“That was the bad news, but there is a silver lining.”

  As far as bad news goes, it was one hell of a doozy, as Mr. Tillman done just told me I got no legal recourse regarding the Federal Government’s request. Holding up a hand to forestall Mr. Tillman’s effort to brighten the mood and I give myself a few seconds to process the fact that I got no choice but to play ball. It’s been a few days since Milton pulled the rug out from under me, and it looks like the Alderman’s got me well and truly bent over a barrel here. An idiom I don’t entirely understand, as I’ve no idea why you’d bend someone over a barrel to begin with. All I know is that’s not where I wanna be, and ain’t no one I asked ever have a good explanation for it.

  What I do know is that there ain’t no wiggle room regarding this bind. I can’t ignore the request, because then the Alderman follows through with his threat to essentially Exile everyone living in the quay from every Federal town while also freezing their bank accounts and assets. Nor can I send any old person to facilitate the talks in my place. The summons specifically requests my presence for my ‘unique perspective’ regarding the Republic and ‘vast experience’ in hunting outlaws. Thin as the excuse might seem, the Feds are well within their rights to ask, and while there’s no legal downside to refusing on paper, the Alderman would be well within his rights to go ahead with his threat if I don’t go along with his plan.

  The worst part of all? I can’t show up and torpedo the whole talks either. As a facilitator and interlocuter, I won’t actually have any power to do anything at all, and while each side can bring their gripes before me, any decisions I make will have to be accepted unilaterally. Meaning I could say, “Instead of splitting the bill equally, how about we all pay for what we ordered on the dinner bill?” and one or both sides could come back with “No way”, and there ain’t nothing I can do about it except offer another solution or go along with whatever they want.

  Course, that also means the failure or success of the talks ain’t on me, but I get the feeling that if things go south, I’ll still get blamed in the court of public opinion regardless. Doubt I’ll get the credit if I do everything right either, so far as I can tell, it’s a lose-lose situation regardless of what I do. Least if I go, it’ll only be me losing out instead of everyone living here with me. Won’t end well for any of us if the Federal Government freezes all the money we got in our bank accounts and makes it all but impossible to go into town for supplies. Not a big deal for those who don’t got no money in the bank, but it’d be a disaster for me and my newfangled wealth, as well as a few others. Anita, Shirley, Hamish, and especially Levi would lose all access to their nest eggs to name a few, which is why I’ve been busy getting my assets out of Federal hands A.S.A.P.

  Fucking banks. Never did trust them, and now I got even better reasons not to. Course, Levi sees this as an opportunity and is looking into opening up an Independent bank in the quay, one not beholden to Federal Law and therefore would make for a real promising tax haven for the legally and not so legally wealthy.

  Got no way to respond to these threats either. If we closed our figurative gates and refused access to the Feds to get their people and wagons to and from the docks, which is legally within our right, the Feds would likely respond with unchecked aggression. We’d have Rangers on our ass before you can say ‘armed intervention’, and there ain’t no winning against them. Not for me at least, not in a straight up gunfight, because while I got a fair few new toys to play with, the Federal Government gets first dibs on all the biggest and blastiest toys in existence.

  I mean, how’s it gonna look if the papers report how I done been asked to help settle matters with the Qin and straight up refused, then closed down access to a pivotal docks in response? Not good, I’ll say that much, and it won’t take nothing more to get Americans clamouring about the enemy within at Ming’s Quay.

  Meaning the long and short of the bad news is that I’m well and truly cooked. Took some effort to get Mr. Tillman to wrap his head around how absurd this really is, as he couldn’t fathom why the Federal Government would pick an unwilling and inexperienced fella like myself to be a neutral third party in important discussions they gotta know I ain’t neutral about. Not to mention how I’m woefully underqualified. While I might be ethnically Qinese, I’m verbally American, and not the good, educated kind of American. I’m country with a capital C as Aunty Ray would say, a professional red-neck who looks and sounds the part. Got no real education to speak of, and while I know enough to get by, I’d be the first to admit I got a fair few gaps, especially with regards to civics. What’s more, I don’t even speak the language well enough to be a translator, or even trust my own interpretation of what’s said in Qinese. I know a little bit, but you done heard how I speak English, so you can imagine how bad it is when I try speaking in accented gobbledegook.

  Even my own daddy couldn’t understand anything coming outta my mouth, so he just gave up on getting me to speak Qinese and worked harder on understanding my English.

