He took them down the least busy of the streets out of the urban area surrounding Zezka Tower. Towns made such easy ambush areas. Once out, he swerved around a minor hill to block sight, then went into the planned direction.

Marek sniffed the air in the driver’s area. It was, as always, thick with the scent of metals, plastics, hot engine parts and fluids, but proximity allowed him to pick up what he was looking for.

“You have a spray coating on your rifle,” he said to the other man.

“They gave me one in the tower, free of charge,” Anva Jesop replied. “They warned me that the dust tends to mess with most advanced technology.”

“Hah. There’s nothing free around here,” Marek said. “It’s an incentive, to keep you working for them.”

“I realise that.”

The man glanced back, although only the tower itself remained visible.

“That area beyond the wall doesn’t exactly reek of corporate benevolence.”

“What does?” Marek asked.

“Their ads.”

Marek shared a sardonic grin with the man.

“Do I call you Anva, Jesop, or both? There are more naming conventions than there are stars.”

“Jesop will do. What about you? Just Marek?”

“Just Marek. Names… names are living creatures. They carry their luggage and come with their own histories.”

It felt like the dumbest thing he’d ever said, and he quickly carried on.

“You know, about your rifle: You really will need to take very good care of it to keep it functioning, but it’s worth it. It’ll give you an advantage over most people you encounter. And unless you’re just going to stay behind that wall and stand guard for Zezka, you need to mind every advantage you can possibly squeeze forth.”

“Hmm. You said nothing around here is free, and yet you’re giving out a lot of free advice.”

“Since we’re working together I’m better off if you know how things work around here,” Marek replied. “Doubly so if we work together again in the future.”

He turned to the man.

“See? Advantages. They come in many forms.”

“They do,” Jesop said, and mirrored Marek’s grin. “You know your stuff. Are you a native, or have you been here a long time?”

Marek turned his attention back to the sand road, even though there were no obstructions or shifts in the landscape in the area.

“Marek was born in the sands,” he said. It felt far more foolish in the air than it did inside his head, but Jesop evidently had the sense to note the distance in Marek’s eyes and shifted topics.

“But who do you have after you?”

Marek looked at him.

“I’m fresh here,” Jesop said. “But that doesn’t mean I’m fresh in general. You’re worried about being followed. And like you said: It’s best for both of us if I’m informed.”

Since they were already off there was little point in being cagey. Marek just went for it.

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“A fellow named Hannoer. He’s a sub-leader in a group called the Rock Snakes. They’re not the worst you’ll find around here, but they’re nasty all the same.”

He pointed back the way they’d come.

“It’s fairly easy to get out of town without getting cut off, but there are plenty of spots a person can see a looong way with a set of binoculars. I don’t know that they’re after me, but I know they’re trying.”

Jesop nodded with the calm of a man who was indeed not fresh.

“Numbers?” he asked.

“Four that I know of.”

“Well.”

Jesop patted his plasma rifle.

“We have this.”

“We certainly do.”

For a while the only sound was the unending whine of the engine, the wheels, and the wind. Nepil, Parsanna’s giant star, rose ever higher, casting its red-hued light over the sands. When it occurred to him, Marek found it a bit funny to reflect that red giants were in fact cooler than younger stars. It was simply the proximity to the ever-expanding surface that was cooking Parsanna to death.

The temperature climbed from hot to burning, and noon was still a couple of hours off. Even with the air conditioning working at full capacity Marek could feel the heat starting to penetrate his suit. There was the early itch and chill of his skin opening up, followed by wet spots inside of his already-rank suit. But that’s why he had the water tank. He drank regularly from the tube leading to it, and reminded Jesop to do the same.

All quite standard, and quite dull, until they arrived at the bridge. It was strategically located where a great chasm emerged from a range of cliffs no car could cross. A sturdy gate put together from discarded metal beams kept the covered bridge closed. On Marek’s side of it were two large cargo containers that had been converted into housing. A pipe emerged from the ceiling of one, from which rose dark, dirty smoke.

“Toll,” Marek said. “Keep your hands off your rifle, and stay inside.”

“Alright.”

Marek screwed down the window on his side and brought the car to a gradual halt next to the containers. From the closer one strode a man in a desert robe and a wide-brimmed hat, with a heavy gun slung across his back. Visible in the doorway were two women and a teenage boy, all with matching dark skin tones.

“Ah, it’s you!” the family patriarch said as he came up to the car.

“It’s me,” Marek replied. “Just need to use your little shortcut, that’s all.”

“And a new one,” the bridge guard added, tilting his head to look at Jesop. “What are you moving?”

Marek realised he’d neglected to tell his partner to keep quiet, and subtly moved his foot over to press down on Jesop’s.

“Just came into some engine parts. Thought I’d try to get a price for them down south.”

“The south’s getting bad, I hear,” the man replied, a bit slurred due to a slightly crooked jaw. “Worse than usual, I mean. Migration is becoming more frequent. And that means more stirrings from the Haunters.”

“I know, I know,” Marek said, and did his best to seem casual, even as his gut began to electrify with the muscle memory of what was coming. “Maybe I’ll find someone who’s desperate to get a big crawler in working order.”

“I think all the big crawlers have already gone,” the man sighed. “But try, if you like.”

“How much for the bridge?” Marek asked.

“Ten litres, or eighty credits.”

“I can spare the credits more,” Marek said, and went into the lockbox built into the car’s floor. He handed the printed bills over and the man signalled to the further container. The gate swung open and Marek waved farewell as he stepped on the accelerator.

“South?” Jesop commented as the window closed.

“In case Hannoer comes through and asks,” Marek told him. “He’s a heck of a tracker, but it’s worth a try.”

Jesop looked back as they entered the covered bridge.

“Might also have flat-out asked him to give false information,” the man said.

“If he’d known I have someone on my tail he would have raised the price.”

“We do have this,” Jesop said and patted his rifle.

“Well, they have remote-activated landmines,” Marek said as they neared the other side. “Check out the damage to that rock.”

Jesop took in the rock as they passed it, wearing a slightly stunned expression.

“And I’m happy to avoid the extra cost,” Marek added. “But it’s nothing to take personally. Same as with Hannoer. He feels he has a blood debt against me, and worries that not collecting it will make him look weak.”

The cliffs receded rapidly on the left as Marek kept building up speed. Here, beyond the chasm, the true wilderness opened up.

“That’s all it is,” he kept on, even as his attention faded away from the conversation. “That’s all it ever is, out here.”

He felt it come over him. The desert. Him against it. It against him. This ongoing fight that would one day claim his life, either in the darkness or beneath the burning light of Nepil. The scream of the wind as the speedometre climbed and climbed, and the rumbling of the engine.

“Survival.”