fuel, and elevators became the preferred way of getting things into space. When they eventually stopped building grav-buster spacecraft, the elevators became the only way to get into space. Those elevators worked day and night ferrying people off the planet. One by one over the years the elevators were all shut down or destroyed, and now there’s none left at all, apart from this big ugly joint, the place we call the Reach. Figures that it would be the last, since it was built stronger than a brick shithouse. It wasn’t built for commerce, like the others. It was built to be defensible.
“That’s not its real name, by the way. ‘The Reach’ is just a nickname. The military called it–”
“I don’t care,” Roman said finally. He glared at Knile. “You can keep talking the whole way there, if you like. I’m not listening.”
Knile grimaced. “It’s a long way there. I don’t know if I can talk that long.”
“You’re doing a good job so far.”
“C’mon. Don’t leave me hangin’, Roman.”
“I’m trying to do a job here.”
Knile glanced back at the heavily laden cart behind them. It had been covered in thin, stretchy fabric that protected it from the harsh conditions outside Grove.
“You can’t talk and pull at the same time?” Knile said. Roman turned his attention back to the road. Knile was about to say more, but then decided to give it a rest. He wasn’t getting anywhere.
Knile looked at the faces around them on the street, and it was apparent that these people were very much aware of the cargo being hauled past them. They watched the convoy with a kind of lust, a deep longing that was fueled by their hunger and their discontentment with eating sludge every day instead of real food.
Knile felt both pity for them and, at the same time, a vague sense of unease. Desperate folk could be dangerous and unpredictable. While it was unlikely the people of Link would risk being cast out into the slums for causing unrest, Knile was suddenly thankful for the security detail.
“I just hope we don’t get eaten before we get there,” Knile muttered, turning away from the gaze of one particularly wild-eyed woman.
“We don’t get trouble,” Roman said. “Not with the guns along for the ride.”
“Good to know.” Knile decided to see if he could squeeze a few more words out of the boy, inclining his head in the direction of the Reach. “So what happens once we get there, anyway?”
“We take the merch through to the transfer station and unload it. Little Gus normally does the deal, makes sure the creds land in Giroux’s account, and then we load up the supplies being sent back to Grove and get out of there.”
“Little Gus?”
Roman pointed to the front of the convoy where a short man with a clipboard walked beside one of the carts.
“He’s one of Giroux’s inner circle. Good guy.”
“I don’t think I remember him,” Knile said.
“A lot’s changed since you were away, Knile. You can’t seem to grasp that.”
Knile sensed the bitterness in Roman’s tone. “Guess I need to open my eyes, right?”
“Might help.”
“Well, now that you mention it, I can see a few things that are different about you, Roman. You were only about nine or ten when I left, and now you’re this tall , gangly teenager.” Knile reached across and tweaked Roman’s bicep playfully. “You’ve even grown some good cart-pullin’ muscles there.”
“I’m not just a taller version of the kid you left behind.”
Knile flinched inwardly at the bluntness of Roman’s words.
“I know that.”
“How would you know that, Knile?”
“Roman, I–”
“Look, just save it,” Roman said evenly. His anger seemed to have subsided, replaced by a pensiveness that belied his age. “I don’t want apologies. I don’t want to hear you say you’re sorry a hundred times. That won’t change anything. You taught me a lot of
“That’s not its real name, by the way. ‘The Reach’ is just a nickname. The military called it–”
“I don’t care,” Roman said finally. He glared at Knile. “You can keep talking the whole way there, if you like. I’m not listening.”
Knile grimaced. “It’s a long way there. I don’t know if I can talk that long.”
“You’re doing a good job so far.”
“C’mon. Don’t leave me hangin’, Roman.”
“I’m trying to do a job here.”
Knile glanced back at the heavily laden cart behind them. It had been covered in thin, stretchy fabric that protected it from the harsh conditions outside Grove.
“You can’t talk and pull at the same time?” Knile said. Roman turned his attention back to the road. Knile was about to say more, but then decided to give it a rest. He wasn’t getting anywhere.
Knile looked at the faces around them on the street, and it was apparent that these people were very much aware of the cargo being hauled past them. They watched the convoy with a kind of lust, a deep longing that was fueled by their hunger and their discontentment with eating sludge every day instead of real food.
Knile felt both pity for them and, at the same time, a vague sense of unease. Desperate folk could be dangerous and unpredictable. While it was unlikely the people of Link would risk being cast out into the slums for causing unrest, Knile was suddenly thankful for the security detail.
“I just hope we don’t get eaten before we get there,” Knile muttered, turning away from the gaze of one particularly wild-eyed woman.
“We don’t get trouble,” Roman said. “Not with the guns along for the ride.”
“Good to know.” Knile decided to see if he could squeeze a few more words out of the boy, inclining his head in the direction of the Reach. “So what happens once we get there, anyway?”
“We take the merch through to the transfer station and unload it. Little Gus normally does the deal, makes sure the creds land in Giroux’s account, and then we load up the supplies being sent back to Grove and get out of there.”
“Little Gus?”
Roman pointed to the front of the convoy where a short man with a clipboard walked beside one of the carts.
“He’s one of Giroux’s inner circle. Good guy.”
“I don’t think I remember him,” Knile said.
“A lot’s changed since you were away, Knile. You can’t seem to grasp that.”
Knile sensed the bitterness in Roman’s tone. “Guess I need to open my eyes, right?”
“Might help.”
“Well, now that you mention it, I can see a few things that are different about you, Roman. You were only about nine or ten when I left, and now you’re this tall , gangly teenager.” Knile reached across and tweaked Roman’s bicep playfully. “You’ve even grown some good cart-pullin’ muscles there.”
“I’m not just a taller version of the kid you left behind.”
Knile flinched inwardly at the bluntness of Roman’s words.
“I know that.”
“How would you know that, Knile?”
“Roman, I–”
“Look, just save it,” Roman said evenly. His anger seemed to have subsided, replaced by a pensiveness that belied his age. “I don’t want apologies. I don’t want to hear you say you’re sorry a hundred times. That won’t change anything. You taught me a lot of
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