  Add in my deep-seated and not so hidden prejudice against the Qinese as well as my petty tendencies to hold a grudge over the silliest of things, and anyone who knows me knows I’d make for a terrible mediator. Thing is, the Feds don’t really want me there to mediate; they want me there because the Qin Republic have made that part and parcel of their demands. Unofficially of course, as it ain’t so much of a demand as a request to offer my insight into the matter. Milton done already tried to strong arm me into being the liaison for the Qin half of the task force, which was why he stopped me on my way over to the Deadlands. Hell, that’s what kickstarted the whole disaster in the Deadlands, because if Milton didn’t have Sheriff Beauregard arrest me on trumped up charges to show me what’s what, then I would’ve handled Dakota Slim myself and the Watchman wouldn’t have had no leverage over me to make me go fetch his stupid suitcase.

  One laden with Lord knows what. Nothing good, I’ll tell you that much, especially considering it was worth a cool fifteen grand to the Serbians. More even, as they offered me twenty to start, and their number two had plenty more tucked away in his waistband.

  Whatever. Anything that comes of that mess is someone else’s problem to deal with, so best I focus on my own. Namely making it out of this pinch with my hide intact and throat un cut, because that would really ruin my whole week. “Okay,” I say, after fully accepting that I’m committed to making a trip. “So what’s the good news?”

  “As a neutral third party,” he begins, showing me the relevant section on the papers in front of us, “You are entitled to a retinue of advisors, aides, and personnel to assist you in your duties, whose compensation will be covered by the parties in conflict.”

  “So I can set my own wage?”

  “Within limits,” Mr. Tillman replies, pointing out the chart which likely written by some old worlder who didn’t know the value of a dollar back there, to say nothing of how much it’d be worth over here. Silly that, but then I see the numbers involved. As the nominal leader of the neutral delegation, I’m entitled to double the current minimum wage, which seems kinda terrible as you tend to get what you pay for. Rangers make triple the minimum wage after all, but Mr. Tillman points out that the chart clearly states that I get to bill by the hour, which includes sleeping and travel time since it’s not taking place at home. With minimum wage technically set at five dollars for an eight-hour day, that means I’ll be getting paid thirty dollars every 24 hours on a clock that starts the second I take one single step outside the quay, and don’t stop until I’m home again.

  It also lists out theoretical payments for hiring on specialists, and he brings my attention to a row on the chart labelled ‘legal expert’ who’s entitled to three times the minimum wage with the same caveats as before, which works out to $45 a day. Not too shabby, though it don’t exactly blow his billable rate out of the water. “You know this gonna be dangerous, right?” I ask, somewhat amused by his unspoken offer to join me on this trip. “For all I know, the Qin are doin’ this to lure me out and kill me. Milton knows as much too, and he got no issues serving me up on a silver platter because he thinks that if he scratches their back, they’ll scratch his.” That ain’t how the Qin work though. More likely, they’ll do the deed then set him up to take the fall, just to put a target on his back so my mama’s brother has someone to go after in order to save face.

  Hell, the Qin might even say fuck it and kill Milton outright, so they can present his head alongside the news of my death in an effort to placate their glorious General Zhu with the person responsible. They’d have to throw in a dead Qin patsy too, but what little I know about their culture tells me that’d tie my mother’s brother’s hands up real good. Even though everyone involved would know it’s all a big farce, he’d have to give his enemies face for ‘righting their wrongs’ or something like that. Then again, maybe he wouldn’t. I don’t know. Most of this is just guesswork, as the only Qinese people I done ever spoke to besides my daddy were the ones I met around the New Year only a few months back. Many of whom I killed or tried to kill me, so I really got no place in a diplomatic process like this.

  “Perhaps,” Mr. Tillman replies, seeming none too concerned that we might be riding to our deaths down in New Sonora. “Not to make light of your concerns, but I would like to point out that in recognizing your status as a neutral third party and requesting your presence in talks of this magnitude, the Federation and the Republic have more or less legitimized your status as a player on the international stage. Thus, even if they do see you as a pawn to maneuver about the board as they please, I am of the belief that they will not be so quick to sacrifice you, as that would reflect poorly on the both of them and discourage future efforts to convince a neutral third party to weigh in on matters.”

  “That’s assuming they’re left holding the bag for my death,” I reply. “Probably can’t blame it on the supposed outlaws we’re meeting to discuss without looking bad, but what if I were to die to a random Abby attack on our way to the meeting or back from it? Or an accident with a runaway wagon that done crashed into me outta nowhere? Hell, they could just poison my food and blame it on a bad batch of ale or something. There’s a million ways to die out on the wild Frontier, and ain’t much you can do about most of them.”

  The blood drains from Mr. Tillman’s already pale face, leaving him looking a lot less certain and a touch too warm as he adjusts his red silk tie and clears his throat. “I see,” he replies, thinking it through for a few seconds more before drawing in a deep breath. “Regardless, I would like to once again offer you my services. Even if neither party is wholly invested in seeing this task force succeed, my presence would at the very least force them to keep up appearances lest I bring my concerns to the press. As for the matter of my personal safety, I have a number of contacts who can be trusted to provide security, so long as their fees are paid up front. While their loyalty is for sale to the highest bidder, once secured, they remain loyal within the terms of their contracts.”

