“Well,” he mused, “we don’t care if they see us; they aren’t going to report us to them.”
“Well — I hope not, Sir.”
“How could they?”
“Through the black market. They got friends, steal them tractor fuel to cook on — no smoke, see? — and food, and clothes, and like that. They might get a message to someone.”
He must have been on the steal himself. “We’ll have to chance it.” Race looked around again. “If they show, maybe we can talk some food out of them. Pity we don’t have any money.”
They composed themselves to wait out the day, a very long and hungry one. Race set small bushes on the flying wagon, spread limbs over it, and caught up on his sleep. The others talked about names of people who could man a ship and survive freedom. The list was short, and they did not know where any of th
