Mazelton thought Lettie undercut the impact of the words “bio-horror” by enthusiastically turning the jar over and shining her light core at different angles, like a little kid who found the very sparkliest rock.

“Knew it. Look, the only writing in the whole damn place, and it’s a warning label, inside the sealed arms safe, and in High Nacon too. Most Nacon subjects would go their whole life without hearing the High Tongue. Strictly for the aristocracy, and towards the end, they hardly bothered.”

“Oh? Why?”

”Dry mind integration made it kind of pointless. I mean, think of it this way- words are shitty telepathy, letting me communicate from my mind to yours.”

”Ok?”

”So imagine I tell you there is a room. You have no idea what I am talking about, so you have to try and imagine a room. Whatever that means to you. But if I tell you it is a small room for a little girl with a little bed and a small shelf of books, and the walls are painted blue, and she has a crossed cutlass and hatchet on the wall that used to belong to her mother when she was her age, and you have a much better idea of what’s in my head.”

”Bio-horror?”

”Often. But the Nacon short circuited a lot of that, and let the dry minds create a sort of shared experiential language for all the connected people. When I say “room,” all the attendant data attached to the word “room” came along with it. No need for further description.”

”Yes, but this particular bio-horror.”

”Oh that. Well basically the Bo did something very Bo-ish. They made a little critter that was programmed to kill anything that wasn’t the Bo. Slap in a core to get it started, see the spot on the jar? Nothing special, just needs to dump the heat into the preservation chamber. Anyway, that heat provides enough energy for the critter to revive. And then you just take off the lid and step back as it kills. Apparently. The instructions are pretty short. Like it’s just reminding you of something you should already know.”

”How did they plan to get it back? For that matter, how did they get it to not kill people they wanted to keep alive?”

”No idea, but it looks like the jar itself creates a sort of pacification zone for four meters around itself. Maybe the creature returns voluntarily?”

”So what kind of creature is it?”

”No idea. Let’s crack it open and find out.”

”That sounds like a comically dumb idea.”

”Don’t power it first, of course.”

”Yeah, nope.”

”Oh come on!”

”Nope, you already hooked your mind to one likely fatal Bo monstrosity today. One is enough.” Mazelton strictly wagged his finger. “No. No.”

”Well what’s your great idea, wise guy?”

“The Collective have been keeping their wagons at the back of the train, figuring it would be harder to ambush them that way. Interesting threat model, not what I would go for, but whatever. I open the jar between our wagons and theirs, deploy the monstrosity, and hang around to recapture it or destroy it when it doubles back towards us. After, presumably, it winnows the Collective.”

”Who are mostly non-combatants just looking to lead a good, rich and fulfilling life.”

”Exactly. You know, the ones who would kill me without a second’s hesitation or remorse, given an opportunity.”

”What’s the Dusty position on massacres?”

”They increase entropy, and encourage cruel exploitation of the World and it’s people. That, while we all ultimately return to the Earth and will ultimately rise again in another form, this present moment has meaning. It is only in the present moment that we are truly free to act, and to make those moral choices that nourish and enrich the world. Each second is it’s own choice to see the great cycle become virtuous or vicious.”

Lettie let the silence linger, resting the heavy jar in her strong hands. Mazelton stood there calmly, meeting her gaze. He knew exactly what he was doing. What it cost. Who it would hurt. But he was going to do it anyway. If it burdened his conscience, well, he would live with it.

”You know what they say about you now? In the Caravan? Aside from the Collective.”

Mazelton shook his head.

”You are reliable. Weird. A little creepy. But not as much as they thought. Mostly they think you are kind of funny, given how fussy and strictly polite you are. But your cores are good, you take your time with people, you always make an effort. And in a pinch, you are always there fighting in the thick of it. Nobody is prepared to call you a friend, but… you are reliable. Liked, for a given, limited, quantity of liked.”

Mazelton made an empty little smile.

”The cultivation of Virtu. Do you know it?”

”Heard of it. Never seen it done on this scale, I guess. Or never noticed it if I have.”

”One must always strive to be seen as virtuous, and people only look at results, not means. If I give you bread, I am your friend. If I give you bread when you are starving, I am your hero. And if my clothes are stained with blood when I hand you the bread, well, it’s not your blood and not your problem. I am a good, virtuous, person, and you will fight anyone who says otherwise. Although your mouthy neighbor seems to have vanished, for no apparent reason.”

“More a Ma than a Dusty, eh?”

”Dusty is my goal. Communitarian, trusting, being a person who enriches the world and the people around me. Someone capable of loving sincerely, and being sincerely loved in return. Ma is how I get there. Because I can’t do any of that if I am dead.”

Lettie shook her head and handed Mazelton the jar.

“I will translate the text on the jar for you, and then we are square. Alright?”

Mazelton nodded.

Lettie did an honest job of it, as they trudged back up towards the exit. It really was as simple as she described. Power it up, turn it loose. Sooner or later it would run out of power or targets. It wasn’t able to feed itself, and could only be replenished in the jar. One of those upsetting things that blurred the line between a living being and a machine.

There may have been more to find. No, there certainly was more to find. But they were done. Too exhausted by the whole ordeal, the psychic pressure of the place. Too much chance of a fatal accident. Time to go back to the caravan. To the tent Mazelton was happy to think of as home.

They trudged through the clone farm, still eerie, but now somehow pathetic. They walked quietly passed the doors marked in a language they couldn’t perceive, naming the dead entombed within. A mausoleum, who’s every resident was murdered.

The late afternoon sun poured down on them, like water to the thirsty, their cells cheering with new life. They stood on the ledge and looked out across the forests and the wide blue river. It was… beautiful. The world was beautiful. Mazelton lost himself in it. Lettie could only try to remember, and be at peace.

They started walking down the trail together. “I only brought one Cheve. And it’s a titchy little thing. It won’t fit two.”

”Oh, no worries. I plan on running on ahead. I will probably get back to the caravan before you?”

”How do you figure?”

’”I run really fast, and I can do it all day. Your cheve runs faster, but not for very long.”

”I mean, sure, but how fast is very fast?”

Lettie gave Mazelton an extra large dose of side eye, and when they found a reasonably safe spot, jumped one meter straight up with no apparent effort. She landed lightly, frowned, and jumped again with a little effort. She added another twenty centimeters to her vertical.

“I’m pretty fast. If you are a ten, my agility would be eighteen.”

“Ten what?”

”The numbers are… you know what? Just take it as me being almost twice as fast as you. In the top one percent of humanity.”

”Huh. Impressive. When do you train?”

Lettie grinned humorlessly.

”I’m Pi Clan. I am my own normal.”

They reached the Sky Runners camp, and collected Mazelton’s cheve. They looked a little disappointed that Mazelton didn’t have a reply ready to be sent. He didn’t have the heart to tell them that he was saving the letter to read at a better time. True to her word, Lettie ran off. She tore up the road as she ran. If he didn’t know better, he would have thought she was Bo clan, not Pi. He shook his head, saddled up, and headed back for the wagons. They had a two day lead on him. It would be a long ride.

The sun was setting in front of him, big and red, when he felt a burning pain in his lung. He collapsed off his chev, and fell into some bushes by the side of the road. Echoing off the mountains was the sound of a rifle.