Twinmaker

bits he wouldn’t eat whether they were fabbed or not.

“Save the meat for me. I’m starving.”

The old saloon had a rear light that flicked on as she came around the corner. It revealed a chemical toilet with a door that opened onto the empty landscape. She used it as quickly as she could, holding her breath from the smell creeping up the pipe.

Coming back around the saloon, she heard voices.

“Never trusted that thing,” someone was saying in a low, querulous voice. “They put it here in exchange for free power. I know it comes from the satellites now, but you still need wires to get it around on the ground, they said. Either that or move. It’s for emergencies, but who’s going to have an emergency out here? The last group to come by were balloonists. If they have an emergency, they’re dead. Am I right?”

“You’re right,” said Jesse with a small laugh. “How long have you lived here?”

“Since I was a boy, and I ain’t going anywhere now.”

“No one’s making you. We’re just passing through.”

Jesse didn’t sound overly worried, so Clair walked around the corner and into view. Jesse was leaning against the buggy, the last of his sandwich in one hand, eyes hidden in the shade of his shaggy bangs. In front of him, facing away from the saloon and lit by a single globe under the veranda roof that hadn’t been on before, was an old guy, weathered and faded by the sun. His eyes were so gray they were almost transparent. He looked about a hundred. Clair thought he was probably no more than seventy, just old enough to remember life before the powersats.

She cleared her throat. He turned.

“Ah, here’s the pretty one,” he said with a yellow-toothed smile, extending his hand. “Jayden Beaumont, proprietor of the Old Corner Saloon.”

“Clair Hill. Sorry if we woke you, Mr. Beaumont.”

His grip was strong. “Call me Jay. And no need to apologize. I don’t sleep so well these days. Tumbleweeds in Telegraph City, I hear them.”

He let her go and she stepped away. He smelled stale, like the survivor of a fifty-year bender, and was wearing a thin silk dressing gown and slippers that had seen better decades. Bony, angular knees poked at the inside of the gown. She couldn’t tell if he was wearing anything under there. Didn’t want to know.

“You two need a bed for the night?” he asked them. “It’s not too late to throw something together. Breakfast included, free of charge.”

“No thanks,” said Clair quickly, wondering if he grew his own food and cooked it or used a fabber. “You get many people out here?”

He scratched at his scalp. “Some. Student geologists, the odd surveyor, historians, hobbyists. Is that what you two are? On some kind of school trip, perhaps?”

“That’s it,” she said, leaping on the idea. “A treasure hunt, actually. If you see someone else tonight, don’t tell them we were here.”

He tapped his nose. “Gotcha.”

“Well, I guess we’d better move on,” she said. “Don’t want to fall too far behind. Thanks for letting me use your bathroom.”

He smiled almost sadly and said, “Sure, honey.”

With one hand, he reached under his dressing gown and pulled out a shotgun. He pumped the action and pointed it at stomach height, midway between Jesse and Clair.

They froze.

38

KNEES, THOUGHT CLAIR, wanting to howl at her stupidity. No one had knees that bony.

“What do you want?” she asked, holding up her hands.

“We’ve got nothing, Jay,” said Jesse. “Don’t do this to us.”

“It’s not about you,” he said. The smile was gone now. He was determined, but he didn’t look happy about it. “I lied. The last people through here weren’t balloonists. I had some other visitors tonight. They came out of this thing.” He cocked his head at the booth behind him. “They said to keep an eye out for people using the roads. I’m supposed to let them know if I see anyone.”

“Did you let them know?” asked Clair.

“They told me you were terrorists. I saw you fiddling with the booth. I may not approve of it, but it’s the only thing this place has going for it. You blow it up, and I might as well go out back and dig my grave.”

“Did you let them know, Jay?”

His watery gaze darted from her to Jesse and back again. “I did what I had to.”

Clair cursed silently to herself. This is what happens when you let your guard down, a voice whispered in her mind. The pistol was in the buggy, out of reach. The old man was too far away to risk rushing him. There was only one thing she could do.

She opened a connection to the Air.

“Q, we’re in trouble, and we need your help.”

“I am monitoring your situation by the sensors in the quadricycle, Clair. What can I do?”

“We need a distraction,” she said. “Anything. Use the buggy or the booth. Whatever it takes.”

“I have a thought. You said—”

“I don’t care what, Q. Just get us away from him.”

Q didn’t answer, and after a moment the light on the door of the booth switched from green to red. In use.

“Is the gun really necessary?” asked Jesse.

“They told me to keep you here any way I could.”

“You couldn’t come up with anything better?”

“I offered you free breakfast. What else was I supposed to do? An old guy like me’s no match for you fancy kids.”

“We are kids, Jay.” Jesse edged minutely away from Clair. “What kind of terrorists do you think we’d make?”

Jay stepped back, decreasing the angle required to fire at either one of them. “Don’t try anything, boy. I’m no fool. This place used to jump in its day. Come back here, into the light.” He gestured with the barrel of the shotgun, swinging them around onto the creaking wooden porch. As they moved, he moved too, keeping a constant distance between them until he was standing where they had been. He could see the booth now, and they couldn’t. He noticed the red light instantly, indicated it with his bristly chin.

“That’ll be them now, coming to arrest you. Shouldn’t take long. I won’t need to hog-tie you or anything undignified.”

“Doesn’t matter if you tie us up or not, Jay,” Clair said. “They’ll kill us all the same, and it’ll be your fault.”

“Kill you? Don’t be absurd. There’s no death penalty anymore, not even for terrorists.”

“We keep telling you,” said Jesse in frustration. “We’re not terrorists, and if you think they’re peacekeepers, you’re fooling yourself.”

He shrugged. “I don’t know them from Adam, boy, but they weren’t here fiddling with my booth like you were. Or covered in blood, pretty girl, that’s obviously not yours.”

“It will be soon.”

He shifted his feet. “I need d-mat, see? Without it, I’ve got nothing. Nothing at all.”

The booth behind them finished doing whatever it did inside its mirrored walls. Clair heard the hiss of air pressure equalizing and the smooth glide of the door swinging open.

“Thank you, Mr. Beaumont,” said a woman’s voice. “I have them now.”

The words almost took Clair’s strength away. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to go. It was supposed