  “…They wouldn’t happen to be criminal contacts, would they?” I ask. “Considering what happened the last time I took a referral from you, I’m not exactly sure I want to go through with another.”

  “No criminals,” he replies, cheeks colouring a touch at the reminder of what happened when I went and hired Jordan Blake as my lawyer, only to end up with Johnathan Lanzetta, or the Watchman, Consigliere of the Manfredi Family, sitting across the table from me. “They are independent contractors and third-party facilitators who have run afoul of the law once or twice,” Mr. Tillman explains, which don’t sound all that promising, “But I assure you they were all misunderstandings.” Meaning the only reason they’re mercs and not criminals is because Donald Tillman here is a damned good lawyer. “I can set up a meeting so you can vet them before you leave.” Which sounds like a good idea, so I give him the okay, but Mr. Tillman ain’t done just yet. “You can also request an escort from the Federal Government,” he continues, flipping a few pages to once again point out the relevant paragraphs. “They can refuse of course, but that seems unlikely given…” He just trails off, but I know what he means, as even though we on the outs, Uncle Teddy still showed up to warn me off all the same. Even stayed for lunch after the fact, and gladhanded a few of my new neighbours while they celebrated our new status.

  Was glad Uncle Teddy had a chance to catch up with Tina, Chrissy, and Aunty Ray, but I made sure to stay well away and out of sight when we was out in public. Not because he asked or even wanted me to, but because I didn’t want him catching no flak for hanging out with me in any non-official capacity seeing how a few journalists made the trip over to get a scoop on the whole Independent thing. Besides, I wasn’t feeling much for celebrations, though that shouldn’t really come as a surprise, as there’s plenty I needed to get done before setting out to step foot in muddy waters that most certainly be hiding a trap.

  That being said, now that I’m committed to this trip to New Sonora, there’s no reason not to do things right, so I talk some more with Mr. Tillman about who else I ought to bring. Unfortunately, the list is woefully short, because anyone with any experience handling these sorts of things is already spoken for. Can’t really hire a U.F.A diplomat to speak on my behalf, nor can I trust a reporter to remain impartial and keep their eye on the prize as opposed to what might make for the juiciest headlines. I can request for a Federal escort, but seeing how I don’t trust Milton one bit, I ain’t about to make it easier for him to put someone in position to watch my every move. In the end, there ain’t nothing I can really do except let Mr. Tillman arrange a meeting with his mercenaries, and I can’t say I’m all that impressed when they show up a few days later.

  For starters, there’s only the five of them, which ain’t much of a security team. Works fine for the Rangers, but they’re the best of the best, whereas most other military forces travel in groups of ten at the very least when moving out and about in the wild Frontier. Mr. Tillman makes the introductions, starting with low man on the totem pole and the obvious muscle and supposed driver of the group, Marek Paluska, a musclebound Czechoslovakian looking wider than he is tall at a mere 5’10, the same height as Tina but about three or four times as thick. Got a clean crew cut but no accent and little to say after his self-introduction, without a word as to his skills or role in the group.

  Next is Lina Sorensen, a scrappy chain-smoker of a lady who’s liable to spit on you for calling her as much. The rugged brunette is a self-professed specialist in logistics and procurement, or in layman’s terms, smuggling, though I somehow doubt she’s keistering gold nuggets and getting them out of Rimepeak all by herself. Got a good number of knife scars on her forearms though, and not the kind you get from self-harm, though an argument could be made to classify getting in close to knife fight another son of a gun as self-destructive behaviour.

  Next is Evan Pike, who got the look of former military gone bad. Was a time when he knew what he ought to do, but these days, he can’t be bothered to keep up. While a civilian might be impressed by his regulation crew cut and military lingo, but between his big, reddish-brown beard, loose boot laces, and the stink of whiskey on his breath at 10 in the morning, that tells me he’s a dangerous man to have at your side or back. Ain’t nothing worse than working with an idiot, unless it’s working with a confident idiot who thinks he knows what’s what.

  The Qin even got a saying for it: fear not a competent enemy, but an incompetent team mate.

  I’m guessing Evan is the disposable cut-out of the group, even though he probably thinks otherwise, introducing himself as the team security specialist, the tactical mind as it were. The fact that he stays to my right and ain’t clocked the fact that I got a Model 10 positioned for a right-handed draw tells me all I need to know about how tactical he really be.

