“I assure you, sir, I do not need a bodyguard. This is not my first visit to the jungles of Meng.”

Her proposed bodyguard wore nothing above the waist but decorate piercings and traditional tattoos, in the style of the native Trogs. But where the Trogs’ skin was mottled gray (“The very color of the rock they dig,” Anne Melways had joked drolly at last year’s convocation), the bodyguard’s was a deep, soothing brown. He said nothing, but glanced over at the shift manager, who was overseeing the porters loading up the floater.

“As you say, Lady Ashford,” said the manager. “But begging your ladyship’s pardon, it’s been nigh onto three years since your last visit, and the jungle isn’t what it used to be.”

“I assume you speak of the agitators?”

“That, and other. There’s been a number of bloodtigers sighted since the hunting lodge burned down, and even a couple terrorsaurs. And of course the devil monkeys are everywhere now.”

Lady Ashford shuddered at the thought of the horrid beasts.

“You raise good points, sir, but I am no stranger to these dangers as well. I have hunted bloodtigers on the plains of New Kansas, and terrorosaurs — the two-legged ones, at least — in the red valley last summer.”

The man sighed.

“It pains me to say that it’s not merely my idea, or even company policy — though it is both. The unvarnished truth of the matter is that my orders come from your lord father himself. If I let you leave here unescorted, I will be fortunate if he terminates only my employment.”

It was Lady Ashford’s turn to sigh. She should have known. Even though she’d spent most of her 26 years on Teru, accompanying her father as he traveled from one holding to the next, he still thought of her as his delicate Earth-flower. It was sometimes endearing, but more often annoying.

She took another look at the shirtless man before her. She did not approve of “going native,” and clung quite fiercely to her hats, scarves, petticoats and corsets. She was still a lady after all. But her proposed bodyguard pulled off his personal affectation quite well. He boldly met her gaze, and a haughty smile lurked at the edges of his lips. He was uncouth, she decided, and certainly no gentleman, but seemed capable of protecting, as the case may be, her body.

“What is your name, sir?” she asked.

“Huxley, m’lady.”

His voice was deep velvet, painted in the accents of one who had grown up in the Meng region.

“Mr. Huxley, can you pilot a Bartleby Roadmaster Model Six?”

“Yes, m’lady. I have been piloting Roadmaster floaters — and larger — since I was a boy.”

His eyes never left hers.

“Very well, Mr. Huxley. As I stated, I do not need a bodyguard. I could, however, use a driver.”

***

An hour later, the floater was well on its way down the jungle road. In truth, the “road” was little more than a narrow trail pocked with ruts and boulders, just smooth enough to allow the floater’s ground-repellers to move the craft upward and forward. Huxley was indeed a good pilot, and clearly knew the road well, judging from the speed at which he attacked its twists and turns.

Lady Ashford didn’t mind the speed. In truth, she found it rather exhilarating, and the breeze on her face a refreshing escape from the jungle’s moist and dreadful heat. She found Huxley’s attempts at playing tour guide less than refreshing: the enormous red flowers, dog-sized parrots, and crystalline vines were no less impressive than they were on her previous four trips to Meng, but she did not need a local to point them out. Nevertheless, she appreciated that he never offered to raise the floater’s canvas roof or otherwise try to protect her from the elements.

After a long, wordless silence, Huxley spoke again.

“Is it true what the agitators say?”

“I beg your pardon?” Lady Ashford said.

“About the mines? How they change people?”

Lady Ashford was quite taken aback. Her driver must have truly gone native, if he were so bold as to broach such a delicate subject directly. Very well, she thought. She could be just as bold.

“They exaggerate the danger, but I’m afraid there is some truth to their claims,” she said. “After years of research, our scientists have concluded that a small percentage of those who spend a significant amount of time exposed to the raw are susceptible to some… physiological changes. That is why we have moved towards using the Trogs as mine laborers and moved most of our human employees to the processing centers.”

“The Trogs do seem well suited to it,” said Huxley.

With their four long, muscular arms and low center of gravity, they were indeed fine miners. They were simple creatures, with minds like children, who didn’t complain about the long hours in dust-filled tunnels. And though Lady Ashford would never admit it to one such as her driver, the Trogs’ willingness to work for half the pay of an Earther made them all the more ideal employees.

***

The mine camp was brooding and silent. The sleeping tents were crumbled and burnt. The camp’s hauler was overturned and peppered with bullet holes. Trogs lay dead upon the ground, their blood pooled black around them.

