Dak
Vandemar hated guard duty. The camp was in the most remote region they could
find – that was the whole point. Hardpan desert with only scraggly weeds
stretched on for hundred of miles. Guard duty really seemed pointless. Even if
he did see someone, what were they going to do?
They
were exposed, yet concealed simply by the vast expanse of wasteland. The Grime
Lands were behind them, to the east. He wasn’t terribly sad to go. He had a bit
of Grime in his blood, though what that meant was a mystery for the ages. His
mom claimed that the Grime Lands had been a mighty nation that was destroyed in
a war with the Arizradna, but if that were the case, then it must have been a
long time ago, as the Arizradna hadn’t had a foreign war in recorded history.
He
was Narcian a few generations back. Why his great-grandpa had decided to come
out to the Worst Place in the World was another one of those mysteries. That,
and who he was on lookout to look out for.
Sar
said she had seen an airship a week back – one of those exploration vessels. If
they had seen the camp, they hadn’t shown much interest. For now, Dak just
stood at his post, his rifle’s strap cutting into his shoulder.
There
were about thirty of them. The camp was like a little village of tents. Dak had
never expected to miss the old mud-clay huts they had been staying in before,
but at least they were low enough into the ground that it kept the heat away.
Boss
Man never told them where or when they would be picking up stakes and moving
on. If they went much farther west, though, they’d be getting close to the
Nightlands.
The
sun was getting low, near the horizon. Soon the sky would begin to turn that
bright brilliant red, and there wasn’t much he could do after that than look
for lights out in the desert.
He
picked up a foot to shake his leg and keep it from falling asleep. He had a bit
of greasy sausage and a couple crackers on him, which he now took from their
packaging. It probably would have tasted better if he hadn’t been living off
the stuff for months. The sausage in particular was problematic, as he was sure
it was pretty much half cholesterol – and not the good kind. It wasn’t as if he
was getting much exercise either. There was nowhere to walk, and it wasn’t as
if Boss Man had set up a gym.
If
possible he’d leave off at Harisha if they got that far west – the Nightlands
were vast, but relatively easy to travel. He was getting a decent amount for
this work, but it wasn’t something he was interested in doing longterm. There
were too many questions. Law wasn’t something most cared about in the Grime
Lands, but the concept was not entirely alien. Still, the threat of the law was far less of a worry than
the threat of something bad happening, which is more likely if you’re doing
shady work.
Still,
it could be a lot worse. The people at the camp weren’t cold the way you often
found when doing rough work. And Boss Man was reasonable. He never lost his
temper. And honestly, he had a good look to him. He had wild sand-blonde hair
and a perpetual stubble-beard. He had a scar that ran from his forehead to his
jaw, skipping over his eye, and he tended to wear a long brown duster. He
somehow embodied the notion of a revolutionary, despite the fact that there was
no government or authority in the Grime Lands to revolt against.
And
as far as Dak could tell, they weren’t fighting a war. He had a rifle, yes, but
he hadn’t heard a shot since he had signed on. Hell, that was better than back
home.
“You
seeing this?” yelled Sar. She was paired up with him again this evening. The
two had become friends over the course of their employment. She was a bit
older, and Dak got the impression she had lived a harder life, but she didn’t
seem bitter about it.
“Seeing
what?”
“A
couple miles out, northwest-ish. Looks like a car.”
Now
he did see it. It was strange, though. There must have been something wrong,
because there was a bit of smoke coming up from the car – very light and faint,
but still visible. The car was coming toward the camp.
“Calling
it in,” said Dak. He thumbed his radio and spoke into it. “We’ve got a car
coming, boss man.”
“What
color?” came the voice on the other end.
Dak
squinted. “Red, maybe. Might be in trouble. Got some smoke coming out of it.”
“Black
smoke or white smoke?”
“White,
I guess.”
“Ok.
I’m coming out.”
A
minute later, Boss Man was up at the northwest end of the camp. His duster
billowed in the wind, as if Boss Man had somehow planned it that way. Dak often
forgot that Boss Man was actually shorter than him. Not short, just shorter
than Dak.
The
car came closer – it was a big one with high ground clearance and a springy
suspension, so it bounced over the little shrubs and cracks in the hardpan.
There was an odd shape to it – kind of boxy, with a huge nose. There was a
rumbling sound coming from it, and that smoke – still somewhat faint, but
visible, coughed out of the back.
Finally
it reached the camp and came to a stop. A man with deep, dark blue skin and
wearing what looked from the outside like completely obsidian-opaque sunglasses
stepped out. He stretched his legs and cracked his back.
“Chaffi,”
said Boss Man. “What is it?
“Give
me a minute. I’ve been driving for five hours,” said the djinni.
“All
right. You need anything to eat?”
“Not
urgently. I took some gaf with me in
the car. It’s a bit of a mess in there, to be honest. What’s the trust level
here?” Chaffi eyed Dak and Sar.
“They
don’t know enough for us to worry.”
Chaffi
frowned.
Boss
Man put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s fine. Even if they knew what we were
talking about I’d trust them. I hand-picked everyone at this camp.”
“There’s
a lot of people in this camp.”
“And
I trust every single one of them.”
Dak
tried not to make a face, but he was a little surprised at Boss Man’s faith. Dak
didn’t even know what the guy’s real name was, so he wasn’t sure what he had
done to earn his trust.
“Well,
I was at Kapla Furnace Village.”
“That’s
where the Rukh tribe is centered, correct?”
“Yes,
but never call them a tribe. They prefer family. ‘Tribe’ is below them, if you
take my meaning.”
“Noted,”
said Boss Man.
“The
prodigal son came home. And he was not looking good.”
“The
prodigal Rukh?”
“Came
with a few humans in a worn-out electric car.”
“Do
you know who they were?”
“Didn’t
recognize any of them. Seemed academic. Multinational, young, rich clothes.”
“Oh?”
“A
Sardok woman, an Arizradna man, a Redlander woman and a Narcian man. Plus our
boy, who looked like his fires were burning low.”
“Are
we thinking a botched job by the other side?”
“He
would be a high-priority target. It’s certainly possible.”
Boss
Man nodded and looked away, deep in thought. “Last seen in Towatki, right?”
“I
think so,” said Chaffi.
“Maybe
something to do with the DFO. Not exactly subtle, but maybe that was the
point.”
“You
want me to head back there and keep an eye on him?”
“Yes.
In fact, I’d like you to reach out.”
“Reach
out? Surely you are joking.”
Boss
Man smiled. “It’s a risk, obviously. But I never had any illusions that the
House was fully unaware of our little operation here. I want to know what’s
going on with these humans he’s with. Find out if any of them are House, if you
can.”
“That’s
not particularly easy.”
“It
is if you know what to look for.” Boss Man here pulled a small object from his
jacket. It looked something like a deck of cards that had been threaded through
with some sort of rudimentary electronics.
Chaffi
took the object, holding it away from him as if it might explode. “This is…”
“Extremely
valuable. I’ve only been able to make three so far. It lights up green when you’re
standing next to someone who’s still bound by the Link.”
Chaffi’s
eyes grew wide. “How is this possible? No one has ever made anything like this
in a thousand years.”
“I
told you it was valuable. And I’m going to want it back when you’re done.”
Chaffi
nodded. “Thank you for trusting me with it.”
“Just
be careful. Don’t take any unnecessary risks.”
Chaffi
nodded. “Hey Boss Man, how come it’s lit up now?”
Boss
Man smiled. “Because I haven’t been able to sever my Link yet.”
(Copyright Daniel Szolovits 2015)
