Marek was glad for the silence that followed the immediate escape. He kept his eyes off his partner and focused on making distance between them and the campsite. Just that and nothing else. He purposely suppressed any thoughts about how Diarisa and her people had fared. The colour had a way of sticking with one after the fact. The mind was best put in neutral as it recovered.

A small, lone car in the night was going to stand out to anyone with anything better to rely on than plain human eyesight, but he wasn’t overly worried about that. Habitual raiders knew the Night People better than most. They would almost certainly stay in their own hidey-holes for now.

Dawn announced itself with a lightening of the sky, and something about the increased brightness seemed to put fresh life into Jesop. He began stirring properly just after Marek switched off the night vision.

“All of that… happened,” the man said.

“It happened,” Marek agreed.

“It wasn’t… gas, messing with our brains.”

“It wasn’t.”

Jesop rubbed his face and sighed.

“One hears stories. Of deep-space vessels and stations, the Outer Fringe, weird cults and… loony spacers.”

He stopped the rubbing and just sat still. Marek thought he might have shut down again, but a quick sideways glance confirmed there was life in his eyes at least.

“I guess I am fresh, in a way.”

“It wears off fast around here,” Marek assured him. “I’d say you already have all the basics of life on Parsanna.”

“That’s something, I guess,” Jesop replied. “Though I think-”

An alarm sounded. There was a heat signature behind them. Two, in fact. Marek went from general alertness to combat readiness.

“Look behind us,” he said to Jesop, and the man took the binoculars. Marek steered the car up into a slope to give him a view.

“It’s them!” Jesop said grimly a few seconds later, twisted around his seat. “It’s that other crew Hannoer was friendly with. And that must be the man himself behind them.”

He sat down and readied his rifle.

Marek sped up and took them out of the slope. He took one hand off the wheel to nudge it into one of his special gloves. Then the other.

“I guess it wasn’t a slaughter. That’s something, at least.”

He looked to the western mountains.

“We’re almost to the road. Once we reach the top we’ll have a great defensive position.”

“Do we have time, though?” Jesop asked.

Marek held his reply for a few seconds, and took in the speed of their pursuer. The White Crew seemed to be slightly faster than him.

“We might not,” he admitted.

He’d never gotten a perfect read on what the White Crew was armed with. Plenty of people kept any mounted weapons they had folded away until needed. With that in mind he cut to the right a little, into an area where house-sized chunks of cliff had come tumbling down from the slopes ages ago. Weaving between them meant slowing down a bit, but the alternative meant crossing an unbroken slope for more than a minute; they’d be a near-perfect target.

The Whites followed, while Hannoer remained on a straight course on his slower vehicle. Marek’s mind was divided between Hannoer, the Whites, and the obstacle course. It was a difficult game, but a familiar one. He pushed away everything else and became simply a set of instincts, carefully managing a balance between speed and reaction time.

Sharp left, slight momentary slowdown, soft right, slight speedup, another shorter right, more speedup…

The rocks blew past him as dark blurs and the two other cars existed as split-second glimpses. Jesop was halfway out the window again, trying to get a clear shot with his rifle, but the problem with evasive driving was of course that it cut both ways. Marek was dimly aware of the man firing twice, but the cars remained in pursuit. And now the obstacle course was ending.

Marek risked a more significant slowdown, for the sake of cutting to the right. It put a rise in the landscape between him and Hannoer for a few hundred metres, but also gave the White Crew an opening. A metal rod flew Marek’s way and glanced off the roof’s edge. Jesop fired his third shot back.

“Got the gunner!” he announced, shouting to be heard over the rushing wind and growling car.

Marek took advantage of the last bit of available cover and cut a sharp left to put it between him and the Whites for three seconds. Then he hit the brakes while wrenching the wheel to the right. The car spun violently and the rear tires spat up a great, big cloud of sand. Marek kept the spin going with his right hand while drawing the Thunderer with his left. He stuck the weapon out the window and estimated the moment the Whites emerged into the blinding sand. Then he fired from the left barrel.

