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the same word. “He came to World’s End just like you. Said he was
stranded in Foursgate , needs a stake to get back to
his homeworld .”
    “He’s more
than that.” I couldn’t keep my own voice from rising. “Do you know what those
tattoos of his mean? He’s killed more people than you have fingers to count
them. He’s wanted for crimes on most of the worlds of the Hegemony. If he’s
stranded here, it’s probably because he’s in trouble with his own kind, and he
needs a place to cool out as much as he needs a stake .... He’s going into World’s End hunting fresh meat, and you’ll be the first—”
    “How do you
know so damn much about it?” Ang said sullenly.
    I
hesitated, realizing that I’d said too much already. But he went on, before I
had to answer. “He’s no worse than the robbers and ‘jacks we’ll meet out
there—and he’ll be on our side.”
    “On our side?” I echoed incredulously. “He’s on nobody’s side but his own. He’s a
criminal, Ang ! You’re not protecting yourself, you’re putting a target on your back.”
    “I’m not
stupid.” His jaw clenched stubbornly. “I know what I’m doing. He won’t make
trouble.”
    “You’re
deluding yourself. We have a saying on the ... there’s a saying, that a man who
lies down with thieves is lucky if he ever wakes up again.”
    “You don’t
have to go with us.” He pointed a thumb back toward town. “You can stay here.”
    My mouth
tightened. “I’ll go,” I said, thinking, But I’ll sleep with my
eyes open.
    “You’ll
go.” His own mouth curved upward. “Just like all the rest.”

day 32.
    For the
past week I’ve been trying to resurrect Ang’s dead
rover piece by piece, with whatever parts he can beg, borrow, or steal. He is
an ex-Company man, as I’d thought; he must be calling in a lot of favors. He’s gone
most of every day, hustling up more parts—or maybe just avoiding us, I don’t
know. I don’t think he cares much for either Spadrin or me; probably wishes he didn’t need us. It’s mutual. But sooner or later
everything I ask for shows up at the junkyard, where the rover lies like some
immense dead beetle. Every time I trip over supplies inside the sleeping cabin,
I try to imagine what it will be like to share this vehicle with two other
people, even for a few days. Someone is going to sleep on the floor; it isn’t
going to be me.
    Working on
the rover is almost a pleasure, after sitting in C’uarr’s place for so long. Though if someone had told me ten years ago that I’d ever
enjoy lying on my back in the mud, with lube sifting into my eyes, sweating and
blistered like some common laborer, I’d have committed suicide. I ... All in the line of duty, as they say. There are worse
things than manual labor, and I’ve borne some of them, all in the line of duty.
    Not that
today was unique for its hard work. More for its tedium, while I waited for the
replacement grid I need to get the rover airborne. I spent the morning
rereading the last of the information tapes I’d managed to unearth in the
pathetic local datacenter. I’ve had to learn about this vehicle the hard way; they’ve
barely heard of reading out here, let alone memory augmentation. I finally
finished everything, and settled into adhani meditation in the rover’s shadow. Then Spadrin arrived. He kicked me in the thigh, and said, “Wake up, you lazy shit.”
    I lunged to
my feet, my reflexes almost betraying my training as my hand reached for the
weapon I no longer carry.
    Spadrin stepped back, and I froze as I saw metal. The knife blade disappeared into the
sheath hidden in his sleeve. He grinned faintly, as if he’d proved something.
    Seeing him
always makes me think of venomous insects exposed beneath overturned stones.
This time he was wearing the loose-woven tunic and pants Ang had forced him to buy for practicality. He had a half-empty bottle of ouvung in his fist, as usual. He prodded the tape-reader
I’d been studying