"I want to talk to Archie."

Livy stood in the doorway of the Nomad, one foot inside as if seriously considering telling everyone to go to hell before climbing in and gunning the throttle.

"Mister Argyle is unavailable," Polly replied.

"I don't care what he's doing, put him on the line!" Livy barked, struggling to keep her voice down. "This wasn't part of the deal. I don't take on passengers."

A low whine from the shuttle drew her attention. She drew her shotgun.

"I swear if that shuttle moves a centimeter I'll blow off an impeller!"

"Your terms don't exclude living cargo," Polly insisted.

"Bio specimens, sure. Pets. Whatever. I'm not about to truck a civy out onto the dustbelt, and you want me to drive some hotshot corpo through the traverse?"

"She's not corporate, Liv. Haven't you seen Falling Stars? The Queen of Diamonds?"

"No, Polly, there's no XR stream in the badlands," Liv muttered. "What, she's some kind of vidstar?"

"Some kind of... Liv, Boniface Tyler is THE vidstar. Fifteen tril gross ticket sales for Queen of Diamonds alone. She's the spokes-model for Lambourne. You've seriously never heard of her?"

"Then what is she doing in a midtown taxi outside the city limits? To hell with the caravans, she should be able to afford a whole security convoy!"

"I'm not free to discuss that."

"It's a need to know, Polly. I'm not driving her to Bannon."

"Yes you are. You signed a contract and took the advance. You'll be tagged if you break it."

"Keep your damn money. Contracts can be nullified. I haven't taken possession."

"That doesn't matter now," Polly said, the forced cheer in her voice faltering. "You're outside city limits, the contract has been active for almost fourteen minutes."

"Gypsy?" Livy muttered, glaring at the Nomad.

"She's right, boss," cracked the speakers. "You're liable for the cargo as soon as you breach the perimeter, whether or not you've formally taken possession."

"What? Why didn't you catch that?"

"You didn't ask," Gypsy said. "It's a standard chain-of-custody albatross, boss. As far as I know, you've never signed a contract without one."

Livy sighed and knocked her head against the door frame. "Thought you wanted my trust, Polly. Thought that's what all your drama was about."

"I do. That hasn't changed."

"Then cancel."

"I can't. Mister Argyle has already encrypted the contract and registered it with a notary. The payout is in escrow. If he walks it back now he'll lose twenty percent off the top."

"Archie is bending me over, I don't give a fat deuce about his profit."

"You went too big, Liv, there's too much on the line. You'll be tagged if you bail now, and you'll never come out from under that. Please don't make this difficult."

"Boss?" Gypsy interrupted, muting the other line.

"What?"

"It's just one run. Next time I'll make sure you have an anti-personnel clause in your paperwork."

"And if something happens to her out there, what do you think they'll do to me?"

"You can do it, boss." Gypsy's volume dropped again. "Please. I don't want to be tagged."

Tagged vehicles and their drivers were sometimes marked for collection, and bounty runners were paid well to find and escort them back within corporate jurisdiction. That wasn't the case for bailers and vagrants. A person could be stripped of their rights, even their legal classification as a human being. The lucky ones were sold to the wealthy as thralls and playthings to be tortured or abused on a whim. Most ended up in the badlands, either joining the feral gangers, or becoming one of their victims.

In either case, the Nomad would be stripped for parts and Gypsy's fractured cores would end up back at the bottom of a junk pile.

"I know," Livy sighed and closed her eyes. "Put Polly back on."

A short burst of static announced the open line. "Are you there, Liv? Hello?"

"I'm here. You win, I'll take the job."

Argyle's assistant exhaled in relief. "Thank you, Liv—"

"Shut your goddamn hole, Polly! Let me be clear, this isn't a favor. I'm stuck. You screwed me, and I won't forget it."

"I didn't..." Polly began, trailing off into silence before starting over. "Listen, I know you're mad and I don't blame you, but I promise—"

"Gypsy, lose the signal."

"Consider it done, toots."

Livy pinched the bridge of her nose and gathered her strength before returning to the shuttle. Cain stood by impatiently, and Boniface Young sat on her suitcase, lazily fanning herself.

"Alright," Livy began, "I need to go over a few things before we can get start—"

"What's the hold up?" The vidstar cut her off. "I was told everything had been arranged."

"Not with me. If this is going to work, we have to set a few ground rules."

"That won't be necessary," Boniface Young said, standing and gripping the handle of her luggage. "I'm anxious to get started. We can talk on the way."

Livy felt the heat rising in her face, not from embarrassment but from a powerful urge to knock the media princess down. "I don't know what you expected, but from the minute your sparkly toes hit dirt, your life has been in danger."

Miss Young's posture and demeanor didn't change, she simply began walking toward the Nomad.

"Then perhaps we should get my sparkly toes out of the dirt. Where can I put my bag?"

Livy wanted to tell her exactly where she could put it, but she'd be stuck with the woman for more than two weeks and didn't want to sour an already bad situation with childish comebacks. Instead, she settled for pointing the business end of her shotgun at Cain.

"Tell your boss I'll be back to discuss his business tactics."

The shuttle hit air before the door was closed, raising a new cloud of dust behind Livy. The vidstar stood beside the Nomad's passenger door with an expression that might have been impatience, intolerance, or simple loathing.

"Gypsy, open the hatch," Livy mumbled. A pneumatic hiss followed and the rear cargo panel popped outward, then slid over the top of the vehicle. She gestured with a nod. "Toss your bag in there."

"Toss?" Boniface raised an eyebrow. "This bag is worth more than your car."

"Not unless you can drive it to Bannon." Livy slid into the driver's seat and switched all systems to manual. "Wheels are moving in sixty seconds. If you want a ride I suggest you stow your gear and get in."