There was a searing flash and a monstrous kick. The glove saved Marek’s hand and wrist from the recoil, but a blast of pain still made it through. The shot left the barrel in a rapidly expanding cloud of superheated flakes. The White Crew’s vehicle blew past him by sheer momentum and out of the sand cloud, with a shredded, smoking engine and a shredded, gore-filled driver’s area. It entered the left-side slopes and flipped over.

Hannoer was moments away, and Marek slammed the acceleration.

“Holy shit!” Jesop exclaimed.

Marek ignored him and dearly hoped the man would leave it at that. This was no time for wasted thoughts or seconds. He put the weapon’s dual barrels between his thighs and broke it open. He fished another special round out of his suit and stuck it into the gun before closing. Then it was both hands on the wheel again as the end of their cover approached.

Marek and the gunner who was poking their head out of Hannoer’s war wagon reacted at the exact same moment. Marek wrenched the car into a random direction, and the incoming shot struck naught but sand. Jesop fired an instant later, after adjusting for the sudden shift.

“Got the gunner!” the man shouted.

Hannoer had other weapons, and other people, but Marek took the opportunity to skip evasive driving for a couple of seconds and speed directly towards the western mountains. The road was in sight, and at the end of it was that wonderful defensive position.

Marek watched his pursuers through the rear view. Jesop’s plasma hit square against the engine cover.

“Got them!”

The war wagon shifted direction to follow them, showing no real sign of disability.

“Still no effect!” Jesop added.

“Offworld armour layer,” Marek said in a clipped fashion. “Keep trying.”

Someone poked up the roof to replace the gunner, keeping a much smaller profile than their comrade had. Marek switched back to an evasive pattern. Jesop and the gunner each got off one shot before Marek made it to the road. It had been cleared through a jagged, rocky mountainside by long-ago demo charges, and Marek again had cover. For the moment.

The initial stretch went in a straight line across the slopes and Hannoer was coming around for a peach of a shot. The road could only narrowly allow two vehicles to pass, meaning there was next to no room for dodging. Jesop looked back down the length of his rifle, waiting for that split second he needed. He got it just as Marek reached the first turn, but still the war wagon continued.

“Well, they can’t catch up with us,” Jesop commented, his voice high-strung but under control, as they cut the other way across the slopes.

“Just give their gunner a reason to be careful,” Marek told him, and swerved slightly to avoid a boulder. “We can-”

The radar let out its warning, but Marek didn’t have time to react before a cylinder exploded in the air above them. Flechettes blasted out, hitting the surrounding rock and drawing sparks from the car’s armour.

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“Aska’s taint!” Jesop growled.

“Mm.”

This stretch was shorter than the first, cut off by a split in the mountain itself, and the turn knocked both of them about in their seats. Marek quickly picked up momentum again, but whoever was launching those cylinders accounted for that. The next one burst more to the side than above, and the hood threw up a blinding shower of sparks as the flechettes passed over it.

The left front tire stopped working properly, and the car very nearly smashed into a boulder larger than itself. Marek worked the wheel and compensated. They’d lost a lot of speed very quickly, and trying to pick it up again caused another near-hit.

“Bastards!” his partner shouted, and stuck himself out the window yet again.

“No!” Marek told him. “Move the box!”

“What?”

“The cargo box!”

Marek pointed at the nutrients they were transporting.

“We need a counterweight! Get out and move it!”

Jesop fully unstrapped from his seat and moved in a crouch. The ‘road’ was barely that, and the damaged tire only made things worse. The man was banged about, smacking into the interior in three different ways before making it out onto the cargo area… where of course he had far less to support himself against.

Hannoer was closing the distance. Marek took his eyes off the upcoming bend and drew the Thunderer again. He partially undid his harness and leaned out the window as Jesop struggled to move the heavy box. The war wagon was too far off for a carkiller shot, but the instant the bigger vehicles came into sight Marek fired from the right barrel. The angle wasn’t exactly good for accuracy, but the main point was to make the gunner at least flinch, if only for a moment, and then Marek was around the latest bend.

