“And here we are,” Marek announced as the settlement came within visual range on the windshield. “A water village.”

Jesop made some neutral sound in his throat, and kept on watching ahead with the binoculars. Marek slowed his approach little by little as they got closer; small, isolated places like this bred twitchy trigger fingers. Once a few hundred meters remained he blew the horn twice, to be absolutely sure he’d be noticed. Good manners had practical applications, and those included not getting shot.

“So, is this typical?” Jesop asked as the defensive wall, cut from the surrounding stone, filled their view.

“In a lot of ways,” Marek replied, and began the final slowdown. “Once you get out of Zezka’s little network of influence.”

“And what is their network like, anyway?”

Marek turned at him with a smirk.

“Don’t trust your bosses to be honest?”

“I just want some outsider perspectives before I commit to anything, that’s all.”

“Mm.” Marek shrugged. “Some minor trade trickles along the biggest routes. There is still some fossil goop to be found, deep down, and some useful minerals. People who sit on top of deposits funnel those to Tower Town, and reap offworld benefits in return. But most places you’ll find are more like this. Just surviving.”

The gate was made of various ancient sheets of metal, welded together and put on hinges. Marek brought the car to a full stop before them, and killed the engine.

“Don’t say anything,” Marek said. “And don’t finger your rifle.”

He climbed out the back window, then stepped on top of the cabin. The sky was hinting at dawn, and he could just make out figures on top of the wall.

“I bring greetings!” Marek shouted. “And I bring an offering of flesh, fairly taken! May it bring life to soil and beast! I ask for entrance and shelter!”

There was a bit of a pause, followed by some shouts whose details escaped him, before the gate began creaking open. Marek hopped down and got back behind the wheel.

“Oh, one last thing,” he said. “Don’t laugh at anything. Fresh people sometimes find these places silly.”

“I can be polite,” Jesop said.

“Good. Because if you talk your way into a beating I won’t get in the way.”

He rolled the car through the gate at the pace of a calm stroll. Gathered around to witness the scene were a handful of people in ratty robes, and stood right in Marek’s path was a person in the fanciest ratty robe, complete with a headdress.

He stopped the car, the gate was closed, and Marek got out again.

“Be welcome!” the local leader barked, in one of those wholly unique accents that grew in places like this. “Welcome to this den of the Flowing God!”

“I accept your welcome with gratitude,” Marek said. “My water tank suffered damage in the waste. I ask for the blessing of your god.”

“The Flowing God is in all life,” the leader reminded him, and Marek quietly scolded himself for messing up something so basic. “But where is your offering?”

Marek strolled to the back of the cargo area. He took his time getting in, and used the extra seconds to take the locals in. They were on the short side, Desert Kissed, of course, and were showing some early hints of a thinning gene pool.

He then pulled the tarp away from his offering. He bent down, gripped the upper half of the dead raider, then hoisted it up above his head.

“Here is my offering!” he announced with a reverence he hoped he wasn’t overdoing, and threw the half-carcass down into the sand. “Fairly taken, as I said!”

He threw the bottom half down as well, and the leader gave both parts a quick examination before signalling to a few of the locals.

“Your offering is true,” the man said. “You shall have from our life-giving deep pipe. But it will take some time. We pump only as needed. The Flowing God is not to be taken for granted.”

“I know,” Marek said. “That is wise of you,” Religious creeds aside, not having water stored away for ready access made raids a bit less likely. “Gratitude to the life-giving Flowing God. So may I and my partner walk freely?”

“Walk freely and be welcome, traveller. Bring trade, if you have any.”

The two halves of the raider were dragged off towards a greenhouse complex, and after a few looks into the cargo area most of the locals drifted off. Still, Marek didn’t need to look around to know that, as newcomers, they were still being kept an eye on.

Jesop got out of the car. He slung the rifle across his back, but kept his general demeanour at ease. It took standing close to him to note the alertness in his eyes.

Yes, he really was fresh only in the sense of being new to Parsanna.

“So, are there services in places like this?” the man asked as Marek joined him.

“Some of them, but this is on the small side.”

Marek looked around, at what little he could see in the limited light.

“I passed through here once before. But it was really brief, and about two years ago. Someone else did the talking then. There is usually someone who poses as doctor, and a blackfinger of some sort. But we’re both fine, and I can fix the car right up myself. As soon as I have the time.”

He got down on the ground and crawled back beneath the car with a light in this hand.

“Are the seals still holding?” Jesop asked.

Marek touched the seals they’d laboured together to fit to the water tank.

“They’re holding, for now. But given the run we’re still in for, I think I can do better.”

He touched them some more.

“Adrenaline is life itself at times. But it does make your hands shake after the fact.”