  Second to last is Sergei Volkov, their sharpshooter and tinkerer with a thick Russian accent who keeps their gear in good working order. If there ever were a group handier than rednecks, I’d give it to the Soviets. With rednecks, they work with what they have because they don’t got money to buy more. Soviets though? They work with what they have because the USSR got so many sanctions they can’t buy nothing even if they had the money to spend. Which they usually don’t, and like they say, necessity is the mother of invention, so I always feel more confident when working with a Soviet Artificer.

  Which brings us to the leader, one Caleb Finch. “Good to finally put a face to the Firstborn,” the American says, holding out his left hand for a shake, and I oblige the man while taking the measure of him as he does the same to me. He’s not particularly well put together, but I wouldn’t say he’s shabbily dressed either, as he’s wearing a duster same as me with jeans and a blue button-up to boot. A few creases in the coat, a couple wrinkles in the shirt, and some mud and grime on the pants that shows he’s a working man. No hat though, and I ain’t a fan of his long hair, long enough to put in a pony tail instead of hanging all loose and sorta neatly like he’s got it. With all the salt in his hair and wrinkles around his eyes, it’s easy to mark him as the oldest of the bunch, who’re all on the younger side when it comes to older settlers. Caleb on the other hand is old as Uncle Teddy and Uncle Art, with a good ten years on Aunty Ray to put him round about fifty odd years.

  That don’t make him less dangerous though. Only more, because most men his age would’ve bowed out long ago in his profession of choice. Or bought the farm as it were, which means he’s either real good, real lucky, or real desperate. Maybe even two out of the three, but he radiates a sense of calm confidence that a whole lot of white folks have. Which is tricksy, because a lot of the time, they be deserving of that confidence, but Americans do be a confident bunch and ain’t always justified for it. Caleb strikes me as the competent type though, as his hands got the callouses you’d expect from a lifetime of shooting. Don’t strike me as former military or police though. Not with that slouch or slovenly clothes, or how he had his hands in his duster pockets until he reached out for a shake and was leaning against the wall until it came his turn to greet me.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  More than anything else though, it’s his gaze that gives him away. Caleb ain’t just checking me for weapons and threats like Evan did, nor is he controlling the space between us and drawing me in or holding me at arm’s length like Marek. Instead, he’s studying me as a person. Don’t crush my hand like Evan tried, but don’t limp wrist it like Sergei either. Instead, he waits to see what I’ll do and is ready to match it. Reactive, only he’s at a loss because I’m more or less the same. What’s more, he done seen how I don’t care to be called the Firstborn, as it done had the opposite effect he’d intended. Now he’s on the back foot, trying to figure out what he said to upset me and how to move forward from there. His eyes ain’t locked on mine, but taking in everything I do, from the way my right forearm tenses as I clench my missing fist to how I let out a slow, controlled breath.

  That ain’t the sort of observation skills you pick up out of nowhere. You can’t just learn what to watch for. You gotta practice it, hone those skills like any other, and it’s taken me all of a second to see that Caleb’s skills are razor sharp. Investigator of some kind, but not law enforcement. Private maybe, or journalist even, though my money’s on government spook. Chances are, Caleb worked for a three-letter agency once upon a time, and might still work for them in the here and now, which puts me a little on edge. So much so that rather than respond to Caleb’s greeting, I glance over at Mr. Tillman and ask, “Did you contact him first, or did he contact you?”

  My lawyer blinks, then glances over at Caleb, and that’s all the answer I need. Though chagrined to hear it, the spook can’t help but smile as he reevaluates me in light of my observation. “Clever,” he says, still trying to butter me up. “I admit I contacted Mr. Tillman when I heard about your predicament, but only because I was asked by an old friend. A journalist who wanted an inside source, and seeing how I owed them a big favour, I reached out as requested and here I am.”

  I don’t buy it, and Caleb sees that, so I look to Mr. Tillman again. “You trust them with your life?” I ask, and this time, Mr. Tillman nods without hesitation. There’s a story there, one I’d like to hear, but neither he nor Caleb are forthcoming, so I suppose there’s something extra-legal about it. “All right then,” I say, turning to the Merc while gesturing at the lawyer. “He might trust you, but I don’t. From here on out, he’s your client. Y’all need anything from me, then I only talk to him.” Turning back to Mr. Tillman, I say, “You travelling by carriage?” Already know the answer’s a yes, but it’s always good to double check. “Okay. I’ll meet you down there then.” No sense leaving earlier to travel with a carriage and caravan moving 30 klicks a day when Cowie can cover 50 without breaking a sweat. Turning my attention back to Caleb, I dismiss them all with a simple, “Good to meet ye.”

  Firmly putting the ball in Caleb’s court, meaning that if he got some spook nonsense he was hoping to rope me into, he’s gotta do it here and now or risk revealing it after we already deep in it. Hate to force his hand like this, but he don’t say nothing or look all that disappointed. Just gives me a casual two-finger salute before heading back out with Mr. Tillman. Maybe I’m wrong and Caleb ain’t a spy or secret government agent, but if he got his own agenda, I want nothing to do with it, nor do I want him around me while I’m out on the road.