“Need that counterweight!” Marek shouted.

“Working… on it!” Jesop shouted back, straining hard to manage to transport plate beneath their cargo. The box did move, but the war wagon had nothing to contend with save for its own weight, and the distance continued to shrink. It probably explained why the cylinders had stopped coming.

Jesop finally moved the box enough for him to get himself between it and the divide, and he pushed with both legs. The soil nutrient box moved to where Marek wanted it. Jesop went the extra step of pushing about the other, smaller boxes Marek travelled with, and the car’s balance shifted just enough for the damaged wheel to be less of a hindrance.

They started picking up speed again, but the damage had been done. Hannoer was much closer than before. The next stretch of straight road would be it; there would be an unbroken line of sight between the two of them, and the war wagon would obliterate Marek’s car.

He fed another shell into the Thunderer and closed the weapon. He no longer felt the pain in his arm, although he knew it was there, waiting for him, on the other side of this fight. Jesop was sitting in the cargo area in a shooting position, ready to make a stand with his rifle.

“Get inside!” Marek told him, as the bend up into that lethal stretch of road neared.

“I can-”

“Get inside!” he repeated, and the man obeyed with an air of agitation.

Jesop got back into his seat and stuck his head out the window. There was nothing to see but the sand Marek kicked up as he sent them into the turn at the best speed the damaged tire allowed for.

“Can you lose them?” the man asked. “Before they can bring that main gun to b-”

“No,” Marek said. “I can’t.”

He relied on his instincts, sharpened by years of desert fighting, of driving, fleeing and chasing. He let them tell him when to slow down.

“What are you doing?!” Jesop exclaimed.

“Winning or dying. Be quiet.”

Marek let his hand hover over that one particular button. Jesop, looking wild-eyed, leaned out the window once more with his rifle. But there was still little to see other than the cloud of sand.

Marek slowed, and slowed, and found himself on the edge of that wonderful agony just as the deciding moment came.

His instincts once again moved him, and he hit the button. The boost activated as the war wagon emerged from the sand. His car shot up into the air; a mere four metres, but it was enough for the larger vehicle to pass underneath before gravity reasserted itself.

Marek took the Thunderer out from between his legs with his left hand. Jesop shifted his rifle, and the enemy gunner swivelled the huge gun back to face them.

Marek fired a carkiller shot. Again his arm took an awful blow. The cloud of flakes hit low, around the aft right tire, and tore right through the shielding. The heavy, speeding wagon immediately went into a sharp list and veered uncontrollably to the side, trailing shredded metal and sparks as it went. Its side crashed into the surrounding rocks, creating more sparks, and Marek seized the moment to blow past them. He’d only barely made it before Hannoer’s vehicle hit an outcropping more fully and came to a brutal stop.

Putting your best armour on the front was for people who went headlong into fights. People like Hannoer.

He maintained the best velocity he dared, and up, up, up they went, through one turn after another, until finally they crested the top. Before them was a relatively flat plain, and visible in the distance was a line of lower peaks going over the horizon. He brought the car to a stop and grabbed the binoculars.

“Be at the ready,” Marek said. “Just in case.”

“Sure,” Jesop replied, a bit breathlessly.

Marek bolted out of the car, absolutely flush with sweet, sweet adrenaline. He ran up the rocks he’d just passed, bounding with excess energy that would have his limbs shaking soon enough, until he reached a vantage point that gave him a view over the mountain slope. He took care not to expose his entire silhouette, and settled for poking his head out with the binoculars. A bit of smoke let him locate Hannoer’s war car, and Marek zoomed in slowly enough to keep alert for any sharpshooters.

“Are they coming?!” Jesop asked over the radio.

“No,” Marek told him back. “Most of them look relatively intact, but the car isn’t going anywhere without at least a few hours of repairs. And I think… yes. I hit their water tank. They’re fighting to stop the bleeding.”

He lowered the binocs.

“If I was Hannoer I’d go back down to salvage water from their comrades.”

“So we’ve won?”

Marek hung the binocs around his neck and took the radio in hand.

