Now, I hear Falco’s muffled laugh from the front of the wagon.

‘Holiday?’ she calls down to the soldier. ‘This is business. Some things you can’t trust to anyone else.’

Behind us, a squeal of brakes: the G’hals pulling up on their mares.

‘Riding with a crew, huh?’ There’s an edge of humour in the guard’s voice. ‘Must be something good under there. You’re not running arms again?’

‘Me, Segun? That would be illegal. No, I’m diversifying. Agriculturally speaking.’

‘Didn’t have you down as a muck-pedlar.’

‘Business is business. And since the bovine flu killed off half the cattle on Brovos, fertiliser is big business.’

Another snort. ‘Alright, Mala. Ride safe. I hear there’s dangerous folk out there.’

‘Don’t I know it. May your thoughts be clear, Seg.’

A slap on the side of the wagon, and we’re rolling again. Another few metres, and we’ll be free…

‘Stop!’

The wagon lurches and I roll against the General. I feel her rapid breathing, but don’t dare move, not when I hear the whine of guns charging, boots in the dust and angry voices.

‘Private,’ someone barks. ‘The order is to search and verify all cargo leaving the settlement. Has this wagon been searched?’

‘Well no, sir, but…’

I tense as a corner of the tarpaulin is thrown back. There’s a silence.

‘What the hell is this?’ a choked voice demands.

‘Snake guts,’ Falco calls down from her seat, voice dripping scorn. ‘Prime trimmings and gristle, combined with waste from the kitchens, all rich in nitrates, sir. Care for a sample?’

‘Don’t push me. Where are you taking it?’

‘Out to New Despair. Word is the ranches are in dire need of organic matter. They’re paying double.’

‘You’re a goddam vulture, Falco.’

‘If you’re done with my goods?’

There’s another silence, before finally, the tarp is dropped. ‘We’ll be watching. Those G’hals of yours better not get any ideas while you’re gone.’

‘Ideas? Never. Though they might have a notion or two.’ She stomps the wagon’s pedal, sending us shooting forwards in a cloud of choking dust.

Half an hour later, in the wilds beyond the Air Line tracks, we’re finally able to slide free from our fetid hiding place. As soon as she gets the respirator off her face, the General starts to heave and retch.

‘You bitch,’ she croaks at Falco.

Falco just laughs at her, though she’d have anyone else who called her that beaten to a pulp. She hands me a canteen of water. ‘You alright, Doc?’

I suck in a breath, pulling the thin desert air into my lungs. ‘No worse than swimming in a waste tank.’ I look around. ‘What’s the plan?’