They're listening to me. Why are they listening to me?

  First rule of being a con artist. You don't for authority, you just take it. Nine times out of ten, people are glad to have someone else in charge. Mostly we humans like to be told what to do, especially when we're nervous. There's tricks to it -- the authoritative voice, the right posture, the right tone. You don't shout and bluster. Excessive force implies weakness, lack of confidence, admits the possibility that you might not get your way. True authority carries the implicit assumption that everything will happen as you order, because to do otherwise would be unthinkable.

  Of course right now I'm not running a game, I'm just trying to stay alive. But someone has to be in charge, and if I'm no better than any of the others I'm probably no worse. At least I'm not starting fights with anybody.

  The next few minutes are devoted to frantic preparations. We don't know how long we have. The raider guard said they weren't set to be relieved until the second sun, but that doesn't mean nobody will want to come onto the ship in the meantime.

  The raider guard I . I had gotten this far in my life without killing anybody, in spite of my alleged criminality. I have a strong feeling this cannibal won't be the last.

  At some point we probably need to clean up the bodies, huh?

  "Viscid's coming up t' temp," Quarter yells from the control room. "Next step is t' start the engine, but that'll let everybody and their mother know something's going on. You all ready?"

  Erasmus forced the door to the armory, and Theo and I have been going back and forth stacking guns and ammunition at the top of the stairs. There's a pretty good pile there now. Back on the gun deck, Agni and Owain have been familiarizing themselves with the mounted weapons. The ship is heavily armed, even for raiders -- I think this whole camp uses it to stash their extra gear. Another stroke of luck for us.

  I glance at Theo and she gives me a nod. Above her, Mercy crouches in the stairwell, one-armed, naked, and bloody. The two newcomers have accepted her presence with surprising equanimity, though they haven't yet seen what she can do.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  "How long before we can move after you throw the switch?" I ask Quarter.

  "Minute or two, if nothin' blows."

  Better hope it doesn't, or we're all stew-meat. "Hit it!"

  There's been a fresh energy in the ship for a few minutes now, a faint shivering in the deck as hidden machinery goes to work. Now it builds to a crescendo, metal squeaking and groaning under stress until finally there's a sharp like a gun going off. For a moment I think we're all dead.

  "That's normal!" Quarter shouts, apparently reading my thoughts. "Primary ignition!"

  More metal sounds and a deep rumble as things begin to move under the engine cowling, slow at first but picking up speed. Quarter yells to Raz through the speaking tube, mostly inaudible from up here, and the vibration changes pitch. I put them out of my mind and crawl up onto the deck beside Theo.

  The cannibals have noticed. Hard not to, no matter how drunk they are. The first sun is over the horizon now, throwing long, harsh shadows through the camp. Most the raiders I can see are gathered around a big cauldron, engaged in … meat-related activity. The cauldron is to catch all the blood. Waste not, I guess. I can see it's connected to some tanks and filters, presumably to recycle it into deadwater.

  The, um, deadwater I've been drinking from their canteens. The thought twists my stomach into knots, and it's an effort not to vomit. Look, stomach, most deadwater is made from piss anyway. What does it matter if the filters are good? I'm sure a bunch of cultist cannibals are expert water filter technicians, right?

  Back to us probably getting killed. The noise of the ship starting up drew a few looks, and some senior-looking cannibals -- as measured by number of spikes -- are talking with each other. Finally a younger woman is detailed to see what the fuck is going on, much to her apparent annoyance. She starts jogging over.

  "Quarter?" I shout.

  "Workin' out a few kinks!"

  "Work faster!"

  Theo slides the bolt of her rifle home with a smooth snick.

  Firearms haven't been much in evidence among the cannibals, so at first I was surprised to find a cache in the ship's armory. But of course these are loot from , along with whatever ammunition the crew of the doomed ship didn't shoot off trying to defend her. It's not much. Theo has seized a City-made rifle with the shining eyes of a kid getting the pet pillbug she's always wanted for her birthday.

  Now she sights on the raider dogsbody jogging closer.

  "Wait as long as you --" I start to say.

  The rifle cracks and the raider spins to the ground. gets everyone's attention.

  ", Quarter!" I shout.

  He shouts something that's either a prayer or a string of profanity and starts shifting gears. Metal pops and groans, sand shifts and crunches, and with a disquieting lurch the cutter starts to grind forward.