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degrees above the horizon. The monk. Another rock outcropping.
    Then he decides: “Okay. Unless someone has a better idea, here’s the plan.” He squats by the water bottles, tossing them to anyone who doesn’t already have one, then an extra to each of the groups that look to be families. Harbin starts distributing jackets to underdressed passengers.
    “Harbin and I will cut over that way along the other side of the mesa and–”
    “But they said the way to the mine was that way,” a passenger objects, pointing down the valley.
    “Just ’cause they handed us a crap sandwich doesn’t mean we have to eat it. Just deal with it. Now, the sun is still low, so you can move into and through the shadows on the east side of the canyon for a while. By noon it’ll be getting hot. Find a shady spot, lie down, and sleep if you can. Move out again in the evening as it cools. If you come across any water it’ll have a lot of alkaloids, so DON’T DRINK IT! And–” Cutting himself off, he pats at a few of the many pockets in his traveler's coat. His face brightens. “Ha! Here.” He pulls out a series of tiny flashlights, checks them and tosses one each to four groups.
    “Always kept a supply of these handy for the kids. You’ll need to march all night to keep from freezing, but don’t go too fast or you’ll sweat and get dehydrated and exhausted. Save your water until tonight if you can. A couple of big turns down the canyon, you’ll see the prison mine. Find a spot just around the bend, out of sight on the west side, and wait for us. Harbin and I’ll take the cut around the other side of the mesa. We’ll sneak in, grab something flyable, zip out to grab you, and get as much airspace as we can between us and them as fast as we can. We’ll aim for sunset in two days, so be ready to move. If we don’t pick you up before sunset in three days, go in together as a group, and you’ll have to take your chances, because in three days…” He shrugs. “If you are stopped and cold, huddle together. Questions?”
    A man standing with a woman and two children speaks up. “Shouldn’t we bury these guys?”
    “No. No time to waste before the heat sets in. Anything else?”
    The monk holding out his water bottle. “I won’t need this.”
    “Yes, you will.”
    Gritting his teeth, the old man quietly demurs. “No. It won’t make any difference for me, might save one of you.”
    “Thanks.” Helton takes the bottle gently. “We’ll come back for you.”
    “Only if you can do so safely.” The monk motions feebly for Helton to come closer. Helton bends down. The monk whispers in his ear and presses a small medallion into Helton’s hand. It’s metal, about forty millimeters across, red, with a black enamel Possenti cross, like a mil-dot reticle with two short stadia lines on the horizontal crosshair, and two short and one long on the vertical.
    Helton’s expression grows more serious. He stands, putting the medallion into his pocket, and looks at the group of passengers arranging themselves with renewed hope. “Well, good luck. Hopefully we’ll see you all in two days.”
    One of the women comes up and hugs him. “Thank you,” she says. “Good luck!” The others pass by Harbin and Helton, giving hugs or handshakes, with murmurs of “Luck”, or “Bless you”, or “Give ’em hell.” As they move off down the canyon, Harbin takes a close look at the monk, sitting slumped on the ground. The monk looks at Harbin and shakes his head carefully, wincing. He straightens up slightly, adjusts his position, and settles into a meditating position.
    Harbin and Helton start walking. After two dozen paces, Harbin stoops, picks up a smooth rock a bit smaller than a baseball, hefts it, and turns toward the monk, now sitting facing the sunrise. He winds up and hurls the rock, hard. There is a soft crunch as it smashes into the monk’s skull, and a flopping sound as he collapses over onto the ground. Helton looks at him,