coast and find ourselves a boat. One after the other the Aux suggest it to Neen.
And Neen finally mentions it to me.
I’m glad, because our colonel has spent most of the day looking longingly at towns he would dismiss as slums in any other situation. Telling Neen he’s an idiot is easier than telling the colonel.
‘Neen,’ I say, knowing Colonel Vijay’s listening. ‘Tell me why it’s a shit idea.’
My sergeant thinks about it.
In the time this takes, we climb a hill, pass through the ruins of an old farm and crest a high ridge that drops to a narrow valley beyond. The wind smells of hot stones and wild grass, like good vodka. ‘Time’s up,’ I say. ‘Tell me.’
‘We’re looking for the Azari.’
He hopes I’ll nod, so I don’t.
Neen shouldn’t need me to teach him this.
‘That’s one,’ I say. ‘We’re stuck with that Racta, that’s two. And three, we’re not meant to be here at all.’
Neen still doesn’t get it.
‘Oh for fuck’s sake,’ I say. ‘We can kill the O’Cruz if needs be. But every new person who knows we’re here doubles the danger.’
‘Sven.’ That’s the colonel, obviously. He’s working his way round to behaving as if nothing happened up in the mirror hub. ‘We can’t,’ he says. ‘I mean . . .’
‘Believe me, sir,’ I say, ‘we may have to.’
———
A dozen people drag a cart along the dry bed of what was once a stream. The cart has spoked wheels and fretted sides. It has been painted grey so it doesn’t reflect the sun. The men pulling it wear camouflage so cheap I only hope it came free. Mostly it matches whatever its owner was standing on a few seconds earlier.
The women, all three of them, wear rags. These are so filthy they provide better camouflage than the suits worn by the men.
Every twenty paces, the group stop and twist a stick into the ground. After a few seconds, one of the men shakes his head. So they drag the cart another twenty paces and start again.
‘Prospectors.’ Rachel is certain of this.
‘They’d have better equipment,’ says Colonel Vijay.
‘With respect, sir.’ Turns out Haze is the only one to remember his briefing. A good half of the prospectors here are illegal. It’s an expensive jump; a licence from the Enlightened doubles the price and takes a third of anything found.
‘Colonel,’ I say. ‘We should let them pass.’
‘Not yet,’ he says. ‘They might have met the Azari.’
Laughing, Racta says, ‘Of course they’ve met the Azari.’ His gesture sweeps the valley. ‘These are your ghosts.’
‘What did he say?’
‘These are our ghosts.’
‘No they’re not,’ says Colonel Vijay. Makes me wonder how he knows.
‘So,’ says Racta. ‘We kill all but one. Agreed?’
Dropping out the clip on his rifle, he counts bullets. He has two in the clip, with one in the breech. So, our little caudillo-to-be has three. This explains his willingness to toss down his rifle earlier. And why he turns his back on his men before extracting the clip.
Every shot he fires weakens his power.
I want to let them pass, and Racta wants to capture one and kill the rest. So Colonel Vijay suggests a compromise. We will capture them all. Since this is about as stupid a suggestion as I can imagine, Racta agrees immediately.
‘See,’ says the colonel.
Yes, I know. Compromise and respect .
‘Carry on,’ he tells me.
‘Right,’ I say. ‘Racta heads them off. We come up from behind.’
Racta’s about to insist he comes up from behind, when he realizes heading off the prospectors is exactly what he wants to do. So he nods, as if doing me a favour, and slams the clip back into his rifle.
A minute later, I hear a gunshot up ahead.
‘What’s that?’ demands the colonel.
He must know.
Unholstering my own gun, I start running. All thoughts of coming up behind the prospectors are gone. We keep low, weaving from instinct. Shale skids beneath our boots, but we keep moving. On a mountainside that is all
And Neen finally mentions it to me.
I’m glad, because our colonel has spent most of the day looking longingly at towns he would dismiss as slums in any other situation. Telling Neen he’s an idiot is easier than telling the colonel.
‘Neen,’ I say, knowing Colonel Vijay’s listening. ‘Tell me why it’s a shit idea.’
My sergeant thinks about it.
In the time this takes, we climb a hill, pass through the ruins of an old farm and crest a high ridge that drops to a narrow valley beyond. The wind smells of hot stones and wild grass, like good vodka. ‘Time’s up,’ I say. ‘Tell me.’
‘We’re looking for the Azari.’
He hopes I’ll nod, so I don’t.
Neen shouldn’t need me to teach him this.
‘That’s one,’ I say. ‘We’re stuck with that Racta, that’s two. And three, we’re not meant to be here at all.’
Neen still doesn’t get it.
‘Oh for fuck’s sake,’ I say. ‘We can kill the O’Cruz if needs be. But every new person who knows we’re here doubles the danger.’
‘Sven.’ That’s the colonel, obviously. He’s working his way round to behaving as if nothing happened up in the mirror hub. ‘We can’t,’ he says. ‘I mean . . .’
‘Believe me, sir,’ I say, ‘we may have to.’
———
A dozen people drag a cart along the dry bed of what was once a stream. The cart has spoked wheels and fretted sides. It has been painted grey so it doesn’t reflect the sun. The men pulling it wear camouflage so cheap I only hope it came free. Mostly it matches whatever its owner was standing on a few seconds earlier.
The women, all three of them, wear rags. These are so filthy they provide better camouflage than the suits worn by the men.
Every twenty paces, the group stop and twist a stick into the ground. After a few seconds, one of the men shakes his head. So they drag the cart another twenty paces and start again.
‘Prospectors.’ Rachel is certain of this.
‘They’d have better equipment,’ says Colonel Vijay.
‘With respect, sir.’ Turns out Haze is the only one to remember his briefing. A good half of the prospectors here are illegal. It’s an expensive jump; a licence from the Enlightened doubles the price and takes a third of anything found.
‘Colonel,’ I say. ‘We should let them pass.’
‘Not yet,’ he says. ‘They might have met the Azari.’
Laughing, Racta says, ‘Of course they’ve met the Azari.’ His gesture sweeps the valley. ‘These are your ghosts.’
‘What did he say?’
‘These are our ghosts.’
‘No they’re not,’ says Colonel Vijay. Makes me wonder how he knows.
‘So,’ says Racta. ‘We kill all but one. Agreed?’
Dropping out the clip on his rifle, he counts bullets. He has two in the clip, with one in the breech. So, our little caudillo-to-be has three. This explains his willingness to toss down his rifle earlier. And why he turns his back on his men before extracting the clip.
Every shot he fires weakens his power.
I want to let them pass, and Racta wants to capture one and kill the rest. So Colonel Vijay suggests a compromise. We will capture them all. Since this is about as stupid a suggestion as I can imagine, Racta agrees immediately.
‘See,’ says the colonel.
Yes, I know. Compromise and respect .
‘Carry on,’ he tells me.
‘Right,’ I say. ‘Racta heads them off. We come up from behind.’
Racta’s about to insist he comes up from behind, when he realizes heading off the prospectors is exactly what he wants to do. So he nods, as if doing me a favour, and slams the clip back into his rifle.
A minute later, I hear a gunshot up ahead.
‘What’s that?’ demands the colonel.
He must know.
Unholstering my own gun, I start running. All thoughts of coming up behind the prospectors are gone. We keep low, weaving from instinct. Shale skids beneath our boots, but we keep moving. On a mountainside that is all
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