“Please let me talk first.” Kishnet stepped down from the wagon, his movements slow and deliberate. As the warriors of the Sands released the reins of their horses to dismount, he raised his arms as slow and clear as his attempts to look harmless. With gestures of peace, Kish moved forward, trailed by two men with sabres drawn. His voice, soft and measured, reached the ears of a man whose arms bore intricate tattoos, patterns formed by countless thin lines covering all visible skin. As Kish spoke, he glanced briefly at Robert, taking a bite from a loaf of dried bread.

“It’s just that we expected you, not that fancy, blondie girl. Northerners in this land raise questions,” the man said, a deliberate comment intended to provoke. He was right, though. With Lim’s guidance, Rob had changed Donna’s puppet to fit a realistic human from the north. With its blonde hair and fair skin, the robotic vessel was not suited to blend in the red island’s wildlands. But Robert never intended to do so. His plan, his ultimate mission, was at the far north. A place in where dwellers matched his body’s appearance.

The chief made another comment about Robert’s frail, delicate appearance. It didn’t work either. The subtle movements of lips and eyes, his body movements, everything turned into an open book Robert could read instantly. Nothing could be hidden. Neither the amusement the man felt before the uncontrollable fear of Kish, nor the frustration before the impassive face of his reaction to the banter. He’d never give him what he was looking for. But quite the opposite.

‘Proceed with caution,’ a voice echoed in his mind. ‘There’s a seventy-five percent chance those tattoos are from the Yeranee Clan. Each is a life taken.’

‘I can read the old data too, Lim,’ Robert replied, a silent exchange necessary in such a situation. ‘And I also share the same training as you. Pretty obvious to see what he is capable of. Isn’t it?’

The tattooed man beckoned, and Robert joined them. Kish made the introductions with care, every word carefully stored in the mind's data.

The chief used Papiku as a name. Though not of the desert tribes, his influence extended to all who followed him in the tribe's absence leaders, and not only was he the man in charge of such bunch of soulless scum, he was the guide to the exit point, the one in charge of the prison break and the one who’d lead the caravan to safety.

“My men will make sure we are not chased.” Papiku said. “I’ll stay until we reach the oasis. From there, you are on your own. Unless you don’t pay me what you promised. Then I’ll have to stay longer. Enough to put your libers in a bag.”

“You don’t need to worry about that,” Robert said.

“I’m not the one who should worry. And before you talk to me again, tell me why I should be listening to you.”

Faced with the raider’s animosity, Robert did not blink. Kish did, however. He also fidgeted, clearing his throat before letting out words in a halting manner. “Mi-mister Papiku, I’d prepared all the documentation and mediated with all parties, but it is only thanks to Robert’s efforts that mister Kumar’s plan has played out smoothly. He took over when the budget exceeded and contracts broke. Only by his expertise and hard work, Kumar’s family will have a new identity in the West. He settled the ventures that will provide the plain villages with the infrastructure to raise production. And his idea started the business to provide funds for the clan’s special…war.”

“Too much information, lawyer. I have a headache now.” Papiku probed his teeth with the tongue, producing a series of sharp, snapping noises that grated on the ears, each sound more unsettling than the last. “But I suppose it was necessary. If that is true, then thanks to you I can get rid of my ties with Kumar. I will receive double my pay and my family in the valley will flourish. If all goes well, I swear you will never have to worry about me or my people. Take my word as a gift. I never lie and I never break a promise.”

‘Updating…’

‘Rob, this man could be a sea krait.’ Lim said. ‘Official reports never confirmed the rumours of death. Ivan Diman’s descriptions in ‘Whispers of the South’ describe one of them as a Yeranee: Der’Salar, the Scout.’

‘Noted. Please call me Robert. I like it more.’

‘Noted. Please call me Claudia. I like it more.’

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Robert took a long breath as one of the sand warriors whispered in Papiku’s ear. The words in a local dialect didn’t escape to him. “The opening is ready. First ones are coming out. Reports of all going as planned, but they informed Kumar is sick.”

