"You're alive," I said.

  It was a stupid thing to say. I couldn't come up with anything better.

  His mind had been burned. I'd watched his dead eyes. I huddled by his stretcher, hugging myself from guilt rather than cold. I'd wanted to kill him.

  "I'm alive," the Knife croaked. His voice was weak, his speech like the wind pushing grains of sand in the desert. The rope stretcher lay on the ground, strips of pale beige polymer flapping in the gusts.

  "I wanted to finish you," I said. "When you burned out."

  "Hao told me. Glad she stopped you."

  "Yeah," I said. "I'm glad, too."

  Around us, the hunted people of Remba flowed into the hauler, disappearing into the darkness like ants. Hopefully, they'd have enough supplies in there. If not, we'd have to figure something out.

  "What happens now?" I said.

  The Knife gave me a faint smile, his wrinkled face creasing. Smiling wasn't his strong suit.

  "You tell me," he said. "You're the one with the plan."

  "Some plan," I said.

  "Worked good enough," the Knife said. "We have food, a ship, a way off Remba."

  "War among the Syndics."

  His smile grew wider, meaner.

  "That, too," he said, with evident pleasure. I kept forgetting how bloodthirsty these people were. Their hate for the Syndicates exceeded mine. I hadn't been hunted long enough to build that kind of ice-wall emotion.

  "Will you be able to get everyone sorted?" I said. "Fighting aboard a ship is a death sentence."

  "Maybe," he said. "As long as everyone keeps listening to me."

  "They'll listen," Widen interrupted. She walked up, staring down at us. There was a gun belt around her waist, a small-caliber machine pistol on it, its drum magazine weighing the belt down.

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  "You sure?" I said.

  "We're the only ones with guns," she replied. Her face was grim. Maybe that was how it was going to go. Rule by force. But they needed the diggers, needed the engineers, the mechanics, the pilots.

  Maybe they could build a community on their hauler. I hoped so.

  "What are you going to call it?" I said. "The ship."

  She gave me a long look as if I'd suggested breathing void or eating children.

  "If we live long enough to care," she said, "I'll let you know."

  Still not trusting in her good fortunes. Good. That would keep her and her family alive. But maybe Ade would soften the hurt over the years. The kid's enthusiasm had carried everyone this far.

  "Luck," I said, rising.

  "Hey," the Knife said, coughed, wheezed. Licked his lips.

  "Yeah?" I said, sinking down next to him again.

  "I understand you," he said. "I'd hate to be a mind burn, too."

  I nodded, a weight sliding from my heart. It was all the forgiveness I needed.

  "Here," he said, digging beneath his cloak. He pulled out a stained leather sheath, with his poignard in it, offered it to me. "Might come in handy."

  Another type of forgiveness. For stabbing me. For not believing in me. For all the death he'd caused with that blade.

  "You keep it," I said. "You might meet another mage."

  He put it back without a word, accepting that we were fine. No debt between us, blood or otherwise.

  Maybe a bit of friendship, though. I still wanted him to meet Riina someday. They'd make a great couple.

  "You ever heard of Rimont Station?" I said.

  "No," he replied, with a puzzled look.

  "Find it in your 'pedia," I said. "Head on a vector seventeen degrees off galactic central from it, aim for a point about thirty light-years from Rimont. It should put you close enough."

  "Close enough to what?" he said.

  "Salvation," I replied. "Friends. Me."

  Two of his bloods came up, grabbed the ropes on his stretcher.

  "Luck," he said.

  "You, too," I replied.

  I stood outside the hauler, watching the flood of humanity flow into it, until the Knife and his bearers were nothing but shadows in the depth of the cargo hold.

  Then I wished Widen luck, gave Darrow a hand-clasp, hugged Ade. I bent down, picking up a fist-full of sand and letting it drain through my fingers.

  For a moment, I considered putting some in my pocket. Stupid idea. The faster I left Remba the better.

  I walked to the Bucket, checked that Hao had secured the Kylians in our cargo hold. The hauler took off as I was doing a final head-count. Two hundred-eleven. Thousands more in the hauler.

  They had enough supplies to link up with the Belithain, if they wanted to. Those containers were full with food, and hydroponics, electronics, medical equipment, spares. Maybe even engine parts. Everything you could trade at a remote, low-manufacturing world. Everything you'd need to stay alive in space.

  The hauler dwindled to a speck, disappeared in the sky. The last Kylians boarded the Bucket, Hao closing the loading bay ramp behind them. Far away in the north-west, a sheath of smoke marked the position of City, burning.

  I climbed into my pilot's couch, fed power to the engines, watched the atmosphere fall away into the blackness of space.

  The horses were leaving Remba, for good.