“No one is ‘in charge’ here,” said Nana Yazzie. “That will become increasingly clear the longer you stay. I’m the Eldest, which means exactly what it sounds like. I’m old as dirt, and older than any of the other dirt around here, too.” She eyed Donald Farris, and continued.

“When I give advice or have an opinion some people listen. This is not a state, and I am not a head of state, but sometimes I play one for the folks outside. Foreign policy, diplomatic relations, that sort of stuff. Mainly because no one else can be arsed.”

“By the way,” she added, “welcome to the City of Wheels. Or,” she frowned a little, “Rolling Fuck. I argued rather strenuously against that name, but I was outvoted.”

“I like the name,” said Skullfucker Mike. “It’s fun. Cities shouldn’t take themselves too seriously. That’s when the problems start.”

“So why are we here?” Manny asked. “I mean, I’m grateful and all. We’re grateful,” he nodded to Reggie. “But I know y’all aren’t just being nice. Mike said you had dangerous work.”

“Skullfucker Mike,” Skullfucker Mike insisted again. Nana Yazzie ignored him and replied to Manny.

“We do have a job for you, mijo. You are not required to take it though. If you say no we’ll still return you and your journalist friend to Austin. And if you do help us, you’ll be compensated.”

“So what is it you need?”

The old woman snapped her fingers. A projection screen hummed to life on the wall of the room that faced Manny and Reggie. It displayed three faces: two women and one man. They all looked young, though that meant very little. One woman was white and kept her hair in a bright purple mohawk. The other was as bald as Skullfucker Mike, with round cheeks, green, scowling eyes, and skin a little darker than Manny’s. The young man was very pale. He appeared to be of Chinese descent, and his exposed skin was covered in scarified symbols from a language Manny didn’t recognize. It definitely wasn’t Chinese.

“From left to right; Marigold Fulton, Tule Black Elk, and Rick Hartford. They’re all citizens, and they act as our negotiators when the city is in the Southwest. Two days ago they arrived in Plano to negotiate a trade deal with the Republic of Texas. We have quite a lot of processed coffee and we were hoping to trade it for…” She trailed off a bit and her cheeks reddened. Manny thought she looked embarrassed. “For snacks.”

“Snacks?” Reggie asked.

“Yes,” she nodded. “The Frito-Lay Corporation is—or at least was—still headquartered in Plano. The junk food they produce is harder to find out west.”

“We mostly wanted cheetos,” Topaz licked her lips. “For whatever reason, the imitations we print out here just don’t cut it.”