Silas laid the boy’s body down gently. He stood to face me. There was anger in his eyes now, as well as sorrow. He coughed, but only briefly.

  “You’re going to bring death and destruction to the Dusters, everywhere you go,” he said, and his words cut me. After all, it was undeniable that if I hadn’t come here, that kid would still be breathing. “We can’t afford to have you here, Tanner. You’re a liability.”

  “Where should I go? Back to the Arabella? Maybe I could kill a few of them…”

  Silas shook his head. “I made a mistake. All of this is my fault. I shouldn’t have brought you here. I shouldn’t have tricked XCU into sending you. This planet—we need a surgeon, not another thug.”

  I grabbed his skinny arm with five thick fingers. “Listen, Preacher, no one can have their freedom for free. Every world has to fight for it—or lose it.”

  Silas barely listened. He was overcome with grief. He was no soldier, that was for sure. “We need to get you off Haven-7 and back to Earth,” he said. “It’s the only way to keep people safe.”

  “That’s not going to stop what’s coming,” I said. “These people are either going to win this—or they’re going to lose. Either way, I’m in it, now. You brought me here, and you sold me on helping. I’m not running away.”

  Silas sighed, his shoulders slumping. He wasn’t even trying to change my mind. Hell, I don’t think anything could at this point. I was pissed.

  We buried Jared on a hill overlooking Cinder Hollow. I dug the grave myself, the shovel biting into the hard earth. The Preacher said some words over the small body, wrapped in a threadbare blanket. I stood there, numb. This was on me. I brought this down on them.

  The walk back to town was silent. The Preacher kept glancing at me, like he wanted to say something, but I didn’t want to hear it. I didn’t need to. It was obvious what I had to do next.

  “You’re a stubborn man, Tanner,” he said finally.

  I grunted. Stubborn? I guess that was one word for it. Foolish was another, maybe prideful or arrogant. Take your pick.

  “You should go to Barfight Outpost,” he continued. “Join up with the rebels there. They could use a man like you.”

  I laughed out loud. “A man like me? You mean the kind that gets kids killed?”

  The Preacher shook his head. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it, Tanner. You’re right though… Death will follow you. Everyone can sense you’re different. Good and bad—they’re drawn to you.”

  There was no way to deny it. Everywhere I went, people tended to get hurt. Some of them were killed. I was from Earth, and I represented a distant authority. I wouldn’t have been sent out here if Haven-7 wasn’t already a bomb waiting to go off. I guess, today I’d played the part of the fuse.

  “I’ll go to Barfight and see if they’ll have me.”

  The Preacher nodded. “The Dusters there—they are a tough bunch. They can handle themselves. Find the rebel leadership and warn them. Maybe you can save some lives—instead of taking them.”

  Another jab, but I took it. My jaw flexed as I thought of Jared—of all the innocent lives that were bound to be lost in this little war.

  All the fun had gone out of my visit with Silas. I gathered my gear, what little there was. I took my shredder and some ammo. My canteen of water was possibly even more valuable.

  Mounting up on the walker I’d taken from Kade, I felt the machine surge under my ass. It was fully charged, now, and humming. She was ready to run.

  Heading out of the ramshackle gates, I glanced back at Cinder Hollow one last time. The Preacher stood there in the road, watching me. He raised a hand in farewell. I nodded back.

  Then I turned my face to the Red Desert and kicked the walker into gear.

  The sun beat down on me as I rode. The landscape was a blur of rust-colored sand and jagged rocks. I didn’t know what I’d find at Barfight Outpost. I didn’t know if they’d even take me in at all.

  I urged the walker into a trot. A bone-dry wind whipped at my clothes.

  * * *

  Days later, my tongue felt like a piece of old leather in my mouth. I’d been riding forever, it seemed. Time had blurred together out here in the Red Desert.

  My walker stumbled beneath me, its steps growing slower, more labored. The whine of its motors filled my ears. The solar panels gave the machine a trickle of juice, but the battery was running on fumes.

