The woman looks at nothing, her eyes closed and her lips moving.

"Of course not. The boiadeiro returns from the Western Plain a changed man. One night, as he and his beloved are out walking along the River Magritte, she pleads with him to give up his riding and settle down..."

A boiadeiro (boia for short) is a cow herder from upstream Magritte, the great steppes of Northern Mesque. He is a rugged individualist and explorer.

"You seem like a woman who knows a thing or two about drugs."

"What do I need drugs for, lawman? What I see, what I feel, the Great Adversary... no drugs can compare."

"Okay. Let me ask you something else, then."

"Because of all those hauls through the pale?"

She glares at you. "Oh, this xerife is a smart one."

She doesn't actually think you're that smart.

Maybe if she thought you're... corrupt?

"I wanted to ask if you'd be interested in smuggling some drugs?"

"Why would I want to do that?"

"I don't know, the thrill of the criminal lifestyle?"

"Lawman... what in the name of god are you talking about?"

"Okay. Let me put this another way -- are you smuggling drugs through Terminal B?"

Her shoulder bones crack as she shrugs. "Maybe. Probably not. Makes no difference to me either way."

"You said earlier you don't know what cargo you're hauling. Could it be drugs?"

"Just this month I made half a dozen trips from Saramiriza to Graad, on the U41-A. What do you think they take from Saramiriza to Graad, lawman?"

"I don't know, that's why I'm asking you."

"It's diamonds, lawman. Obviously." She grins.

Damn this. Make her answer.

"Are you making fun of me right now? You better start complying."

"I would never make fun of a real lawman, xerife."

"Ma'am, you're not responsible for what the client puts in your lorry as long as the seals are not opened. We officers know that." He gives you a stern look.

Lay off her.

"I didn't ask you about diamonds, did I? I don't care about that."

"Diamonds are good for you, lawman. You should try them sometime. Make yourself pretty like Eva Deshoras."

"If you had to guess, who do you think is smuggling drugs around here?"

"Easy. It's the skinny man who thinks he's a poet -- never trust a poet..." She squints across the square. "Also, he's the only one I can see from here."

That's correct. There is no visibility of any of the others.

"Okay. If you're not involved with the drug trafficking then why are you still waiting here?" (Conclude.)

"Where do you want me to go? This isn't so bad. I can listen to music, or the seagulls. Look at all the colours and the features of this world. It's a good palate-cleanser, this jamboree..."

"Or -- I can just relax and let my mind carry me back where it will. To the great plains..."

"I think we're done here, no?" He closes his notebook to stress it.

"Drugs!?"

"No, lawman. Diamonds." She grins.

"How can you not know what you're hauling in your own lorry?"

"Fine. Let's change the subject."

"Good. I don't care about drugs. Little molecules. They're nothing." She glances wistfully at the photo.

"For the glory of the world republic. Liberation of the spirit and body."

"For commerce, the lifeblood of the isolas."

"What is it that you're hauling, exactly?"

"Your mãe, lawman. What of it?"

"Evrart sent me." (Place finger on the side of your nose and tap twice.)

"Who the fuck is Evrart?"

"The Union boss?"

"Ah. And what do I care about the Union boss? He's not Gabriel, he's not Franconegro. He's not even Hermenegildo the Hand."

"That's not really what I was getting at."

"Then what were you getting at?"

This line of questioning is going nowhere! Try harder!

"The... Adversary?"

"Yes. There is a protagonista..." She gestures to the intersection. "And an adversário. I am on the side of the Adversary. There's no coming back from that haul."

The pale. Sounds like the drug to me.

Those epithets are familiar somehow -- The Great Adversary, The Great Unrest.

I don't like the sound of any of that. Sounds like a horrible drug. The worst one of them all.

"Where could I get my hands on an experience like that?"

"If you don't know, pfft!" She flicks her wrist in a gesture of casual dismissal.

Alright. Let's get you a pale-category licence and roll that doobie up!

"I think I know what's going on with you."

"And what is that?" She sticks a filterless cigarette into a cigarette holder and reaches for the light.

"You're a paledriver. You transport goods through the pale."