In response, Roland blacked out. Just for a few seconds. He was awoken by the thud of his head hitting the conference room table. Fuck that’s good Oxy. He wished he could remember where he’d gotten it.

“Oh dear,” said the lady.

“He’s fine,” Jim sighed, “but we’re probably going to need to start over.”

The lady brought him some coffee and re-introduced herself as “Nana Yazzie.” Thanks to the coffee and Roland’s clearing head, her name stuck this time. It was hard not to marvel at her age, and harder still to stop his hindbrain from calculating how much longer ’til her human heart gave out.

Roland smelled cancer on the old man. Not serious cancer, nothing basic medicine couldn’t handle, but all the same the odor that wafted off him brought Roland a sort of primal discomfort. Or maybe it was the old man’s eyes that made his guts warble. It was hard to say. There was something disconcerting in the way he looked at Roland.

“Roland!” Jim shouted. Roland shook himself out of the haze and refocused on Nana Yazzie.

“Sorry,” he grunted.

“It’s fine,” she said, and set into her spiel again. She showed him pictures of her captured friends, Tule Black Elk, Rick Hartford, and Marigold Fulton. She explained the dire situation in North Texas and the Doom that marched toward Waco and Austin. It was a sad story, but not one that compelled Roland to action. Other than Topaz and Skullfucker Mike, the citizens of Rolling Fuck were total strangers to him. Austin was just another little ailing Republic in a continent full of them.

“I’m sorry for your people,” he told her, “and I’m sorry for Austin. But I really don’t see how any of this is my damn business.”

Jim took those words as his cue.

“Tule and Topaz are close,” said Jim. His voice was low, his tone smooth as silk. “Like sisters, from what I hear. Marigold vouched for Topaz and Skullfucker Mike when they joined the city. She’s all fucked up over this.”

“From what I hear,” he added.

“So let her do something about it then,” Roland muttered. “She’s got enough chrome to choke a river. Shit, this city’s got enough ­monster-people to burn the Eastern Seaboard. Why do you need me?”

“Because the Martyrs aren’t stupid,” Jim said. “They’re scanning for chrome, for biomods, for everything but the shit you’ve got. Because no one left alive is packing the shit you’ve got.”