The Grey Bridge technically lived up to its name, but only on patches here and there, fleetingly exposed by the whims of the winds. Like everything else that didn’t see heavy traffic or regular sweeps, it was covered by desert dust. It had been built over what was either a gorge or an old waterway. The distinction had long since become irrelevant.

Marek hugged the row of walls on his right as he walked down the street that led to the bridge. Sure, strolling down the middle would look terribly flashy and all that, but he preferred the potential for cover.

Mid-Town was nearby, little more than a stone’s throw away from the bridge. Rising from it was Zezka Tower, supported by four great cables that were fastened to solid foundations well outside of the urban area. The sturdy structure climbed up and up and up, kilometre after kilometre, rising so high that in daylight the ships that docked were only barely visible to the naked eye.

It could of course be seen from every street and corner in town, but the stroll to the bridge meant a long, fully unbroken view of everything save the very base. Marek wondered if that had been deliberate; if the point of the meeting place was a reminder of what she represented. She was prone to displays.

Ultimately, he simply didn’t care, and let that idle thought blow away like the dust that swirled by his feet. He would stay alert so he could survive today, and see about making some money so he could survive tomorrow.

Day was starting and the tower was almost fully illuminated by the looming sun when he arrived at the bridge. Marek checked his weapons, looked about at the empty surroundings, then started walking across. He kept to the thickest layers of sand for the sake of stealth. He always went to pains to make sure none of his regular equipment clinked or creaked with movement, and felt he made it halfway across with no real noise. Once there, he stepped up to the rail, peeked down, then vaulted over it.

The drop was higher than the one in the tavern, but the sand still made for a tolerable landing. The three people beneath the bridge were badly startled, and the two with rifles swung them around.

“It’s me,” he said calmly as he recognised his prospective client. “It’s me.”

“Funny,” the woman in the centre hissed. “Very funny.”

“Nothing funny about it,” he replied. “Just didn’t want to be too obvious, in case of… well, funny business.”

“Just regular business, Marek,” she said, and signalled for her security to lower their guns. The two of them wore the standard Zezka Security armour, complete with a helmet that hid everything between the eyes and the jaw.

“Do you have names, or do I just call you Scenery?” Marek asked them.

The two people just sneered.

“Eyes front, Marek,” their boss demanded.

“So what can I do for you, Besany?”

She walked closer. As always, the company woman wore stylishly cut clothes of vibrant colours, her only real concession to the planetary climate being that they were made of hardy materials. Her somewhat suspiciously perfect face crinkled in disgust.

“You can bathe.”

Marek scratched the raggedy beginning of a full beard he’d grown out of simple apathy.

“I just got up.”

“You always smell of something,” she added.

“And you never smell of anything. It’s unnatural.”

“It’s called civilisation.”

“I’m sure you miss it very much,” he said, and crooked one corner of his mouth upwards. “It’s a shame you’ve fallen down to this, skulking about to meet someone like me out of sight. I mean, I take it you’re not here with King Vallan’s blessings-”

“Regional Operations Manager Vallan,” Besany said with irritation.

“Oh, he’s made himself king and you know it,” Marek said with the kind of casualness he knew annoyed her to no end. “With control of that tower, he-”

“Anyone on this planet is free to establish a docking tower of their own,” Besany said. “It is not the company’s fault that no one can manage.”

“I would argue that it is.”

“Marek. I need you to make a delivery.”

“Talk.”

“A shipment to Undian. Do you know it?”

“Minor village, right?” Marek said. “Not even that far away? Independent agri-place?”

“Yes,” Besany said. “And they need soil nutrients before the next planting. Within ninety hours.”

She activated a holographic map. The capital, such as it was, shone brightly on one side of it, and Undian shone on the other, past stretches of desert and mountains alike.

“Can you get it done?” she asked.

“Hmmm.”

Marek trailed his finger east away from the mountain village, then dragged it in a straight line south.

“That’s a skull road,” he said. “Popular raider target, on account of the regular caravans. There will be a caravan setting out in about forty hours, going north. I can reach them in time, if I go over the empty stretch, here...” He continued indicating. “It will be a dangerous road, followed by a marginally safer one, IF I reach the caravan.”

“I am offering you two thousand Zezka credits,” Besany said. “That ought to cover it.”

“Should it?”

She gave him a dark look.

