When the pair left the main audience chamber of The Drumgag, the first being that Tosh set eyes on was Setter Mylar. The sour-faced man had tented fingers under his near-human, serpent-slitted eyes and was gazing at the pair. His smirk of triumph confused Tosh until he realized two large men flanked Mylar in similarly scanty armor and body ink, like the woman that had led the pair in. “I am so glad I could catch you before you left.” He nodded to one of the two, who produced a small package and offered it to Tosh. “Consider this a gift, in exchange for what you did for me on Europa.”

Tosh swallowed hard, staring at the package like it was a viper ready to strike. Still, he could not refuse such a gift. The Drumgag was the host. His majordomo extended the corpulent creature, and it would be rude to the point of termination of the deal if Tosh didn’t take it. “You are too kind, Setter Mylar,” Tosh said, bowing his head enough to be polite. It weighed little, and Tosh could hold it with one hand.

“A lightweight, self-assembling tent if you find yourself in need of emergency accommodations,” Setter said with a greasy, oily smile, the grin not touching his serpentine eyes. “It is a fair walk to the principal city. I can even have mounts ready for you if you—”

“We’ll walk, thank you,” Bors said, pushing past Setter, unnerving the near-human with a squawk of indignity.

Tosh wanted to say something, but didn’t have time as he followed his traveling companion out the same tunnel that had led to the large corpulent tub dweller. He felt the eyes of Setter on both of them as they left. Once they were at the entrance, Tosh mumbled, “I hate that near-human.”

“What?” Bors asked, his head leaning to one side.

“He’s a vile—”

“No, what is a near-human?” Bors interrupted.

“Those who are human, but have something that sets them apart. Setter’s bloodline played with the DNA, and they gave him serpentine DNA. His eyes and other things mark him. The Drumgag doesn’t seem completely human, though I have heard nothing to the contrary.”

Bors looked at Tosh silently. “Is it a slur?” The barbarian asked, raising an eyebrow.

There was a moment when Tosh wondered if Bors knew about him. He shook it off. There is no way this barbarian would know about my trials. “No. It is a label.”

“You and the rest of the civilized world have too many labels,” Bors said. “You are either a friend, a brother, a sister, elder, or enemy.” He ticked off each one on his fingers. “That is all you need.”

“Sounds uncomplicated,” Tosh said with a sigh.

Bors nodded and shouldered his way through the large stone doors, which opened on noiseless hinges. Once they were outside, Bors plucked the sword from his baldric and cradled it. “I am sorry, Mother. The filth came close to touching you.”

Tosh ignored it and took a deep draught of the dry air, free of the putrid stink that was The Drumgag. The weak light of Centauri Prime’s only moon, Calbretto, was the only illumination. The dull orange glow on the horizon spoke of the cities of the planet. They were some ways off. Renkashka itself was going to be several days’ journey. He was actually thankful to Setter for the tent. He still didn’t trust the thing in his hands, but it was a minor comfort.

“Well, what are we going to do?” Bors asked, though his eyes were still on the pitted and rusted sword he held in his hands protectively.

Tosh watched as Bors patted the hilt and pommel and cooed to it like a child. Insanity. You are stuck together, deal with it. “We get to a spaceport and find someone who will take us here,” Tosh said while hefting the small cube that The Drumgag had given him. It took every ounce of willpower to not fling it away the moment the muck-crusted info cube was in his hands. Even after wiping it clean, he still felt there was a stench that clung to the metal form. The metal can’t hold anything, the smell is in your head. The thought didn’t help Tosh feel less disgusted by the cube in his hand.

“How do we get to the nearest spaceport?” Bors asked.

Tosh looked over to see the barbarian was still stroking the sword and ignored it. “We could try to walk,” he said, pointing towards the horizon and imagined the enormous towers and rounded domes of the spaceport of Renkashka. “Yet, the road is— Bors, where are you—”

Bors had replaced the sword in its baldric and had walked towards the horizon that Tosh pointed at. “You said we walk. So, we walk.”

“We could also try to find some other transport. I don’t have the sturdy boots for—”

“You will get tougher if you try harder, Little Bird,” Bors said, continuing down the road without a backward glance.

Tosh grumbled to himself and started after the barbarian. His eyes went to the small tattoo gauge on his wrist. The red had overtaken half of the tattoo, so he had time before he had to take his next injection. Damn biology.

The pair didn’t travel more than an hour before Tosh asked for a rest. Bors nodded and, without prompting, took the bundle from Tosh and tossed the bundle onto the ground. Tosh was about to ask what he was doing when a large pavilion tent of silver and dark crimson popped up from the bundle, an opening for an entrance to the tent unzipped itself as if invitation.

Entering, Tosh stopped a moment, amazed that there were even sleeping spaces for the two of them, rolls of blankets, small pillows, and thin mattresses. Tosh settled on one, Bors settled down next to him, grunting at the mattress, but taking one blanket and wrapping it around himself as if checking to see if it would surround his frame. It shocked both that it did, with extra.

“How did you—”

Bors laughed. “I’ve escorted many on Mars. Soft ones such as yourself use these things. Not complicated.”

Tosh blinked at his companion. Hiding his shock, he said, “Interesting. Apparently, Setter did something nice for us.”

“Little Bird, I have been meaning to ask—”

“I have also been meaning to ask. Why do you call me ‘Little Bird?’”

Bors grinned. “You tweet and tweet like a bird. And you are smaller than me.”

Nodding and then giving a sigh, Tosh dropped into a folding chair that opened when he walked up to it. “What were you about to ask?”

“What is that cube that the fetid creature gave you?”

“The star map to the Crimson Planet.” He withdrew it from his tunic and couldn’t hide a sneer, looking at it, imagining some unseen slime that had stowed aboard. He touched the middle of it, and it unfolded onto a large square platter. There was a flicker in the center, and, moments later, a bright explosion of light was around them.

Tosh looked around, his eyes practiced at reading star maps. The surrounding images were different from he thought, but he recognized the tri-star system of Centauri. He reached out to touch it and the planet of Centauri Prime. When his finger touched the projection, there was a soft, blue hue that the three stars took up and a small bloom of calculations came up. Another bloom of light appeared, to the next system over.

“Halden’s Purchase,” Tosh said. “But where from there?”

The star map did nothing as Tosh touched the new sector of space.

After several seconds passed without a reaction, Tosh groaned and fell back into the chair heavily. “Slag!”

“What?” Bors asked, his mouth half-filled with food from the icebox.

“The damn map is a treasure-hunting type. It will only give information piecemeal. We have to get to the next stop and then open the map again. We can’t plan for more than one jump ahead. Gate travel is going to be prohibitive. We’ll need a rocket and a good crew.”

“I don’t like rockets, Little Bird. They smell strange and make eldritch noises.”

“Well, we will see what can scrounge up when we get to the next city.” Tosh grumbled and stared at the new section of space for a moment. A bloody treasure-hunt map. The Grifter must be having great fun with this.