hands. The resemblance stopped there. The one closest to Gem was tall, slightly plump, and rosy-cheeked, with her cornsilk-blond hair in twin braids. I named her Heidi, in my mind. The other was a dark-complected, raven-haired Latina, a half-foot shorter than her partner.
“All right?” Heidi asked the Indian.
“He is who he is supposed to be.”
“And her?” the Latina asked, gesturing at Gem with the barrel of her shotgun.
“Wild card,” the Indian said.
“Get up,” the Latina told Gem.
I measured the distances with my eyes. The Latina looked quicker, the blonde more solid. I had to get one of them between me and the Indian if—
“Easy!” the Indian warned her off, reading my body language like it was a billboard. “It’s not what you think,” he said to me, his voice calm. “We weren’t expecting her. You know that. Lune trusts you. He doesn’t know her. You vouching for her … Well, no offense, but any man can be fooled.”
“So what we need to do now is to search … Gem,” the Indian continued. “I promise you it will be as dignified as possible. And that, if we find weapons, it will not mean anything. But if we find a transmitter. Or a recording device …”
“I understand,” Gem said, getting slowly to her feet and facing the Latina as if the shotgun was a bureaucratic annoyance.
The Latina turned and started walking off, Gem following. And the blonde following Gem.
It took much longer than I thought it would. I made some no-content conversation with the Indian, forcing myself to not listen for a shotgun’s roar.
When they came back, the shotguns were pointed at the ground. The blonde went over to the Indian, unhooked a canteen from her knapsack, and handed it to him. He took a long drink. And then I understood why he had refused Gem’s offer earlier.
Each of the women took out a padded jumpsuit similar to the ones they were wearing from their knapsacks. The Latina handed one to Gem, the blonde to me.
“Ready to go?” the Indian asked, once we’d climbed into the suits.
“Yes,” I told him.
The blonde picked up my duffel. The Latina took Gem’s little suitcase. I didn’t say a word.
The Indian waved his hand. The dog jumped to its feet and ran over to him.
Then we all started walking.
After a couple of hours, I was grateful the women were carrying all the gear. When the Indian finally held up his hand for us to stop, we were right next to a fence that was mostly concealed by vegetation. He checked his compass, walked to his right along the fence line, and stopped again. He showed us a gap someone had cut in the fence. If he hadn’t shown me, I never would have spotted it.
We followed him through. And started walking again until we came to a sheer-faced rock ledge.
The Indian motioned for us to stay where we were. Then he and the dog moved off until they were out of sight.
The Latina kept checking her watch. Or, at least, looking at some dial she wore on a band around her wrist. I wasn’t near enough to see, and didn’t plan on closing the gap.
Finally, she nodded at the blonde, who stood up and said: “You’ll have to carry your own stuff now. It’s not far. And we have to keep our hands free, all right?”
“Sure,” I said. But, this time, Gem snatched her little suitcase before I had a chance.
The blonde went first, climbing on what looked like random cuts in the rock. Normally, watching a woman climb stairs is one of life’s great treats, but the muffling of her camo-suit and the fading sun’s occasional glint off her scattergun killed any of that for me. Gem was behind me, with the Latina bringing up the rear.
As we topped a ridge, I could see down into a cleft in the rocks big enough to hold a large building. And when I looked closer, that’s what it was. Like a Quonset hut, a damn big one, painted the same color as the rock formations surrounding it. The only thing that drew my eye was the antennas. There were enough of them to bring cable to a small city. All different heights and thicknesses, with a random assortment of satellite dishes as well.
“He’s in there,” the blonde said.
We had to stoop to get through the door. Inside was a small, square room, as antiseptic as a decompression chamber. The women racked their shotguns on either side of the doorway, took off their camo-suits, and stood silently, hands clasped behind their backs, like some parody of parade rest.
“Have a seat,” the Indian said, pointing to what looked like a transplanted church pew against the far wall. “He’s working on something now, but he’ll see you soon.”
“Would you like some coffee, or something to eat, while you’re waiting?” the blonde asked.
“Please!” Gem said, making it clear she was saying yes to all the above.
The Latina glared at the blonde, but she didn’t say anything.
The blonde went out of the room, came back in a few minutes with a coffeepot in one hand and a tray of fancy cookies in the other. “Just a second,” she said, and went back out again. When she returned, she had coffee cups and saucers, and plates for the cookies. Which was a good thing, since it prevented Gem from simply putting the tray in her lap and going to work on the goodies.
I passed on the coffee, but I had a couple of the cookies. “These are
“Aren’t they? Juanita makes them.”
