The werewolf was looking at me, making some kind of gesture – reaching into his ragged vest, repeatedly, as if urging me to do the same.

I did so—

—and my hand encountered a folded piece of paper.

Oh. I realized. Then our encounter was no accident. He must have slipped this in while lifting me… and I was too distracted to notice.

Cursing my stupidity, I made my way aft, making sure none of the others noticed. The captain and his assistant were casting off and revving engines. Katske and Coalshack shook thumbs with two other passengers – a young man armed with a shiny sword and a small creature who looked like a cross between a frog and some kind of lawn gnome.

I turned to open the letter. Some flecks of skin-colored substance fell out of the unfolded page. But the handwriting was fluid and quite pretty.

Sorry we had to run, leaving you in that alley.

CS was nosing about. He’s dangerous!

Took a while to find you with help from Lorg.

We have news! Located some of your friends.

Also, Ping awaits! Anxious to discuss matters.

It finished in a sweeping signature.

—Sully and Moulder.

When I next looked up, the ship was already in motion, heading toward a broad exit from the parking garage into fading daylight. Beyond lay a vast landscape of ravaged urban ruins, where the once-prosperous city formerly extended – now a wasteland extending to the horizon.

Glancing back at Lorg, I saw him joined by a svelte figure dressed in a bellboy uniform, and even at a distance I recognized one of the only friends I had made on this world – author of the note I clutched in my hand. But, as I got ready to leap over the rail – a risky drop, at this height and speed – I felt a familiar poke.

“You’re not thinkin’ of leaving us, are you doc?”

I whirled to face Coalshack. “You don’t need me anymore. You have Nuts and her finder. Let me go and good luck with your quest.”

The cop answered with a headshake, then a curt motion with his weapon. I could only glance back to give Sully and Lorg a resigned shrug, as the lovercraft cruised ahead, exiting between wide gates.

There was a tense moment as some ogre-like security guards gave us a once-over. Cuspitui yowled something about how Fu Tichi “should have let the bookies win…”

But the guards attention mostly aimed at a nearby picket line, where the casino’s regular zombie service staff marched – or shambled – back and forth, waving signs, pelting vehicles with garbage and stray bits of themselves. While I could not understand their moaning chants, my nanos translated placards, waved by weathered, crumbling hands.

CORPAMBULISTS DEMAND BETTER CONDITIONS!

FULL EMBALMING & DENTAL!

RESIDUALS ON RE-RUNS!

MORE BRAINS!

Jeers, taunts, scabs and small body parts rained upon the land barge while it rumbled by the demonstrators. We all had to duck—