  The next day after that, I could barely see. I didn’t even ride with my eyes open—it hurt too much. Instead, I took peeks now and then, blurry glimpses of terrain that were always the same. The Red Desert looked just like Mars back home—a Mars that somebody had placed inside an oven.

  On one of my blinking glimpses—I actually saw something. Or at least, I thought I did.

  In the distance, black leaning walls of dry timber rose out of the desert like a mirage.

  Walls? That’s too grandiose of a term, really. They didn’t amount to more than makeshift and rough-hewn rows of sticks and boards.

  I’d found Barfight Outpost.

  As I drew closer, I could make out more details. The base of the walls consisted of a patchwork of laser-cut stones. On top of that was an uneven layer of scorched dry logs, lashed together with heavy wire. The whole thing looked like something out of an old Western vid—except even shittier than that.

  I urged my walker on. There was no point to saving the batteries now. With each step, the machine grew weaker, its movements more erratic. By the time we reached the gates, it was all I could do to keep it upright.

  The guards at the gate eyed me with suspicion. Their leathery hands rested on weapons. I’d have done the same. I looked like hell, covered in red dust and grime. My clothes were tattered and worn. The walker and the shredder in my hand were both obviously Techborn made, too.

  One of them spat in the dirt between my walker’s vibrating legs. Nice shot, that.

  “State your business,” he rumbled.

  I licked my cracked lips, and tried to swallow. “Seeking shelter,” I croaked. “And water.”

  The guard sneered. “We don’t take in strays. You got someone to vouch for you?”

  I shook my head. My vision was swimming. “No. But I’m no outlaw. No spy either.”

  The other guard spoke up, his tone mocking. “Then what are you? Some kind of vagabond? We don’t need your kind here.”

  I didn’t have the strength to argue. My walker gave a final, shuddering groan and collapsed beneath me, sending me tumbling to the ground. I lay there, my cheek pressed against the sunbaked earth, too weak to move.

  The guards laughed at me. The sound was harsh and grating. “Looks like you’ve reached the end of the line, stranger.”

  My eyes closed. The world spun around me.

  This was it, then. After everything I’d been through—all the fights, all the narrow escapes—I was going to die here, alone, in the dust on this turd of a planet.

  I felt myself slipping away, my thoughts growing hazy. Faces flashed before my eyes… Jared. The Preacher. That bitch Callista. All the people I’d failed. I regretted all the promises I’d broken.

  I snorted, then a cough blasted out of my lungs. I struggled to sit up. I got my back up against the splintery wall of the outpost. If I was going to die, I was going to do it on my own terms—not lying down, not giving up.

  It was hot out here, outside the walls. Each breath I took seared my lungs.

  What was I doing? I was waiting for death or for a miracle… for anything.

  The only thing that came was the sound of the desert wind, whistling through the cracks in the walls. Mocking me. Taunting me.

  The guards loomed over me, their faces twisted into sneers. I heard them talking, low and menacing. They were discussing how to dispose of me, debating whether to let the desert take me or put a bullet in my head to speed up the process. Real hospitable folks here at Barfight Outpost.

  The guards drew their weapons. This was it, then. The final showdown. I braced myself, ready to fight. Someone had already taken my shredder while I was out. Bastards. Maybe I could still throw a punch or grab and crush someone’s balls.

  Then I heard a voice from above.

  Female? Familiar?

  My eyes tracked upward, to the top of the wall. A figure stood there. Her swelling breasts were silhouetted against the brutal sun. Squinting, I tried to make out her other features.

  She leaned forward, peering down at me, and as I saw her braided hair recognition dawned on her own face, too. “I know him,” she called out. The guards hesitated, glancing up at her uncertainly.

  As she climbed down from the wall, I finally got a clear look at her. It was indeed Megan Quinn, the rebel fighter I’d met when I’d first materialized on this godforsaken rock.

  Megan looked different now. Her face was harder, more careworn, but there was no mistaking those fierce eyes.

  She strode toward me, pushing aside the guards who’d been pawing at me, stealing what meager belongings I had. They fell back, grumbling.

  Megan crouched down beside me. Her gaze assessed my sorry-ass form.