“Do you need me for anything?”

“Just hold a light in place.”

Jesop fetched the light he’d used earlier and knelt down with it, putting his face in view.

“This Hannoer fellow… what do we do if he comes this way?” he asked after Marek had been working for a little while. “Will they just let him in to kill us, or will he wait outside for them to show us the door?”

“Oh, I don’t think he’ll come this way,” Marek told his partner. “That canyon stretches a long way, he doesn’t know our water tank got hit, and there are other places we could have gone to. Our biggest potential problem is if he got word on where we’re headed. Then the smart and easy thing for him to do is to just go there and wait.”

Marek fell silent for a little bit as he chewed on the facts.

“Alright, I have another lesson for you: When you come across people who look seasoned, assume they’ll do the smart thing. Toughness and smarts can each last you for a bit, but eventually you need to be tough and smart.”

“Makes sense,” Jesop said. “Those two are the perfect combination.”

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Marek finished. The tank was as sealed off as it could be without him devoting hours to the task. Marek crawled back out from beneath the vehicle and stood up.

“Do you think we have time to stroll around a bit, before we have that water?” Jesop asked.

“Oh, sure. It’s not like this place is big. Just keep your radio on.”

“Got it right here.”

Jesop patted the pocket on his chest. Then he cleared his throat and looked slightly awkward.

“I don’t suppose…”

“You’re hoping to find prostitutes?” Marek interjected.

The man chuckled a little.

“Seems a bit silly, maybe. But clearly this place sees some traffic. We’re not the only guests here.”

“No.” Marek peered at the vaguely visible cars on the other side of the compound. “Probably traders. Look, I don’t think you’re going to wet your stick in exchange for money here, but there’s an alternative.”

“Oh?”

“Places like this… look, find someone old enough to have a bit of authority. Talk about wanting to seed. Use garden metaphors. Don’t be afraid to lay it on a bit thick. If you’re lucky and maybe pass a bit of a health check they might introduce you to a woman of child-bearing age. Places like this are often happy for a bit of new blood in their pool.”

The man shrugged with an amused look.

“I can… try that. Sure. Heh. You’re not going to try it yourself?”

“Not this time. I’m going to go over the cooling system a little, and then see if our hosts have anything to trade.”

“Suit yourself.”

Jesop took a moment to select a direction at random. Marek opened the hood. He’d put a temporary seal over the hole punched by the flechette and replaced the severed cooling cable, but it was all worth a closer look. It was the kind of unexciting precision work that saved one’s life in the long run, and he got to it.

Dull and focus-demanding though the job was, it didn’t shut off his alertness. He was perfectly aware of the three people as they approached his general direction, preceded by the creaks of reinforced riding suits, which he’d seen none of the locals wear.

Marek pretended to remain absorbed in his task while catching them in his peripheral vision. The men were taking a bit of a curve around him and his car, just enough to avoid a confrontation, and talking angrily among themselves. It was one of those awful, far-east dialects one heard from some traders. He caught a general promise of violence, echoing between the three of them and picking up momentum. He also caught an interesting appellation.

Marek let the trio pass out of immediate range, then closed the hood. He tapped a finger on it for a few seconds, and went over the available facts. There were several reasons why this wasn’t the time to get into an avoidable confrontation, but a potential couple for why it actually might be.

Those angry three weren’t allowing him much time, though, so he gave up on thinking and let his gut take over. It walked him away from the car and after the men and their target. The pains he took to keep his suit quiet paid off yet again, and he managed to follow their creaks and clinks without being noticed in turn. They led him down along a section of the wall, past a truck converted into a house. Then he went past the guarded temple that had been built up around the water pump, and the chants that emanated from it. Finally he was heading towards the wall on the other side.

It was an area nestled up against a cliff, marked by a faintly unpleasant smell and a whole lot of mechanical equipment, all of it abandoned until some part or other might be needed. It was the kind of place a community would throw barely-tolerated guests, and soon enough Marek heard the raised voices he’d been expecting.

The three were playing out a familiar script: Psyching each other up for violence while needling their target for any kind of justification for their anger.

Marek sped up his steps into the darkness, and checked his weapons. The Thunderer was complete overkill for this situation, but its sheer profile could make for a good statement. If it actually came to violence he’d rely on his blade and the boltgun.

As he stepped around the hulk of a long-dead digger, he could see the glow of a small light. He’d only taken two steps towards it when the increasingly agitated voices fell silent. Marek maintained his pace, and soon enough he came upon a lone silhouette. It stood by a weak flame, guttering by the gas slowly being let out of an oddly shaped bottle that stood in the sand. Gathered around were three limp forms.