“Two thousand for a dangerous, relatively short job, sure. I can accept that,” Marek told her. “But you’re not supposed to be doing this, are you?”

The dark look continued.

“You’re going behind King Vallan’s back, aren’t you?” he went on. “If this was a company job... why not just fly the nutrients over? But you’ve got some kind of backroom deal.”

“I sure hope you’re not trying to blackmail me, Marek,” she said in a tone that matched her look.

“Not my style,” he replied. “I just want a payment that matches the job. This brings us up to two thousand, five hundred.”

She opened her mouth but he continued.

“Also, this must be very important to you, or you wouldn’t be handing this off at the last minute to a man you can’t stand. If you had other options you would be using them. So… three thousand, Besany.”

She glared at him hatefully, but it became clear that no logic-based counter argument was coming, and so he simply stood his ground.

“Time sensitive, remember?” he said.

Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

“Fine,” she said through her teeth. “Three thousand. But one other thing. And no, you are not getting paid extra for that. I am sending someone with you.”

“Oh?”

“For extra security, you see. He just arrived on the planet. His name is Anva Jesop-”

“You want a softskin on an important job?”

“He’s done his share of shooting,” Besany said. “Call this a test of his usefulness. I want to know if I can rely on him for future jobs.”

Marek shrugged, and withheld any further complaints or observations. Riding with strangers was nothing new.

“And you’re paying him separately?”

“I am.”

“Good. Tell him to meet me outside of Two Cross Storage. That’s where I’m keeping my car.”

“Fine. I will have him bring the shipment on a rented skiff.”

“What’s the weight?

“Four hundred kilos.”

“Not optimal for my current car, but it’ll work,” Marek said. “Have him bring my payment as well.”

“Up front, eh?” she said, and crossed her arms. The corp rep really did have a whole arsenal of dirty looks.

“I’m not coming back to town right away,” he said. “Someone here wants to kill me.”

“You animals always are clawing away at each other,” Besany said. “Fine. I will have Anva Jesop bring you a sealed voucher. The manager in Undian will have the means to pay it out.”

“Good,” Marek said. “Then-”

“I will set a kill team on you if you screw me over,” she warned.

“Then I think we’re set.”

“The clock is moving mercilessly, Marek,” Besany said. “When will you be at that storage?”

“I…”

He thought for a moment.

“I don’t have supplies prepared for a desert run. Give me ninety minutes.”

“Fine.”

She set a timer on her wristband.

“Ninety minutes. Now get going. I have an air conditioned apartment to return to.”

“Open a cold one for me.”

“No.”

Marek grinned, and started walking.

“See you, Besany. And Scenery.”

He saluted and walked on up the side of the channel. Once he was a bit of a distance away from the Grey Bridge he ran into the nice, big, roomy doorway of a storage building and took out his comm. He knew it was late to be making calls, but Hilda understood that her particular business wasn’t bound by hours.

“Yes?” she said drowsily upon waking up to his call.

“Hilda. It’s Marek. I have a desert job on short notice. I need basic supplies. Also, I need you to rig up two of your special radios. Real fast.”

# # #

Two Cross Storage had no sign, literacy being a very irregularly distributed skill. Instead it was marked by two large, plain crosses, put together from scrap metal and mounted on top of both of the main buildings. Cross’s business depended on security, and so the grounds were surrounded by a spike-topped fence. But the gate had been opened, and Marek simply strolled through. The motion detector triggered a loud chime, and Cross himself looked Marek’s way. As ever, he wore a mechanic’s suit stained with engine fluids.

“Oh, hello.”

“Blessings, Cross,” Marek said. “Is everything ready?”

“Of course,” the man replied. “I kept busy while you were drowning your brain.”

“My brain learned to swim long ago.”

“Hah!” barked the wild-haired man.

He carried a bucket filled with awful, vat-grown protein lumps that vaguely resembled meat over to a roofed pen. From within came an angry, deep-throated snort and the rattle of a sturdy chain.

“Just put her away,” Cross said as he started throwing lumps into the gloom.

“Activated the winch, you mean.”

“That’s what I said.”

He finished, and they walked away from the sounds of a lazak feeding. Cross made sure she had an appetite during the night, when she stood guard.

“Your car’s fully charged up, fully fuelled, fully watered, and I replaced that coil spring. You are fully good to go.”