  “You look like hell, Tanner,” she said.

  I wheezed out a lie. “Never felt better.”

  She stood, offering me a hand. I took it, letting her pull me to my feet. The guards watched warily, their fingers still twitching on their triggers.

  Megan turned to them. “Return his belongings.”

  “He can’t carry a gun. He’s about to fall over.”

  “Then shove it into the walker’s saddlebags. He’s with me.”

  For a moment, I thought they might refuse. But then, grudgingly, they complied. The heavy gates swung wide. The bent hinges let the bottom of the gates grind an arc in the dirt.

  Megan slung my arm over her shoulders. She almost fell, trying to support my weight as we stumbled forward. I leaned on her—I couldn’t help it.

  The walker was in follow-mode. It had been relieved of my weight and had been recharged a tiny fraction by the sun, so it managed to drag its own sorry metal ass in after me.

  The gates closed behind us with a resounding thud.

  I was inside Barfight Outpost. The place was impressing me already.

  Chapter 22

  At some point I fell into a hard sleep. I woke up in darkness.

  Megan was dabbing at my sunburned forehead with a damp cloth. That stung like hell, but I didn’t flinch. Pain was an old friend by now.

  “Where am I?”

  “My camp,” Megan said. “Lie still.”

  I pushed her hands away. “We’ve got no time for you to babysit me—as nice as that feels.”

  “You’re a damned fool, Tanner,” she muttered. “Crossing the Red Desert without proper gear is dangerous. You’re half dead.”

  “At least half…”

  “What were you thinking?”

  Grunting, I found I didn’t have the energy for another snappy comeback. My head was pounding like an Underdeck war drum.

  “I had to warn you,” I said in a raspy whisper. “Janson’s planning some kind of trick.”

  Megan’s hand had moved up with her soft rag to my brow again—it froze there. Her eyes narrowed. “What kind of trick?”

  I guzzled water from a canteen she’d given me. It tasted like heaven. “He’s going to lure the Dusters in, the rebel leadership that is.”

  “What do you mean, lure them in?”

  I shrugged. “Standard issue treachery. Promise of peace talks—then, wipe them out.”

  Megan cursed under her breath. She stood abruptly, pacing the small room. I watched her through half-lidded eyes.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Flint already left,” she said, sounding tight with worry. “To meet with Janson.”

  I sat up, ignoring the wave of dizziness that crashed over me. This was bad. Really bad.

  “When did he leave?” I demanded.

  “This morning. Before you even got here. He took a dozen of our best fighters with him.”

  I closed my eyes. It was hard to think through the haze of pain and exhaustion. We had to do something—fast, before it was too late.

  “We need to warn him,” I said, pushing myself to my feet. The room spun around me, but I stayed up.

  Megan shook her head. “It’s too late. You’re a wreck. By the time you heal up and get out there, it will all be over and done with.”

  Grabbing my buzzblade from where it leaned against the wall, I checked the charge. It still had some juice left. I plugged it in, and I hoped someone had thought to do the same for my walker.

  “Let’s go now, then.”

  “You’re not in good shape, Tanner. It’s night out there. Besides… Hammer wouldn’t like it.”

  “Huh?”

  She gave a little shrug and didn’t meet my eyes. “Haven’t I introduced you to Hammer?”

  “Nope.”

  “Come on. I can’t hide you in here any longer. It will only make things worse when you meet the rest of the boys.”

  “The rest of the boys? Like, the ones that left me to die outside the gate?”

  “Exactly.”

  With a grunt, I forced myself to walk. After a few steps, I could fake a normal stride. You had to look tougher than you felt when you faced a pack of wolves.

  I followed Megan out into the dusty courtyard of Barfight Outpost. The stars were just starting to peek over the jagged horizon.

  There was the pack. A group of Dusters had gathered in the center of town, where a well had been installed. The robotic arms never seemed to stop pumping. I suspected this critical water supply kept the whole town alive.

  The crowd had hard faces—at least when they turned in my direction. Hard and suspicious, every eye moved up and down over me like I was a starving dog or something.

