasion, as well. “Ah, good evening, Dr. Tanner, thank you for coming.”
    â€œDoctor? I am Baron Theophilus Algernon…” Doc trailed off under Barat’s bemused gaze. Doc sighed defeatedly. When the drug had violated Ryan, he had called out to him, and called him Doc.
    The baron smiled in satisfaction. The admission of the first lie was the key point in any interrogation. “Come, Doctor, will you join me in my study? Nero, you may accompany us.” The baron turned without waiting for an answer. Doc considered the blade hidden within his cane but decided he wished to learn more. Nero prodded him with his blaster and Doc followed the baron into his parlor. The room was wall-to-wall books of every description and age. A cheery fire burned in the little fireplace.
    Doc decided on flattery as his own opening gambit. “I see you and many of your citizens speak excellent English.”
    â€œAh, well.” The baron smiled and gestured at the chair in front of his desk. “We have maintained a tutorial-based education system here as best we can, though I must admit it trickles down somewhat slowly from the high to the low. In many ways it is the second language of our island.”
    Doc noticed his LeMat on the desk and noted it was unloaded. He took his seat and Barat gestured at the confiscated weapon. “I must say, Dr. Tanner, that is a grand old piece you have there. It is remarkable that it still functions.”
    â€œYes.” Doc gazed fondly upon the ancient blaster. “Nearly as old as I am.”
    The baron smiled, not knowing how true the statement was.
    â€œNero.” Barat motioned his sec man and nodded to the sideboard by the fire. Nero brought a decanter and two glasses. “Will you join me in my evening constitutional, Doctor?”
    Doc eyed the amber liquid warily.
    Barat laughed. “Fear not, it is merely Madeira.”
    â€œThen I would be delighted,” Doc replied.
    Nero poured and Barat raised his glass. “To your health.”
    â€œAnd yours.” Doc sipped the amber liquid. His closed eyes in near ecstasy. It had been over two hundred years since he had drunk Madeira. “Is this Sercial?” Doc took another sip. “No, Rainwater, bless my stars and garters, a real Rainwater Madeira.”
    The baron was plainly shocked. “You are the first man not of this island I have ever met who would know the difference. May I offer you a cigar?”
    Doc leaned forward eagerly. “Oh,