It wasn’t far to the collection of buildings that the exiles had built for themselves. Callum ordered Apollo to record everything his screen lenses were capturing. They would all be relying on the images for leverage when he got back to Earth. He didn’t know what to look for at first, so it took him a while to recognize what he was walking toward. In his mind he’d pictured a medieval-style village of circular huts with thatched roofs. Stupid, because Zagreus didn’t have any vegetation; there were no trees for wood or palms. Instead the outcasts had built themselves stone walls three meters high, forming long rectangles. They were roofed with sheets of transparent polythene.
“It comes in big rolls,” Foluwakemi explained. “They send it inside the survival barrels, like everything else. It’s thin, but really tough, thankfully.”
“What else do they give you?”
“Clothes.” She patted her coat. “Seeds, eggs, some tools, a few utensils, basic medicine. Food, of course—to start with. You get enough to last a few months, by which time you should be growing your own.” She shrugged. “At least, that’s the theory some desk expert worked out. In practice, it’s bloody hard. Poor nutrition causes a lot of health problems. And this air’s none too good for us, either. Then there are…disputes.”
There were plenty of people milling around outside. Five new longhouses were under construction. Callum stared at the wheelbarrows that stones were being carried about in, marveling at the ingenuity. Each was made of a barrel cut lengthwise, with a barrel rim as its wheel, strips of barrel forming the handles.
“They’re damn useful,” Foluwakemi admitted reluctantly as she caught him watching.
She went over to one of the crews building a wall. Callum’s hand stayed very close to his pistol as she talked to them. A group started to gather, inspecting him from a distance, their voices a low grumble on the verge of menacing. It was the weapons on his belt that made him stand out, he knew; everyone here would be up-close familiar with the types and who carried that particular combination. He kept his nerve and stared back levelly, as if they were of no consequence.
Then, as he dreaded would happen, someone was striding across the ground toward him, a big man with a dark beard that hung a good twenty centimeters down the front of his coat. He was carrying an axe, its handle made from thick strips of yellow barrel plastic, bound to a stone blade. His supporters in the watcher group started to flow after him.
Foluwakemi turned around. “Oh, shit,” she grunted.
“You,” the big man shouted. “Shithead. Who the fuck are you?”
Callum knew that being reasonable was never going to be an option. He drew the short carbine, switched it to single shot, and fired just in front of the man’s feet—not bothering to take good aim, just showing how nonchalant he was, how he was The Man now. The noise of the shot was astonishingly loud in the thin air. Everyone recoiled.
“I’ve got about seventy rounds,” Callum said clearly, “so I can probably kill about fifty of you before you reach me. Alternatively”—he raised the carbine and flicked on the laser targeting beam, slapping the red dot squarely on the man’s face—“I can take you all back to Earth. Your call.”
The man kept jerking his head about, trying to dodge the beam. Callum kept it aligned pretty well given the circumstances.
“Listen to him, Nafor,” Foluwakemi said. “He came through alone. They didn’t drop any survival barrels with him. That’s never happened before. He wasn’t renditioned. He came here because he wanted to; he’s searching for someone.”
“No way,” Nafor barked. He must have realized how much face he was losing in front of his followers.
“There’s a portal door in my backpack,” Callum said, raising his voice so everyone could hear.
That drew a universal gasp of surprise.
“Oh, yeah,” Callum said contentedly. “You heard that right.” He stopped and made an effort to dial down the arrogance. “I’m the only one who has the access code, so listen good. We are waiting until Connexion exiles my friends here; then—and only then—will I start the thread-up procedure. After that, if you want to come through after me, you’re welcome.” He saw Nafor draw a breath, his mouth opening to speak.
“No!” Callum bellowed. He raised the target dot slightly and fired another shot into the air. “No discussion! No arguing! That’s the way it happens. Now either accept that, or fuck off.”
Very carefully Nafor raised his arms. “You got it, buddy. Anyone who can get me out of here is my friend for life.”
Callum scowled, covering up just how shit-scared he actually was.
Foluwakemi cleared her throat.
“What?” Callum snapped.
“I think I know which longhouse your wife’s in. If you can calm down and not shoot me, I’ll take you there.”