She visually reviewed the HUD diagnostic instead of asking Gypsy for it. Introductions and the inevitable questions would have to wait.

"What is that smell?" Boniface Young called from behind.

"Dutch cologne."

"Cute. How do I close this?"

"Gypsy, shut the hatch," Livy said, and the panel slid back in place, settling into the frame and locking tight. A few moments later, her passenger eased into the seat beside her. Livy didn't bother turning to face her, they'd be sick of one another soon enough.

"This trip isn't going to be entertaining for you," she said, trying to look busier than she actually was. "It isn't going to be safe either. I don't know what devil possessed you to hire a runner for this trip, but if you want to get to the other end in one piece, you'll do as you're told, when you're told to do it."

"I'm not a child," the vidstar said airily. "I can handle myself. Just do what you were paid to do."

"That's strike one," Livy said. The Nomad's drive core began to hum. "You might be a big shot in the cities, but out here, sitting in my ride, I'm the boss."

Boniface sniffed indignantly. "Mister Argyle is your boss, I paid him—"

"Not near enough!" Livy spun on her, a bit of the anger she'd been choking down rising suddenly to the surface. "City people are all the same, and I imagine it's worse for someone like you. Even in the squalls, those at the top think their little bubble follows them around, protects their authority, keeps them safe, until they step outside and find the wasteland is overrun with castoffs from the wars, suddenly they're no longer at the top of the food chain. Have you ever seen an ochre hound?"

"Those are a myth," Boniface scoffed, and Livy had to grit her teeth to keep from swearing.

"Genetically modified Mackenzie wolves with kodiak DNA, released into the Appalachians in the 60's to root out civy guerrillas. Ten feet nose to tail, and they'll top 90 kph in a sprint easy. They were never meant to breed, but now there are packs of them roaming all over the badlands, mean as hell and always hungry, and they don't give a hot damn about your pedigree or bank accounts."

Boniface stared back, uncertain but unconvinced, and said nothing. Livy sat back in her seat, sighing as she engaged the couplers and returned the Nomad to the road.

"Only thing worse out here is the people," she added, and prodded the accelerator.

Her passenger fell silent for the next few minutes, shifting uncomfortably in her seat, occasionally looking back at the diminishing towers of Whitelock while Livy calculated her options.

The first stop would be Haven, of course, a three day trip north of the southern corridor. The city had been incorporated as a republic and was ruled by an elected council instead of corporate overlords. It had worked, for the most part. Its upper class was still obscenely wealthy and a poverty district housed the poorest citizens, but they had nothing as bad as the squalls, and the Council had even recovered some of the nearby farmland.

Gypsy was a fan because the competitive economy had produced some of the highest quality components on the American continent and the Nomad's performance metrics were always highest after outfitting there. It also had a more complete archive, mostly unedited and un-redacted, which meant a wider selection of the movies the A.I. loved to watch. Haven was far from a paradise, but it was as close as you could get since the wars.

Once she unloaded they'd have to double back to the dust belt or take the northern corridor east to Superior. Neither choice was appealing.

Livy made her living on the dust belt with its wide open roads and barren countryside with few places where an enemy could hide, but she wanted a little more time behind her after the incident in Ratford. Avoiding the settlement meant off-roading through badlands and junktowns for two days until they hit the old 60, a main artery for corpo caravans. The whole trip would add a week to their schedule.

The northern corridor was nice to look at, but the country was wild, and its navigable roads twisted and turned to follow the rivers and lakes across old South Dakota and Minnesota. None of the big cities remained on that road except Pandora, the massive arcology that stood in Duluth's footprint. From there they'd catch a ferry or contend with the Ravenswood sprawl as they skirted Superior's southern border.

In the end she decided to put off her decision until they reached Haven. Either route would put her on the doorstep of the traverse, and that would make the rest of the trip seem like a play date.

"So this is what you do?" Boniface Young asked, breaking several minutes of silence.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Driving packages around the country." The vidstar gestured vaguely at the landscape through the Nomad's holographic HUD. "It's what you do for a living?"

"Looks like."

"For how long?"

"Five years."

"Are you any good at it?"

Livy gave her a sideways glance. "Shouldn't the interview come before the contract?"

"I just want to know who I'm dealing with. You've certainly got the surly outlander act pinned down."

"What you see is what you get."

Boniface Young rolled her eyes. "I'm good at my job too, sweetie, I recognize a performance when I see one."

"Call me sweetie again and you can spend the next hundred kilometers tied to the roof."

"How gauche. A little cliché perhaps, but apropos."

"Keep talking and find out," Livy snapped, then deliberately reined in her anger.

Breathe. Focus on the road.

"What about you?" she countered. "Why the rented shuttle? Why are you sitting in my rebuilt Mitori instead of sipping champagne from a golden flute in an executive port-a-suite?"

Boniface Young pursed her lips and turned slightly away. "That's not open for discussion."

Livy shrugged and tried to keep from looking at the ETA Gypsy was flashing on the HUD. She knew they'd be on the road together for days without a break, with two seats and a bed barely big enough for one. There were plenty of rations and more than enough water to get them to Haven, but from there? What would the superstar think about peeing into a water recycler?

Neither spoke again and the sun made its exit as they detoured wide around Denver. Most of the ruins weren't worth risking, having been thoroughly scavenged and often home to gangers or coyotes. The irony struck Livy each time she passed one of the old cities, that the former pillars of civilization were now so wild that barren wastelands were preferable to passing among their long dead bones.

The Lambourne Prestige - Boniface Young's personal car. The fashion brand began producing luxury sports cars when personal licenses were issued within the upper city. The license is for bragging rights only, since travel within most cities is controlled by a central transit A.I. This model features vertical impellers, which gives it limited flight capabilities, but it's designed for the smooth, flat platforms in the wealthiest communities.