Shakes stood behind him with a grim smile, holding the blunt edge of his gun. “Next time, pick on someone your own size, icehole.” “You jammed his radio?” asked Wes, making sure. “Easy as stealing watts from a tourist at roulette,” Shakes said with a grin, showing Wes the broken comm he’d filched from the soldier’s pocket. “No one can hear us.” Wes knelt down, dabbed his handkerchief in Nutri, and passed it to Roark. “Sorry about that, man. I told the guys to leave you all alone, but some of them aren’t so obedient.” “Took you two long enough,” Roark said, putting the hanky to his eye. “Thanks a lot—I’m sure I’m quite a sight.” Wes gave him a few of the fried chicken wafers he carried in his pocket, and the smallman calmed down. “What happened? Where have you been? How’d you get here?” Wes asked. “It was the garden,”