Huxley killed the engine as the floater glided to the edge of camp.

“Agitators?” he asked. Lady Ashford shook her head.

“No,” she said. “They claim to represent the workers, to defend them. They would never kill the workers themselves — not even Trogs.”

She looked more closely at the camp. Something was missing.

“Where are the rest of the workers?” she asked. “There were some two hundred miners in this camp, in addition to the human overseers, but there are no more than a dozen fallen here.”

“Perhaps…” Huxley began, eying the mouth of the mine. He leaped lightly over the side of the floater.

“Stay here, m’lady, and –“

But Lady Ashford was already on the ground.

“These are Ashford holdings and Ashford employees. I have a duty to see to their safety and security.”

She caught Huxley’s gaze with her own and held it, daring him to disagree.

“As you say, m’lady,” he said, that small smile sneaking once more onto face. “But please remember that I have that same duty to you — even if I am just your driver.”

With the necessary proprieties out of the way, the two of them made their way to the mouth of the mine. They were cautious; Huxley even produced a snub-nosed revolver from some hidden pocket in his trousers. They could hear muttering and breathing in the darkness of the mine before them. Lady Ashford imagined it was the sound of dozens of workers, safe but hiding.

“I’ll go in first,” said Huxley, holding up the pistol.

“There should be a lantern on the right wall just inside,” said Lady Ashford.

“The I’ll retrieve it come back for you.”

From her position just outside the mine, Lady Ashford watched Huxely creep towards the darkness until the shadows washed over him, then swallowed him up. A moment later, there was a meaty thud, and four other men emerged from those same shadows, their own revolvers drawn and pointed in her direction.

“What is the meaning of this?” she demanded.

The men chuckled. She could tell by their dirty waistcoats, crumpled ascots and small, threadbare hats that these were no gentlemen. The shortest of them, a rogue with a thin beard and a missing front tooth, leered at her.

“Ya might think it’s an agitation, miss. But it’s nothing so political-like. It’s just a kidnapping, pure and simple. Merely business, madam. Merely business.

“Now, if you’d be so kind as as put her hands behind your back so my associates can bind them. We don’t want to hurt you, miss. But if ya make it hard for us… we’ll make it hard for you too.”

Kidnapped? Lady Ashford could not believe it. These things happened, yes, but only to minor gentry with small holdings. If she were abducted by ruffians, her father would simply perish from the shame of it. No, she could not allow that to happen.

She raised her hands above her head, palms open.

“I said behind yer back, miss. Don’t make –“

A second set of arms burst out from beneath her first, irreparably shredding both her corset and the lovely new dress she’d purchased just six weeks ago in New London.

The scoundrel’s eyes grew wide with panic. “D — don’t –” he stuttered.

Lady Ashford felt her flesh run and swell like melting candle wax. Her four arms grew longer, wider, stronger… and a sallow, mottled gray.

A gun went off behind her. Something stung her shoulder. She ignored it.

With one hand, she grabbed the leader of the scoundrels around his neck. With another, she plucked the revolver from his hand. It was tiny in her fist; she dropped it.

“Who sent you?” she asked. Such a bold attack upon the Ashford holdings — and her own person, no less — could not have been orchestrated by mere thugs.

“Lord… Nordham…” the man gasped.

Lady Ashford nodded to herself as she crushed the man’s throat. Nordham had been making inquiries about expanding his mining operations into Meng. It made sense that he would be behind such a bold and villainous move.

She turned and grabbed a second assailant. He shrieked once, in a most-unmanly fashion, as he died. The other two were falling over themselves as they scrambled towards the jungle. She snatched them both off their feet and held them aloft.

“As for you two, will you turn yourselves over to my custody and confess your part in these crimes? Or will you leave me to recourse but to snap your spines?”

Much to her relief, though not to her surprise, the would-be kidnappers agreed to be her prisoners. At her direction, they tied each other to the floater. Lady Ashford herself made certain the knots were tight.

She was focusing on the bullet in her shoulder when Huxley staggered out of the mine.

“Lady Ashford — ” he began, then stopped short at the sight of her.

“The ore…” his whispered.

Lady Ashford’s blood was black and thick as it pushed out the offending bullet. She looked over her wounded shoulder at her driver and smiled grimly.

“I tried to tell you,” she said. “I don’t need a bodyguard.”