The mover stops, and Nixon sneaks a glance. A woman sitting near the door stands to get off. He looks behind him and the Snapsit man struggles to unfold himself out of his seat. The Uzeks haven’t moved.
The mover starts again. There are only two others on board besides Nixon and the Uzeks. Seats are open, Nixon hears the Uzeks move to spots a few rows behind him. Their whispered chatter is getting louder. Nixon doesn’t recognize any of it. Such an ugly language.
They aren’t too many steps above animals.
Nixon pulls his right arm inside his cloak and rests his hand on the handle of the Uzek blaster tucked in his waistband. The automated voice calls out another stop and the mover slows. The woman sitting next to Nixon stands, and he steps to the side to let her pass. He looks behind him when he does and two of the Uzeks are looking at him.
Nixon grabs the rail above his head that runs the length of the car. The mover jerks to a start. It’s moving out of the main part of Exte’s business district now, and the only remaining person on-board other than the Uzeks stands. The mover calls for a stop and the gentleman steps toward the front of the car.
The ramp closes again, and the mover starts to move. The Uzeks are talking again. Nixon hears them step forward. The breath from their snouts tickles the back of his neck.
Nixon wraps his hand around the handle of the blaster. He puts two fingers around the trigger and pulls the gun from his waistband. He’s ready to fire. He doesn’t want to shoot. He doesn’t want to fight here. Three of them and one of him. Close quarters. The blaster makes it more even, but they likely have them too. Plus, he doesn’t want to have to shoot a hole into his cloak.
Then there it is, a meaty paw-hand on his shoulder. It pulls at him just slightly, and he turns. Face to face with an Uzek. The snout. The yellowing eyes. They jagged teeth.
“Excuse me,” the thing says in its gravel voice and steps past, the other two right behind.
The mover announces another stop as the trio steps to the ramp. They wait for the mover ramp to open then step off.
Nixon drops into a seat. The blaster hangs at his side then slips from his fingers and clatters to the ground. His heart is racing so fast that he swears it’ll make the mover fall over.
04
The mover drops Nixon off outside of the glass and sparkle of Exte’s central business district. Things here still aren’t as rough-built as the part of the city that Nixon calls home--called home. The buildings here are lower and longer. The builders spread out. They gave themselves space. They didn’t go vertical. But the walls aren’t mud packed. The streets are still paved.
Nixon steps out and onto the street. Shaine’s address is still a block or two away, but he can walk it from here. Even after the Uzeks exited, that mover felt too confining. He liked the streets better. They were open. He had visibility.
Exte’s second sun is about to rise, and Nixon hotfoots it to Shaine’s address, hoping that the job is still his to have. This is well past first light, and he knows Shaine well enough that if he said first light he meant first light.
The number Nixon is looking for is sloppily painted above an opening on the front of one of the buildings. He steps through cautiously and turns the corner into a wide courtyard. There in the middle is Shaine. He sits alone at a table, his head down and reading something on his datapad.
“Good morning,” Nixon says.
Shaine looks up and smiles. “You’re late.” He’s breathing heavy, and his cloak is sitting crooked on his shoulders.
“Rough commute.” Nixon pulls out a chair across from Shaine and sits.
“Mira didn’t think you’d show. She owes me a stack of hot griddle cakes with dinner tonight.”
“You’re so domesticated.”
“It’s not actually bad, You should try it.”
Nixon shrugs.
Footsteps behind them and Nixon turns. It’s a woman. She’s also got her head in her datapad. There’s a bag over her shoulder. She doesn’t see either Nixon or Shaine, just heads toward one of the doors that open out into the courtyard.
“We waiting on someone else?” Nixon asks.
Shaine shakes no and says “This job is mine.”
“So you just waited around to rub it in my face that I was late and you decided to take it?”
Shaine shakes no again. “That’s not what I mean. I’m the one hiring out this job.”
“I’m not following.”
“I don’t do these kinds of courier jobs anymore. People come to me looking to get goods from one place to another, and I find the people to do it.”
“Oh, big boss man.”
“It’s not like that. I’m a small operation. Mira’s idea. Said it’d keep me home with her and the kids more. And wasn’t nearly as dangerous.”
“And has it?”
“I am home more, and that’s great.”
“But…”
“You know the but.”
“People need private courier service for a reason.”
Shaine nods and reaches down beside him. He pulls a metal case off his seat and sits it on the tabletop.
“Still interested?”
Nixon nods. “I have no other options. I need credits, and I need off Exte. This gets me both. And it’s not like I haven’t been doing dangerous work before now.”
Shaine smiles. “Good,” he says. “Then here’s the job.”
He rubs his hand across the top of the metal
