Ain't Talkin'

Roche found a place to sleep for an hour between the stables and a granary building. He’d stayed the entire night awake and wandering the Resistance compound, bootheels scratching a path in the dirt.

It was the only night he’d be spending here. Miner had made it clear over drinks that he wanted to get while the going was good first thing in the morning, headed for New San Fran. From there, they’d head off the Corp before they could pull their constructs through the door and into Terra 1. Once that was over, Roche would have Doctor Weaving bring him to the clone-bastard-child of Mollie Groux’s descendants, something the good doctor had thought would be eternally and appropriately funny as a bargaining chip for the walker.

Wandering the compound, all Roche had been reminded of was exactly why he preferred not to deal with people at all if he could help it. Shit, if it was a job that needed doing a strongly worded letter followed by a wire transfer of some bank notes would have been fine n’ dandy, ain’t no need for chit-chat and idle bullshit. Just do the job and go.

Roche sat against the lee side of the stables between an old mine cart and a heap of old blankets taller than he was. The cloth smelled like it had been soaked in gasoline but he lit a cigarette anyway.

The sun would be up soon, and Miner would be eager to get on his way.

The halogen hum was a constant thing here, along with the vaporized sputter of flies and mosquitoes landing on the lamps.

Roche leaned his head back too hard and too fast, thumping it against the stable wall. Old wood racketed against itself and somewhere inside Lucky nickered.

“Lucky?” Roche groaned up at the sky, slowly turning a pale shade of purple.

The mare nickered again.

“Yeah, girl. We gotta go. There’s a war goin’ on and it’s about time for me to be a part of it.”

Nickering.

“Yeah. I know. Not exactly what you signed up for.”

Nickering.

“I’ll see to it you’re compensated well. Oats?”

Blowing lips.

“No? What then?”

Nicker.

“Corn!? Listen cuss, where am I supposed to get corn?”

Blowing lips.

“Eh, you don’t care you mangy bitch. I’ll figure something out. You’ll get your pay. You negotiate with the best of them.”

Nicker.

“Yeah. yeah you do.”

The sun was finally coming up.