“Good, good, good,” Marek said and rubbed his hands together. With last night’s celebration wearing off more and more, he was starting to feel that pre-run excitement.

Standing outside one of the garages was a man Marek guessed to be in his twenties. His round face was clean-shaven, his hair was cut down to millimetres, and he had a compact rifle slung across his back. He also stood next to a small skiff.

“Anva Jesop, I take it?” Marek said as he closed the distance.

“I am,” the man said. “Marek?”

“That’s me.”

Marek held his open palm out. After a moment’s hesitation the younger man copied the gesture and Marek touched hands with him.

“There. Now we can work together.”

Cross opened the garage. Marek’s car wasn’t pretty; nothing with any experience was. But it was highly functional: an open cargo area, sturdy tires, heavy-duty suspension, and thin armour over everything even slightly vulnerable.

“You see yourself out, Marek,” Cross said. “I have another customer to take care of.”

“Sure, Cross.”

Marek and his new partner took one another in for a few moments.

“So, how much did the esteemed Zezka rep tell you?” Marek then asked.

“To bring you that shipment...” Anva Jesop said, and pointed at the skiff, “... to give you this…” he handed over a sealed tube, “... and that this would be a three or four-day trip into the desert.”

“Did she tell you it would be dangerous?”

“I rather took it as given,” the man replied and tapped his weapon.

“Fair enough,” Marek said.

He took a couple of steps back and opened the tube. Within was the voucher, and it was indeed marked for three thousand.

“And you really are fresh planetside?”

The man shrugged with a somewhat badly feigned air of indifference.

“Yes. I just sort of drifted this way. Now I need to make a living, and I understand Zezka is it around here.”

“They are the path of least resistance, if you’re into that sort of thing.”

“I am into surviving with a minimum of hassle.”

Marek grinned.

“Oh, there’s plenty of hassle around here. And there are plenty of angles to surviving, in the desert and the towns alike. If you want, I’ll fill you in as we go along.”

“I’m not too proud to learn,” the man said. “Sure, give it to me.”

“First, first of all...” Marek said, “Clothing.”

He indicated the armoured jumpsuit that was his standard wear.

“Are you wearing a temp-layer?”

“I am,” Anva Jesop replied and lifted his jacket and the shirt beneath. He was wearing one of those thin, bluish-white ones that Zezka used as a standard. A brand-new one.

“Second: Do you have a basebag?”

“I have… a bag,” the man said. “With some necessities. What’s a basebag?”

“A bag with the basics,” Marek explained, and held his own up. “Antiseptics. Cut-clue. Radiation pills. Basic calorie sticks. An extra compass. Flares. Goggles. Breather. Things like that.”

“I have some of those things,” the man said, a bit awkwardly. “I do have the pills; I know what the sun is like here.”

Marek laughed soundlessly.

“Well, see about filling it up in the future,” he told his partner. “You never know what might happen, or when you have absolutely nothing to rely on except yourself.”

“Sound,” the man replied. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

“And do you have a radio?”

“I own a comm,” Anva Jesop said and held up a pretty standard-looking one. “I set it to the Zezka network.”

“Mm.”

Marek went into his bag.

“The network isn’t perfect, and the dust tends to wreak havoc on typical devices. Here, have this. It’s a loan, just to be clear.”

He handed him one of a pair of boxy, sturdy radios, freshly whipped up by good old Hilda.

“They’re short-range, but hardened against basically anything the desert can throw at it. Good to have when you’re travelling with other people.”

The man took the gizmo and went over its buttons and basic functions.

“Keep it on you at all times,” Marek stressed. “You never know.”

“Sure,” the man said with a sigh. “You never know.”

Marek did a quick check of the engine, the suspension, the tires, the cooling system, the water tank and the things he generally kept in the cargo area and behind the seats. He trusted Cross as much as he did anyone with whom he did frequent business, but there was simply no excuse not to check for oneself.

Everything was in order, and together they unhooked the sealed box of soil nutrients from the skiff and fastened it to the cargo area.

“So, are we ready to go?” the younger man asked.

“One last thing.”

Marek took two metal cups from a holder inside the car, then poured water into each from the car’s tank. He handed his partner one.

“Sip before a trip.”

They toasted. Marek then looked to the east. Through the fence he could already see the shimmer of the scorching heat that awaited them.

“Welcome to Parsanna,” he said. “Welcome to a dying world. Now let me show you what it’s about.”