Four rifles were pointed right at the ragged movie star in less than a second. Some of the villagers were already running away, others were already half-pointing their own weapons at the girl, at the strangers… Harper felt it was a miracle Anna wasn’t dead already.

  “Anna, what the hell?!” she shouted. Anna was fighting tears, her hands shaking as she held the revolver, now pointed at Harper. The duster realized she had to be the one to stay calm, do everything not to make things worse.

  “He’s still out there! And the tapes…” the actress said through sobs, her eyes locking with Harper’s, “I don’t want to shoot you, you saved me…”

  “Then don’t, honey…” Harper said, eyes darting across the field, at Walters, Alma, the villagers, the travellers, then back to Anna. A single twitch could lead to tragedy. “You’re safe here, we’ll get you to New Helsinki soon, yeah?”

  “I don’t want to go, don’t you get it?!” she shouted, holding the gun with both hands now, trying to keep it steady, “Yeah, you saved me, but I’m just a bounty to you. I won’t go back…”

  Harper eyed the starlet up and down. She didn’t look like she had on the Siegfried, nor did she look like she had on Harper’s TV screen. She looked older somehow, subtle lines in her face more visible under duress. Harper realized for the first time the actress must have been pushing forty, given how long she’d been a star.

  “Won’t make you do anything you don’t want, honey…” Harper said.

  “Harpy, I hate to say it, but we could really use the money…” Walters said, stepping up next to her.

  “We’ll get it off the tapes!” Harper shouted and knocked the pilot over the back of the head, wincing from the pain in her arm right after, “For fuck’s sake Walters, look at her!”

  “Not the tapes!” Anna shouted, finger tightening around her trigger, “Please no…”

  Harper was confused. Not going back, perhaps she had her reasons. But why would a movie star care about the tapes?

  “You can stay with us, mī?otā,” Alma said, stepping forward slowly.

  Anna pointed her gun right at the woman, eyes narrowed. “I’ve seen the way your men look at me… and besides, how do I know you won’t just sell me off to the cartels like the dusters wanted to?”

  “But we won’t,” a gravelly old voice said. The old man from the wagon removed his hood and scarf, revealing a bald head with a long, white beard. The steel piercings in his ears glinted in the sunlight as he approached Anna slowly. He was unfazed when the actress pointed her pistol at him, even when he got close enough for the barrel to be pressed to his forehead.

  “You were in the ash, were you not?” he said, looking up at the woman. She was more than a head taller than him, “Your injuries. The demons entered your blood, but they did not make you a killer. You are strong. You will recover, the whispers will pass.”

  Anna’s mouth fell open silently as the old man grabbed the barrel of the gun and took it from her, with no resistance on her part. Then she fell sobbing to her knees, and the old man wrapped his arms around her, as if she were a crying child comforted by her grandfather. The old man turned his neck, glancing back at Ivo. “This one will be one of us.”

  “But, why?” Carin said as the group lowered their guns, “What use is this… city girl?”

  “Enough, don’t argue with Ullo,” Ivo said, turning back towards Harper and Walters, “Do we have a deal? We must hurry, there is not much time. It seems we were lucky your ship was here waiting for us, with it we can haul five times as much before the cartel gets here.”

  Harper didn’t answer right away. Instead, she walked up to Anna, putting her five-fingered hand on her shoulder. “Listen, like I said, we won’t make you go anywhere you don’t want. But joining these nomads is a big change. You sure you’re willing to give up everything for it? Your life, your career?”

  “Yes,” Anna said, looking up. There was no hesitation, no doubt in her gaze. “Anything is better than going back. Harper?”

  “Yes?”

  “Just… nevermind,” she said, “Go scavenge the ship. You deserve your reward.”

  “Right,” Ivo said, patting Harper on the shoulder, “That about squares it between us. Thank you… We’ll talk things through with the village, you get your ship ready.”

  Harper spent the next few hours getting ready, helping Walters prepare the Hail Mary and gearing herself up. She had almost forgotten just how close the crash site was, only a few minutes away with the Hail Mary in flight.

  Ivo, Carin and another rider climbed on board with Harper and Walters: a young man named Lukas who kept staring at Harper from across the seat as they flew, nervously fidgeting with the hem of his scarf. But Harper didn’t pay him too much mind. She was more interested in the fact the Randuur didn’t have dust masks on them.

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  “How the hell do you breathe out there?” she asked over the familiar rattling of the hull, “Won’t you turn slayer before long?”

  “We have our scarves,” Ivo said, lifting his over his face, “They’re thicker than they seem. And you build up a tolerance over time, especially if you can burn off the… aggression in other ways before the demons get you fully…”

  “Of course, for longer journeys, we still need those,” Carin added, reaching forward to tug at the mask hanging from Harper’s neck and giving the redhead a wink.

  “Is there any other kind?” Harper asked, “Patches without dust are rare… How the hell do you survive out there?”