“We’ve won,” he said into it. “I’m coming back.”

He allowed himself a few seconds to just kneel where he was and grin at having made it. Then he crouch-walked away from the edge before he risked rising, and headed back. Predictably, his legs did start to shake as he strolled down the rocks; his body was collecting back the turbo injection this whole episode had cost. But he didn’t mind that trade.

“So what now?” came Jesop’s voice through the radio, still clutched in Marek’s hand.

“Now it’s just a straight road west. I meant what I told you about always expecting trouble, but things should go smoothly from here on. Places with something worth taking, like produce, always patrol their immediate area.”

“That’s good.”

Marek rounded the final rocks that blocked his view of the car. Jesop stood outside of the vehicle, and Marek walked straight into the sights of his plasma rifle.

He stopped.

“I can take over from here, then,” the man said. He wasn’t angry or hateful, but the weapon in his hands didn’t waver.

“So it’s like that?” Marek said.

“It’s been educational, Marek,” Jesop said, “And I thank you for it,” he added with an effort at sincerity. “You’ve taught me the basics I need to survive here. But I’ll survive better with a strong material start, in addition to wits.”

“True,” Marek replied. He stood unmoving and kept his arms still, mindful of the man’s shooting skills.

“Are you disappointed?” Jesop asked.

“Disappointed?” Marek repeated. “Oh, no. No no. This is common enough.”

“Just survival, like you said.”

“Yes. But let me give you one last lesson.”

“Marek…”

Jesop’s finger tightened around the trigger.

“Just one second,” Marek insisted.

He finished punching the number in with his thumb. Although the bomb in Jesop’s radio was small it was resting right up against his chest. He collapsed, the bang echoed off the neighbouring rocks, and the plasma shot went wide.

Good old Hilda. Her special radios always came through.

Marek put his own radio back into a pocket and started walking again. He drew the boltgun.

“The lesson is… don’t trust new people until they’ve given you a reason to.”

He didn’t know if Jesop’s twitch was a death spasm or a sign of life. Either way, he put a single bolt into the man’s head.

“Well.”

He halfway entered the driver’s area and treated himself to a celebratory quaff of water. Then he pulled out the gory bolt and put it back in the chamber, and then picked up Jesop’s rifle. It really was a fine thing, and the two extra cells on the man’s person had survived the blast. The rifle was going to make a good addition to his arsenal, as soon as he’d disguised it a bit, as he had his keramak blade.

Marek put the weapon and the cells into the car, then went over the body itself. Anything Jesop had been wearing between neck and waist was unsalvageable, but his pants and shoes were fine, and there was always a market for those. He briefly considered taking the body itself along; Undian was an agricultural place, after all. But he’d been Besany’s man, and a certain amount of deniability seemed like a good idea. Who was to say Jesop hadn’t died in the fighting with Hannoer and his men? So Marek dragged the gory remains to the nearest crevice and pushed them in. Then he strolled back to the car and did some makeshift repairs to the tire that would do until he reached the village. Finally, he got into the driver’s seat.

“Still alive,” he said to himself.

His hand went to the starter, but suddenly stopped and hovered there. He found himself wondering. Had Besany told Jesop to kill him, in exchange for either credits or simply a good spot as her new favourite operative? Or had he just wanted the car? People had certainly killed for less. But it seemed that staying away from Tower Town for a while would be a good idea either way. Just the wild places for now.

Marek shrugged. He could put up with the wild places. This had all been a very invigorating exercise, partly brought on by Besany and partly by Hannoer’s quest for revenge for Genner. Marek thought back to Genner's face, as he’d looked at it down the length of his boltgun. He probably could have resolved that situation without pulling the trigger. But then Hannoer wouldn’t have come after him. This would have been a very plain drive, with just the engine, the wind, and his own thoughts. His heart wouldn’t be thundering with life from a close brush with death.

It still waited for him, out on some empty stretch of desert, some rocky crevasse or no-name settlement. In cover of darkness or beneath the burning, deadly light of a dying sun. But not today.

He started the engine.

“Not today.”

He drove off into the west.