EIGHT MONTHS LATER.

The Anka-Bukam Passenger Line is running near capacity now. You've been on it a few more times, but it's never grabbed you like the first time. You don't get the same untethered feeling when you're in there with forty other people, all of them as dingy as you.

You said to the committee, "All right, now that the romance is good and dead, you wanna start hauling freight like grown-ups?"

They're working on it. You drag Nadine and Rohit to a meeting on car design and then you stand in the back of the room with your arms folded while Nadine schools everyone on stowage.

She gives you a very long, very weird look afterward. And then she nods once and strides off back to her truck.

You're still dropping in and out of the caravan as stuff comes up. She basically tolerates you. Best you can do.

If cargo shipment turns a stable enough profit, there's talk of building a spur line. From the north end, they could run tracks out to the oasis, or if people are feeling really brave, they could go east - with the riots in Old Marae and all the farm robots unionizing, the Rilkers' stranglehold is weakening, you could maybe push into the Canals before they'd kick up a fuss. From the south end - well, you've been pretty clear what you think about that, but it's not your call.

As always, Rhea hunts you down before she goes back home. She even walks like [] now. Maybe it's the gait people develop after enough hours in a truck. You wonder for the first time if you have it, too.

She says, "Bukam Boro's really turned around."

"Yeah." The latest trend in Anka is rooftop gardens. Landlords and HOAs shut them down as fast as they can, but things will slip through the cracks, for a little while. You two are standing on the roof of a store that does paint mixing and paint mixing only, and under the lead-gray sky you're running your fingers through a bed of orange flowers.

She says, "I'll see you there in a couple weeks?"

You say, "If nothing else comes up. I'll give you the latest on train food. If you stop by Eduardo's, lean on him a little, he's passing up free money."

"He said it wouldn't be fun baking pretzels at that scale." She leans on the railing at the edge of the roof. "And then he fed me some line about disgracing his aunt's legacy. Staining his hands with mercantilism."

You both laugh. "Well, we tried."

Rhea turns thoughtful. "It's not like it's unrecognizable now. Bukam Boro. It's... a little more awake. A better version of itself. The train has -"

"Stop." You put your hands up. A sudden pain in your back teeth tells you your jaw has clenched. "Stop stop stop. I see where this is going. You want me to throw my weight behind the Bartow extension."

"The committee listens to you," she says. "They've mostly been isolated here for decades. No one up here knows the lay of the land like you do."

You cross your arms. "I know. Butter me up more."

Without missing a beat, and with zero appearance of guile: "I think you're also a nicer person than you try to be, and you wish the world was better than it is -"

"Okay, never mind." You pivot away, your face burning. You can't keep underestimating her like this.

In a gentler voice, like she's talking to a spooked animal, she says, "Would you at least think about it? No obligation. I know the decision is months away."

You look up at the sky. You rarely see the sun here. At night, in the haze and the city lights, you've never seen one single solitary star.

"Just consider it," she says. "Please." You look over at her. She holds out her hand. "You know it isn't all bad."

For all her negotiating skills, there's still something Rhea doesn't get. People can talk all day, and understand each other completely, and still want diffferent things. You're never going to see eye to eye on this. Bartow belongs in your past, a big shiny golden missed opportunity, and you don't want it dragged into your future. But as long as you're still talking to Rhea, she's going to try to keep working on you.

But there's her hand, held out for you to shake. You don't want this bridge burnt. The understanding won't heal all ills, but it's not nothing.

You turn toward Rhea. You grip her arm - and pull her into the classic bro-hug, favored move of people allergic to sincerity. She makes a surprised noise, but then she hugs you back. You say, "Listen. You're cool. Don't spread this around, but I respect you a lot."

"Thank you," she says, and starts to break the embrace.

But you tighten your arm around her shoulders. You lean in and tell her, in a low voice, "I'm not fucking doing that."

You let go. Step back. She stares at you, and you don't look away.

"Okay," she says.

You keep staring at each other. She doesn't apologize, and neither do you.

But when it gets too weird to bear, you cough and turn aside and say, "Hey. As long as we're both in town, let me buy you a beer. You ever had nitro?"

And like on that first trip, Clifton up to Anka, she lets you pretend you're taking her under your wing.

I always respected your mom. She thrived out here--completely in her element. A shark if I ever knew one. - Ramir, Clifton, first trip