  “Through great trials and tribulations,” Ivo said and laughed, “Do not worry. If you wish, we will show you.”

  “‘Nough chatter, dustbunnies,” Walters shouted, donning his mask, “We’re ready to land.”

  Walters landed the Hail Mary on the ground right by the wreck of the Siegfried. Something that was generally not the best option for dust ships, but if they were quick, it wouldn’t matter. Harper saw the bodies, rotting in the open air, hidden under a thin layer of dust. Too thin. They had been moved and checked recently, most likely by the cartel scouts.

  She wondered if they’d notice Anna was missing, she wondered if they’d care beyond the profit her face could make them.

  The Randuur set about recovering what they could from the wreckage outside, while the pair of dusters went to find Payton’s body. Harper remembered exactly where he’d fallen, though a part of her wished they wouldn’t find him.

  The exit wound of a bullet in his chest. Entry wound in his eye, right through the goggles. Walters leaned down and removed them, and his mask.

  “Shit boss,” he uttered through his dust mask, clutching the cross hanging from his neck, “Uglier than me now, eh? Rest in peace you big sonuvabitch, by the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost... Amen.”

  “Sorry, boss,” Harper said, holding her fingers together. She wasn’t the praying type, but it felt right. Not much more she could do. She wanted to explain herself, beg forgiveness, tell him everything. But nothing came out.

  “How long did you work together?” she asked Walters instead. At least the living could respond.

  “Ten years, give or take,” Walters said and sighed into his mask, “Wasn’t always my captain, but every job I ever did was with him. Was there since I left my tribe…”

  “Tribe?” Harper asked, “You’re a Randuur?”

  “No… not anymore, Harpy,” Walters said.

  They discussed burying him right there. But in the end, partly due to the time it would take, and partly because they felt the duster deserved better, they decided on taking his body back to the Hail Mary. One last ride. Later, they’d find a proper final resting place for him near Crantown. Have the village priest bless it for them, although even Walters wasn’t sure what, if anything, Payton believed in.

  That’s what it was like for dusters. Walters didn’t share more about his past either, so she didn’t ask. It had probably been the same between him and Payton. When the captain’s body was returned to his ship, the dusters spent a few more hours scouring the wreck for all they could get: tapes, VHS players, recording equipment, filling the Hail Mary to the brim.

  Walters managed to break into the captain’s cabin of the Siegfried, although it seemed to have been rented out to some old man in a tweed suit. Harper figured he had starved to death in there, locked up and isolated from the rest.

  “Poor bastard,” she said, giving him a small kick as if he might still stand back up. “Was probably still breathing when we got here last…”

  “Yeah,” Walters said as he kneeled to try and crack the safe at the back of the room, “Might not have gone slayer even. Rooms like this are usually dust-proofed with their own air supply. Door was jammed, he probably locked himself in and couldn’t get out.”

  “Alone at that,” Harper muttered, “Selfish prick…”

  “Ha, makes you feel better about his fate, don’t it?” Walters said as the safe clicked open, “Wait… shit Harpy, look at this!”

  He took a tape out of the safe, then another, holding them up for Harper to see. “Look! Theresa Sanders, Nathaniel Hunter… Anna Cloude. All the biggest stars! What you think they are, casting tapes? Why they all locked up like this?”

  Harper took one of the tapes from Walters, the one with Anna’s name on it. She eyed it for a few seconds, curiosity rising in her mind.

  But then she remembered the village. Anna crying about the tapes. Were these the ones she was worried about?

  Harper shook her head and tossed the tape back into the safe. “Nah… burn ‘em.”

  “What? Could be worth a fortune, don’t wanna see what’s on them first?”

  “No, Walters,” Harper said, “It doesn’t matter. Burn them.”

  “Ah… I think… I get it,” Walters said, shoulders slumped as he looked down at the pile. “Fuck it… let’s burn them all down. But, shit Harpy. Burning the tapes, letting Anna go? Best not go soft on me. Next job, we’ll need to make back those losses.”

  “Promise I won’t,” Harper said, “Don’t worry. I know what’s out there.”

  A can of gasoline from the back of the Siegfried, a lit match and a crumpled piece of paper. Some old movie contract. The tapes went up in flames, popping and crackling in the safe.

  “Alright, think that about does it,” Walters said and stretched, then picked up the final crate of goods they’d gathered up, “Should get moving before the cartel gets here.”

  “You go on ahead,” Harper said, “Got one last thing to take care of. Dropped Payton’s Zaykov somewhere out there. Gonna go pick it up.”

  Harper headed outside, to where Mirko’s dust car had dropped below the cargo bay. Scenes of her escape with Anna playing through her mind, the shock of losing her finger, the slight, dull pain still in her right arm. She ran her gloved fingers through the dust, looking for the revolver.

  But it was no longer there.