  I didn’t take it personally. I was an outsider, a stranger in their midst. People from this colony world had every reason to be distrusting.

  Megan stood beside me, her arms crossed. She’d vouched for me, told them I had important information about Janson’s plans. But I could see the doubt in their eyes.

  “Why should we trust you?” one of them demanded, a burly man with a thick beard and a nasty scar across his cheek.

  I opened my mouth to respond but before I could get a word out, another Duster stepped forward. He was a big son of a bitch, all muscle and attitude.

  “That’s Hammer,” Megan whispered to me. “Hammer Vargo.”

  I recognized how he’d earned his name immediately. The dude had a blunt face and a body like a block of wood. I could tell he didn’t like me standing with Megan, too. Could this be a boyfriend?

  Shit… Hadn’t I… uh… had a fun time with Megan out in the bush back when I’d first arrived?

  “I’ll tell you why we shouldn’t trust him,” Hammer growled, jabbing a finger in my direction. “He’s been sniffing around Megan like she’s a dog in heat.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

  Hammer’s face folded up into a sneer. “You heard me. Megan’s my girl and I don’t like strangers pawing at her.”

  What had Megan told this dude? Was this going to turn into a fight? I wasn’t in the best condition right now… I needed a few nights rest.

  Hammer stalked toward me, his fists clenched at his sides. Apparently, I wasn’t going to get that rest. “I say we settle this like men,” he said. “A good old-fashioned fist fight. Winner takes all.”

  I couldn’t help but smile. “You want to fight me?”

  His face turned an ugly shade of red. “You think that’s a dumb idea? Are you calling me dumb, outsider?”

  I shrugged. “Now that you mention it…”

  Megan stepped between us, putting out calming hands. It was a little late for her to play peacemaker, but I didn’t interrupt. “Guys, we’ve got to worry about the Techborn. We can beat on each other later, when we’ve kicked them back to the Arabella.”

  It was a decent try, but Hammer looked past her small hands and pushed them aside. His eyes were locked on me. “You hiding behind a girl now, stranger? You scared? Well, you should be. Who wants to bet on this? Will he cry or shit himself first?”

  There was some rough laughter from the crowd. Hammer clearly had the hometown advantage.

  “Let’s do this,” I said, cracking my knuckles.

  Megan threw up her hands in exasperation. “Tanner, don’t be an idiot. We don’t have time for this.”

  “The boy wants a fight. I think that’s your fault, not mine.”

  Megan dropped her eyes. She had, after all, seduced me—then possibly bragged to someone about it. How else had Hammer gotten wind of that event from days ago? She’d turned Hammer into a cuck, and he wasn’t happy about that.

  The Dusters had formed a loose circle around us. They were eager for some entertainment. I rolled my shoulders, which cracked my sunburn. I let the sting wake me up. I felt the familiar rush of adrenaline coursing through my veins.

  “You take the first shot, kid,” I said, raising my fists.

  Hammer charged at me like a raging bull. Big, dumb, and angry. I sidestepped his clumsy lunge, letting his own momentum carry him past me. I slipped out my foot to hook his ankle—but he hopped over that. He wheeled around, fists up, eyes squinting.

  He hadn’t gone down on his face. Not bad, I thought. For a guy his size, he was surprisingly quick on his feet. But I’d fought bigger and meaner assholes than him before.

  Hammer came at me again, throwing a haymaker that would’ve taken my head clean off if it had connected. I ducked under his arm, jabbing a quick one-two into his ribs. He grunted, but again, he didn’t go down.

  Damn, this guy was built like a tank. My knuckles ached from the impact—and they’d already been unhappy before this fight had started. I was slow, too, and a little weak. Those days in the sun had taken it out of me. It would take more than a gallon of water and a nap to fully recover.

  I danced back, keeping my guard up, looking for an opening. Hammer pressed his advantage, crowding me with his bulk. He grabbed for me, trying to pull me into a crushing bear hug.

  That could be my doom. I twisted out of his grasp, feeling his fingernails scrape against my skin.