Under Papiku’s stern command, they embarked on a gruelling ascent over the rocky hill at a pace too fast for most. Evening shadows deepened and the uneven terrain grew treacherous. Robert, though weary, remained vigilant, his every step measured to avoid disaster. Papiku and the sandmen climbed with the agility of mountain goats and Robert followed with the same ease, although of all the group Kishnet struggled to maintain his footing and lingered behind.

When they reached a small clearing nestled between the slope and a sheer cliff looming ahead, several men burst forth from a narrow opening in the rock. Their faces bore the marks of exhaustion and fear, and their bodies the dust and blood of who has been crawling through steep, narrow holes for a long time. Papiku seized one by the collar of his filthy shirt and hissed. “Where is Kumar?”

The man’s voice failed him, but his trembling hand pointed to the hole. Soon, Kumar emerged—a man gaunt and frail, his face sucked in illness. He coughed weakly, extending a trembling hand towards Kishnet in a gesture of greeting.

“This is Robert,” the lawyer said.

Kumar reached out, clasping Robert’s hand with a surprising firmness. “I couldn’t have finished this without your help. You have my eternal gratitude. Behind me is Macha, the boy who has assisted me from within. Please trust him as if he were my own. He will help you with everything else, since I have little more time. Perhaps just enough to see my daughter one last time.”

Kumar coughed again, more violently this time. “Where is my daughter?”

“In the town of Ahshi. It was too dangerous for her to stay here. Kish will help you down, and I will ease your illness as best as I can so you will reach there alive. I promise.” Robert replied.

‘His consumption is advanced. You shouldn’t have promised.’

Leaving the rest behind, Robert slowly moved to the escape hole. ‘It won’t hurt him to have hope.’

The next prisoner to merge from the mountain had a face Robert instantly recognized from his data memory, though time had weathered him. The once youthful features were now hardened, shaped by harsh conditions. As Macha had written in his secret letters, disguised as business documents for a fictitious prospecting company, he indeed had lost an arm, the limb severed at the elbow. Yet, he moved as if it had always been that way.

‘You must not tell him about me, Rob.’

‘I won’t tell him the truth about you or about me. Is better this way.’ Robert said. “Macha, it’s nice to finally meet you. I’m Robert.”

Macha, his clothes and body caked in grime, limped towards them. “Who are you? Where’s Kish?”

“I had introduced myself, didn’t I? Kish is already going to the wagons with Kumar.” Robert moved a welcoming hand towards the path down the hill. “We need to hurry. It won’t be long before the guards find out.”

“You gave me a name only. Who… are… you?” Macha pressed his stance firm, unwilling to budge.

“I am a friend of Lim. I’ll explain everything, but now we must go.”

Macha’s eyes widened. “Lim? Whe-where is she?”

“In Bandanii, at Donna’s shop. We’ll head there soon enough. But first, we need to complete the deals with the Sand Warriors, settle everything with Kumar, and start preparing your new identity.”

“New identity? All I need is a bath. Those guards wouldn’t even recognize my face.” Macha shrugged, descending the path with surprising ease, almost as if he could clearly see in the dim dawn light.

Robert forced a smile, though he felt no inclination to do so, yet it seemed necessary. “Once you reach Bandanii, there’s much more work to be done. A war is coming, and they’ll need our help.”

“How is Em? And Ivy, do you have any news of them? Kish never told me a thing.”

Robert hesitated, waiting until Macha was settled on their wagon, a blanket draped over him. “He didn’t because I ordered him not to..”

Macha’s expression darkened, his gaze fixed on Robert. In the middle of the trail, he halted, silent, expectant. Robert passed by, almost losing his foot against slippery pebbles. Macha insisted, his muffled cry demanding an answer. Robert quietly moved down, committed to tell only when they were in the wagon's safety. Seeing he was ignored, as Robert had predicted, Macha gave up and repressed his descent.

They both climbed into the wagon, Macha at the rear and Robert in the front seat. Gripping the reins, Robert turned to confirm that Macha was sitting well, comfortable on the blankets, and with enough supplies on hand for the trip. Only then, devoid of any emotion, he answered. “Ivy is preparing for war. Em is dead.”