  So it’s looking like it’ll just be me and my partner Cowie once again, until Clayton shows up with a fresh delivery of ale, cider, and whiskey before dropping in for a word. “Hear you got mixed up in some government bullshit,” he says once we got all the pleasantries out of the way along with a mug of Irish coffee in hand.

  “Yeah, you know how it is,” I reply, taking a sip of my regular coffee loaded up with more sugar than is healthy. Clayton’s good people, so I give it to him straight, as there ain’t no point keeping quiet about a possible internation plot on my life. Most folks just won’t believe me, and will think I’m being dramatic, but Clayton’s a man whose paranoia makes me look well adjusted.

  “Ah them fat cats are all the same,” he retorts with a scoff. “Always looking at their own bottom line with no regard for the little guy.” The man fiddles about with his mug, and I get the feeling he’s waiting on me to say something, but I done already shared how I feel about Alderman Milton and wasn’t none of it something I care to repeat in polite company. Already gotten a dressing down from Aunty Ray for not minding my language, as I been slipping a bit after mingling with Carl, Vicente, and the others, as well as the many patrons of the casino where I’ve gotten many a card game in these last few weeks.

  So our conversation comes to a lull, until Clayton is ready to give it to me straight. “I’d like to come along,” he says, which I know is a lie, because he sound sour as can be to say it. “Watch your back and keep them government types from workin’ you over with their mind magics.” Before I can say it ain’t necessary, he hits me with a cold look and says, “You were there for me when I needed it, helped bring my family and my people back when I thought them lost. I owe you for that, told you that if you ever need help, you come to me. You ain’t any good at askin’ fer help though, so I reckon this here is how I clear the red outta my ledger.”

  “I appreciate the offer,” I say, shooting for as solemn and serious as can be. “And not fer nothin’, I could use a man with your skills, but there ain’t no need for you to come along.” Which ain’t entirely true. I really do need someone to watch my back, and Clayton’s as good as any. He’s a fair enough shot, better than most in fact, and a damned fine Enchanter to boot, so he ain’t exaggerating when he says he can protect me from mind magics. Mental Fortress is only a part of a complete defense, and Clayton got plenty of practice at all them Spells. So much so that we hired him on to Ward the casino and keep any unscrupulous Enchanters or Illusionists from working their magics during a card game. Did a damn fine job of it too, so much so that I was planning on hiring him to do my own house once it was built.

  The thing is, as nice as it’d be to have Clayton watching my back, I can’t ask this of him. If the Qin want me dead, they won’t stop at nothing to get it done. Even if those particular Qin present at the talks don’t want me dead, it’ll be a dangerous trip down south. The whole purpose is to form a task force to put an end to the raiding, but the Qinese ain’t the only ones with a government funded bandit operation going on down there. While New Sonora flies the Mexican banner, the Mexican government got a tenuous hold on the area at best. There’s pressure from the UNASUR nations to let them into the area, as well as countless smaller settlements with a minor claim on the territory. There’s also multiple Cartels operating in and around the town, and unlike the Mafia, the Cartels are more than happy to go to war with one another at the drop of a hat. At least the Mob tries to act like they all in it together. With the cartels, there’s so much bad blood between the various UNASUR countries and Mexico, I can’t even begin to keep track of it all.

  To say nothing of how some of those Cartels are mixed up with the Nahuatl Faith, meaning I might run into some old friends down there like Luisa and her ‘son’, big old Froggy Matías.

  So I do what I can to spare Clayton’s pride and give all sorts of reasons why I’ll be fine by my lonesome. “Fact is, you’ll likely be needed here more than ever,” I say, grasping at straws that ain’t all that farfetched. “It’s May and we’ve yet to see an attack come out of the Badlands, which means we’ll either get one soon, or a big, big attack come late autumn.”

  “My money’s on autumn,” Clayton replies with a grin. “Hear you and yours done a real number on Abby round the New Year, and that’s why they ain’t ready to come out and play.”

  “We did some good work,” I say, never one to miss a chance to stroke my ego just a bit, “Got a big assist from the Rangers at the end too. That said, we didn’t do nearly enough damage to put them on the back foot like this, and certainly not for so long.” Swarmlings and Spitters are cheap as chips to replace, especially considering we couldn’t harvest none of the corpses for ourselves. All that biomass would’ve gone right back to their Proggies, who would’ve used it to replace 75 or even 80 percent of the Abby we killed in short order.