“Greetings, warrior,” the figure said, in the calm, easy manner of a certain kind of faithful.

Marek stepped close enough to make the man out. He was unimposing and wore a desert robe, complete with a hood that was cut and sewed to be far taller than it needed to be. Complete with simple tassels lining the sleeves, it erased any doubt as to his identity.

“Greetings, Waste Priest,” Marek replied.

“What brings you?” the priest asked.

Marek pointed at the unmoving men.

“These fellows looked like trouble. Talked like it, too.”

“Those of the east tend not to care for our preaching,” the priest said. “So they did not care for my arrival.”

“I know,” Marek said. “That’s why I… thought I’d follow them.”

The priest took two languid steps his way, looking entirely at ease in spite of everything. He came close enough for Marek to make out a smile on the man’s sun-baked lips, every bit as easy as his bearing.

“Was it kindness, though?”

The question was simple and unaccusatory, but it still put him a bit on edge.

“Kindness has the same purpose as everything else,” Marek replied after a moment’s hesitation. “Survival.”

“You speak of survival, yet your trail is fast and crimson and without destination,” the priest said.

Marek went through another, longer, pause.

“We all have the same destination,” he then said.

“The darkness that waits,” the priest replied, staring at Marek with that odd, calm madness of his faith. “To whom you have sent so many in your own place.”

“Life is a battle,” Marek said, and somehow couldn’t tell if he himself was agitated or not.

“Of course it is,” the priest said. “Of course it is. Though ultimately a losing one.”

He fell silent for a few moments, but Marek didn’t get the feeling he himself was expected to fill it, so he just waited,

“You have wet the sand on your way here,” the priest said as he continued. “It speaks of your path. Kindness or not, I will grant you what fortune I can.”

“Thank you,” Marek said. “And the price?”

The priest’s smile changed, though into what Marek couldn’t say, any more than he could make sense of the strange madness of his overly calm demeanour.

“Once you need my gift, warrior…” the man said. “... strike a blow. Poke your finger into the eye of darkness.”

“I am good at striking blows,” Marek said neutrally.

“You are.” The priest started walking again. “So you have no reason not to.”

He passed by Marek, the bottom of his robe hissing softly against the sand and dust.

“Just remember, warrior: Obligations are a serious matter. Do not attempt to shirk yours.”

“I won’t,” Marek said, as the man began to vanish into the gloom between barely-standing structures.

“Good.”

Marek watched until the priest had fully disappeared, then he took Hilda’s special radio in hand.

“Yes?” Jesop said on the other end.

“A man in a robe is going to go over the car,” Marek told him. “Don’t shoot him or anything. Unless you see him take something from it.”

“Thanks for telling me. But I’m not by the car. Can we cut this short, I’m…”

“Sure, sure,” Marek said. “Just going to see about a bit of trade.”

He ended the call and put the radio back. One of the easterners groaned. There wasn’t much consciousness in it, and Marek considered filching some of their possessions. But these men might have connections here, and he wasn’t sure how long that water ritual business would take. He instead started a slow walk, and let the priest’s words play around in his head.

# # #

They got their water, with a rather excessive amount of ceremony, and by the time Nepil’s burning bulk started filling the sky again they drove off, out of the gate and into the sands.

“You’re looking chipper,” Marek commented.

Jesop stretched out in his seat.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah. I, uh, contributed.”

“You did some planting,” Marek said.

“I did some planting,” Jesop replied, and grinned. Then he took another look at the window in each door, the windshield, and the hood. On the margins of each were drawn intricate, curling symbols, in dark-red clay. “You were getting up to something else.”

“I was,” Marek said, and focused his attention forward.

“Am I really going to have to ask what these are?”

“The blessings of a priest,” Marek told him. “A very particular kind of priest.”

Jesop examined the marks a bit more.

“You go for that kind of stuff?”

Marek worked his jaw a little.

“Once you’ve spent a lot of time in the wastes… you might find yourself going for a whole lot of things.”

“You’re still being mysterious, I see,” Jesop said.

“Would you prefer I was boring?”

“Hah.”

The man pointed at the fresh repairs on the hood.

“Marek, there is no risk of me being bored.”

“Oh, good.”

Jesop stretched his legs out and leaned back in the seat.

“Fine. Be mysterious.”

“Shake your head all you like,” Marek told him calmly. “Just do me a favour and don’t mess with those marks. They’ll peel away on their own in three or four days anyway.”

“I don’t mind your little art project.”

Marek felt the desert come over him again. He didn’t even need to look into the rearview to know that the water village was disappearing from sight. Jesop did look back, though.

“And there it goes,” the man commented.

He faced front again.

“They were very silly, though.”

“Yes. They are.”