"Won't they investigate?" I said. "Hunt us down."

  "Why would they?" the Knife replied.

  We were trudging down another gully, bent over beneath our camouflage cloaks but still on our feet. The time to crawl would come, I was sure, making me appreciate every moment that I didn't need to.

  The gully was a mere meter deep, a sandy, wind-generated depression that meandered between rocks and bushes. Occasionally, the wind would gust up, flinging a screen of sand at us. My mageshield protected me, but the flying dust caused the Knife to shield his eyes with an arm. Served him right, part of me said. After all, he'd stabbed me.

  He'd also sprayed it with disinfectant and synth-skin he'd taken from his tote. That was an hour ago, and we'd been walking since, stopping only to scavenge from the downed Syndicate quadcopters.

  Not much had survived. Two barrels from one of the rotary cannons, parts of the firing mechanism, a few hundred rounds. A gun from one of the Syndics, half of an armored chest plate. A magerifle was dangerous.

  To everyone.

  My nosebleed had stopped, but the migraine kept throbbing in my head. We'd buried our scavenged treasures in the sand half a kilometer from the wrecks, had walked since.

  "That's what I would do," I said, "if someone brought down one of my fliers."

  "You're thinking like a commander," the Knife said. "Think like a Syndicate com specialist."

  Great, another lesson. I was truly in the mood for it.

  "Call up to the ships in orbit and have them slag the area around the crash site," I said.

  The Knife stopped so suddenly I almost walked into him.

  "Did your parents ever spank you?" he said, giving me a cross look.

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  "No," I said, which was the truth without being truthful.

  "Then don't behave like a spoiled brat, and I won't have to correct their mistake," the Knife said, and started walking.

  I almost laughed. Almost, but the wound in my side was giving me a stitch whenever I moved.

  "You could crudmucking well tell me," I said.

  The Knife stopped again. This time, he turned around and squatted down.

  "Every so often," he began, but I interrupted him.

  "- there is a baitman who comes by, and you have to stab him."

  I expected a glare, or having him try to smack me. He was fast, for an old man, and skilled in hand-to-hand, but this time I was ready. He wouldn't flip me over his shoulder like before.

  He didn't even try.

  "Every so often," he said, "you find someone. A man or woman, often military, or security. Maybe a Navy alumnus. Maybe someone who's good with people. Once, it was a kindergarten teacher. But you see something in them, feel that they could become more than they are."

  "Which is?" I said. There was something in his voice, a sermon I felt he'd given before, maybe many times before. I wasn't happy with the direction the discussion was taking. Whatever was burdening him, I didn't need any of it.

  The Knife's camouflage cloak moved, the outline of a water bottle in his hand. He raised it, took a swig. Shook the bottle, getting the last drops down, then put the empty bottle back in his tote. I got one of my own bottles and took a mouthful.

  "No one lives long on Remba," he said. "I've been lucky so far, but I could die tomorrow. Then the Gash would be left with no one."

  That wasn't what I had expected, but it confirmed my suspicions.

  "I knew it," I said. "You're a lawman."

  The Knife laughed.

  "Void, no," he said. "Used to own a bar in the rougher part of Hyra City on New Tashkent."

  "But you take care of the sneaks and diggers," I said.

  "I help out," the Knife said. "When I can. But it could end today, or tomorrow. No one lives forever on Remba. You end with a Syndicate bullet, or a case of gut cramps, or plain old starvation. The best one can hope is to go quickly.

  "But when I die, the Gash is left to whatever bloods move in to take over. Some of them aren't very nice, and that's coming from me.

  "That's where you come in, Jake. You could be the one to take over. You have the heart for it. All you need is the head."

  I scanned the sand dunes around us. No quadcopters, no transports, no shooter's blinds that I could see. I stood and stretched. The Knife didn't object.

  "No need to take over," I said. "We're getting everyone out, remember?"

  The Knife paused.

  "You believe that, don't you?" he said. It was hard to tell, not seeing his face, but I thought he might have been surprised.

  "I do," I said, offering him the bottle. "Drink, then walk?"

  "Don't mind if I do," he said, taking the bottle.