  Which makes their uncharacteristic silence rather nerve-wracking, because their Proggies have got to be running short on supplies. Not all biomass goes to making new Abby after all, as all them existing Abby and Proggies need fuel to keep themselves going. So even if the Bugs are delaying for a big push come autumn, it won’t be that much bigger than their regular attacks, as you gotta account for attrition when you got big numbers of Abby all gathered together. Even if they go into hibernation, they’ll need to eat when the come out, and if there ain’t no raiding parties going out to collect biomass, then even a Proggie can’t keep hungry Abby from turning on one another for sustenance.

  All of which I share with Clayton, who’s got a good head on his shoulders when he ain’t completely sauced. Means he’s able to put two and two together and come to the same conclusion I did, albeit with a little help from Tina who’s always happy to talk about her escapades while out on patrol. “You think the Watershed’s coming soon,” Clayton says, and I tap my nose in response. Don’t nothing more need to be said, but he seen all the prep I done and more importantly, what I haven’t done. Namely put bricks on any of the new buildings, only wooden framework and panelling. That’s all that’s needed in spring, summer, and autumn, so with that done, I figured it’d be better to focus on other things, like fortifying the big cavern underneath the ranch where all our people will be taking shelter in the event of an Abby attack.

  Technically, they could all get on a boat and head over to New Hope, Riverrun, or even further down river in search of safety and shelter. So could I, because even though I been Exiled, they won’t turn no one away during the Watershed, not even outlaws. To be fair, outlaws will be clapped in chains and tried for their crimes, and those who need hanging will be hung by the neck until dead, but they’re still welcome all the same. That said, it ain’t so easy to leave everything you done built behind, especially when there ain’t no guarantee of anything besides a cot and three squares in town. Maybe even less if Abby lay siege and the Feds gotta ration supplies, but I don’t see that happening in New Hope. With how easy it is to resupply by ship, New Hope will either stand until the Abby horde is driven back, or it’ll be overrun and torn apart by Abby in an Aether induced frenzy.

  Despite all my efforts to talk him down, Clayton ain’t one to back down. “My Creasy can handle things on the homefront,” he says, crossing his arms to show that he ain’t gonna convinced otherwise. “We got ourselves a safehouse in the stable, and enough supplies to last a full year if need be. Besides, even if the Watershed do hit, we’ll have some warning in advance, maybe even enough to make it all the way back home.” Maybe. Maybe not, as don’t no one know how it’ll happen, or even if it will, but it’s all but an inevitability now.

  “All right,” I say, giving in to Clayton’s stubborn streak. “Welcome to the team. I’ll put you down as a tracker. Better wage than basic security.”

  “There’s wages?” Surprised by the offer, he asks a few questions and I explain how it’s all on the government’s dime. Clayton smiles to hear it, because he’s the type to take any opportunity to claw back what little taxes he actually pays. “You got room for a few more heads on payroll?”

  An offer made in jest, as his community of nine families can’t spare two more men, but Clayton do come through in another big way. His contacts finally came through and acquired a trio of Second Order Bolt Salvo Cores, which couldn’t have come at a better time. While putting said Cores into my Dragunov rifles and making them fully automatic is illegal, I don’t gotta play by Federal rules no more unless I’m bringing them into town unsecured. Even better is the fact that since my presence was requested as a political third party, they gotta let me keep my guns in New Sonora, because Federal and Mexican law need not apply to a foreign diplomatic party.

  Diplomatic Immunity, Mr. Tillman called it, and while it won’t protect me from everything, or even all that much considering my lack of backing, it’s still good for a fair few perks.

  Course, Clayton ain’t the only one who offers to help out. One day while I’m walking Old Tux back to Carter’s compound, ugly horse Raja, big, bearish Bodvar, and the dark beanpole Nhial all stop me for a word, which is odd because not a single one of them speaks English. They understand enough of it to get by though, and Nhial speaks a bit of broken French, so between that and the most intense game of charades I done ever played, I manage to get the gist of what they trying to say. “You all want to come with?” I ask, and they all nod and smile. Well, Raja and Nhial smile, while Bodvar the Nordic Viking keeps his customary scowl. Touched as I am for the offer, I ask, “And Carter’s okay with this?”

  They all trade looks, which is not great, because I’m already on the taciturn Spirit Caller’s shit list seeing how I’m the reason his precious daughter done run away to join the Métis. “Carter n’est pas ici,” Nhial says, informing me that he’s not here before pointing westward. “Avec Amelie et Elodie.”

  He’s with his wife and daughter? Oh no. Did they run off to join the Métis Government too? If so, then I might’ve screwed up more than I thought, so I head on over to the compound to find someone who speaks English to clarify the situation. Luckily for me, Ines is around, and while she ain’t exactly all that fond of me, the old bird do love to gossip, so it don’t take much to get the skinny on what went down. Long story short, Carter was feeling much too anxious and worried about his baby girl, so he and the wife went out to check on Elodie. On the down low, as Carter and the Métis Government ain’t exactly on the up and up, which is news to me, but considering how they can both shapeshift into all manner of wild beasties, and Carter’s apparent military training which he never talks about, I’m sure they can evade detection well enough.

