The passengers on the wagon are the first of many. Soon, other vehicles arrive. There are mules bearing whole families, towing goods behind, other folk on foot with nothing but a bag on their backs. Before long, the Peacekeepers show up, with their ex-army vests and Accord-issue rifles. I watch them pass from beneath the brim of my hat as they head straight for the board where the wanted bills are posted. I shuffle down a little further in my patch of shade.

Talk and noise fill the station, and the smell of food: fresh protein and frying fat, even coffee. My stomach groans for it, but I can’t take the risk. The Air Line is due within the hour, some say, others insist it won’t arrive until dusk. There is little anyone can do but wait. Once again, we’re at the mercy of the First Accord and their failed promises: of land, of space, of faster travel than we could imagine. Of freedom. I slide a glance at the General. She is staring darkly at a pair of children who stand, pointing at something and laughing.

Abruptly, she’s on her feet. I catch the edge of the poncho.

‘Where are you going?’

She jerks free without a word. Swearing, I follow. The children are part of a cluster of people, all staring down at the same thing.

A sideshow. For a second my stomach reels, remembering Valdosta, the snakes, the clatter of bone dice on wood and the chaos I left behind in Redcrop. But this is nothing so grand. A showman – if anyone would call him that – crouches in the dust, theatrically cracking a miniature whip. Before him two warrior ants are doing battle. They’ve been allowed to work themselves into a fury, and now the tiny hairs that cover their carapaces glitter in the afternoon light.

‘See them now, see them, gentle folk, they are in their red rage,’ the showman patters, cracking the whip. ‘See how they wish to fight and die, beautiful and fierce.’ He points to the larger ant. ‘This here is Roseinvale, named for the great conflagration of that moon, and the other is the Tragedy of Tamane. Two great battles between the First Accord and Free Limits and now, which will win? Now will history be rewritten? Do I have a bet from you, madam? Roseinvale or Tamane? Choose now for there shall be no other chance!’

Some people shake their heads and hurry away as fast as possible. The showman’s game is too much like chance, enough to tempt the Ifs. But others stay, their fear dulled by life in the Barrens, by their hunger to see anything new. There’s always money to be had from those who can stand a little danger.