  Ines don’t explain why Carter is in the dog house with his home nation, and even shoos me out when I press too hard, but not before explaining what Raja, Bodvar, and Nhial are trying to say. They heard I’m heading south to New Sonora, and want to come with to see if they can meet up with their respective countrymen and find out what’s what. Ain’t all that easy, as Malaysia, Denmark, and Cameroon weren’t exactly big players in the old world and thus didn’t send all that many settlers to the Frontier. That ain’t the same as saying none though, so they all eager to find out more, and New Sonora is the place to do it as it’s a huge melting pot of various ethnicities. Not a whole lot of news coming through Carter’s compound though, and while they were always free to come and go, weren’t none of them confident enough to make the trip without a guide, and they all felt like Carter had done enough for all of them and didn’t want to bother him none.

  Ain’t no bother for me though, as I’m more than happy to have them along, but once again, I make sure their people can hold out without them. While Raja, Bodvar, and Nhial might not look like much, they’re Third Order Spellslingers at the very least, ones who can Wildshape into a rhino, grizzly bear, and panther respectively. That’s a whole lot of Ectoplasmic muscle to miss out on in these tumultuous times, but even after bringing it up with a few other residents of the compound, don’t none of them seem all that concerned about Abby.

  “S’ils arrivent, nous partons,” Nhial says, which pretty much translates to, “If they come, we will leave.” Simple is as simple does, and the others all agree. While their laid-back attitude does throw me for a loop, I give up on trying to convince them otherwise and accept their help, though I’m not entirely sure if they understand that they’ll be part of a diplomatic delegation and not just taking a spur of the moment trip.

  Hate how I consider the angles though. They’re good people who’ve done right by me, but all I can think of is how that if I have them along and the whole trip goes tits up, then maybe their home nations will make a big fuss about it. That alone might keep the Feds and the Qin from doing anything too blatant, but it ain’t all that much protection as I’d like. Americans see themselves as the top dogs of the world, and they might even be right considering they have the most Aetheric Bombs outta anyone, while the Qin have confidence and disdain in spades seeing how they hold the Gate in the old world. If push comes to shove, they ain’t gonna let the opinions of a few minor nations hold them back, and I’m not sure those same nations would care to push the issue just for one measly settler.

  Before I leave, I stop and look at all three once again, as it strikes me that they’ve been living like hippies in the woods for the last nineteen years. While they might not need a tent or even all that many rations in the spring, there are other things to account for. “Any of you know how to actually ride a horse?” I ask, and all I get are blank stares in return. “I know y’all got a free pass to Wildshape, what with being a part of Carter’s tribe, but I was under the impression y’all were trying to keep that on the down low.”

  The three of them look at one another, then at me, clearly not understanding what I’m trying to say. “Yes,” Raja replies. “Horse.”

  So it’s back to Ines I go, who assures me they all know how to ride so long as I provide the horses. And so my party of me and Cowie adds four more into the mix, but that ain’t the end of it all. Somehow, Chrissy got it into her head that she’s coming along, and ain’t nothing I can say to convince her otherwise. “It’ll be real boring,” I say, while she’s picking out clothes to pack for the trip, though she only goes so far as to throw her choices onto the bed leaving me to actually fold and put them away. “Just a whole bunch of fuddie duddies talking about countermeasures and costs and whatnot. Won’t be any fun at all.”

  “Dangerous?” Chrissy asks, and I hesitate a moment too long, to which she nods and says, “Coming with.” Pointing at herself and then me, she says, “Partners.”

  At least she ain’t lording how she done saved my life again, which was real adorable albeit a little embarrassing. She might not have done much in the moment, but she was there when it counts, and also nursed me back to good health after the fact. Got her a big boost of confidence from it, though I’d say a bit too much, as I’d very much like her to stay home where it’s mostly safe and sound.

  Alas, Aunty Ray ain’t hearing none of it, because she’s determined to come along with too. “I know you think it’s all a ruse,” she says, speaking over any and all attempts to dissuade her, “But what if they really do need a third set of eyes? If so, then you gonna need someone to talk to them diplomats for you, because Lord knows you don’t got the good sense He gave a goose. Diplomacy ain't a dirty word, and you could stand to learn some tact, but ain’t nothin’ I ever tried to teach you stick.” Pinching my cheek with a smile, she continues on before I can even raise a word of complaint and settles all my arguments for me. “Fiona and Elsinor will tend to the wallies, while Carl will look after the quay, as he’s a fair man who the others respect. Levi already agreed to manage the expense accounts, and if they need more while you gone, he’ll front the money for expenses until we get back. Won’t even charge you interest or nothin’.”

  She adds a few more caveats after the fact, but I done already given up on trying to argue. Ain’t no point, as I know her well enough to know that she’ll follow me on her own if I try to leave her behind, and make me pay dearly for even trying.

  “Oh, Sasha will be comin’ along too,” Aunty Ray adds, throwing that in like a footnote just as I’m about to leave to add to my shopping and to-do lists. Which of course got me turning on a dime, while she continues on like she can’t see the look on my face and pointedly ignores my attempts to get a word in. “Got a good head on his shoulders, he does, and I reckon has seen almost as much as you have. He a little shook and shell-shocked from his time in the desert, and understandably wary of you, but he’s mighty grateful for all you done and thinks this is a good way to pay you back.”

  Is that what Sasha thinks, or is Aunty Ray angling to make me take the kid on as a partner? She’s always going on about how she don’t like me riding solo out on the Frontier, and while she wasn’t exactly enthusiastic about me bringing on Errol and Sarah Jay, she understood the need, and I guess she thinks Sasha’s scaving ways means he knows what’s what. Probably got more sense than Errol at least, and the kid’s as smart as a whip, soaking up everything I got to teach him regarding Artificing and Gunsmithing. Already done a fair few Etches and has been a big help with my latest prosthetic prototype, as he understands the theory better than I do since he actually reads the literature instead of getting a general gist of how it all works through trial and error.

  He’s also got plenty of experience living in a dangerous world and can probably handle himself in a fight. Don’t mean I want him watching my six though. Unfortunately I don’t got no good reason to refuse him, as just saying I don’t like the kid won’t win me any points. He won’t look me in the eye, got all the manners of a hoggidilla, and doesn’t wash his long, unkempt hair nearly often enough. Doesn’t stink or anything, but his hair do get a sheen to it that looks oily and gross, not like the soft sparkle of well conditions hair like Tina’s or Aunty Ray’s.

  Plus, Sasha is a girl’s name. Well, not in Russia I guess, though the feminine touch do suit the thin, lanky, and frighteningly pasty fella. When I first saw him through my Eagle Eye, I couldn’t tell if he was a woman or a kid, and ain’t much has changed since. Not to say that women can’t kick ass and take names, but a girly man ain’t exactly the sort to inspire confidence.

  What really warms my heart is how many others offer to come along, especially folks who just moved in to the Quay. Carl, Vicente, Olav, Hamish, Taye, and even the Widow Fiona all offer to come watch my back, with not a one all that concerned about the wages. Even Gunnar drops by to offer a hand, though mostly in the form of a discount on any potions I might need, like the potion of Gaseous Form I need to replace after using mine to get out of the Nazi-controlled Fairhaven. He doesn’t offer to come along, and I notice he keeps Astrid away too, but he do imply that he’s happy to help if I need it, and that’s good enough for me. It’s one thing to offer help when everything’s on the up and up, but fair-weather friends ain’t real friends when push comes to shove. It’s only when you down and out that you get to know who really has your back, and clearly I got more support than I thought.

  In the end though, I settle on just a party of eight. Clayton, Raja, Bodvar, Nhiall, Sasha, Chrissy, and Aunty Ray will be joining me in New Sonora. It’s only after the decision is made that I realize we got a full party of 14 once you factor in Mr. Tillman and his five bodyguards. That’s a bad omen for the Qinese, because as I said before, it’s a homonym for certain death, but one that tickles my fancy because who bases superstitions on words that rhyme? Silly is what it is, which is why I’ve embraced the number 14, as seen on the Hull Identification Number of the Longhorn Belle. 14184, or as I like to interpret it, ‘great fortune found where others find certain death’, or death and fortune intertwined. I ain’t much for superstitions, but a part of me notes that superstitions typically have at least some basis to them, as there’s a lot of wisdom to be gleaned from old wives tales.

  To say nothing of the fact that those numbers proved true in the Deadlands, as I done almost died, but also made a good chunk of change on top of progressing with a few Spells thanks to my brush with a Mimic. Fact is, these last few weeks have been real fruitful, as I picked up a couple tricks Spellslinging wise and progressed more than a fair bit with my Artificing thanks to having Sasha as a soundboard to teach and reinforce my fundamentals. If the Qin do want me dead, then I got a fair few surprises waiting in store for them, as well as a seven people to watch my back, which is seven more than I’m used to.

  Put another way, I done made it this far all on my own, so just think of what I can do with all these people behind me? Yeah, I’m shipshape and doing better than ever, so if the Federation and Republic think me easy prey, they then both got another thing coming.