Evil Star

friendly about him. Quite the opposite. Matt had to remind himself that only a few hours before, Pedro had been trying to rob him — and he was still wearing his watch! Maybe he was still interested in Matt's ten-pound note. No. That wasn't fair. Matt had already offered him the money, and Pedro had refused to take it. So Horowitz, Anthony - [Gatekeepers 02] - Evil Star where were they going now? Pedro must live somewhere in this great, unwelcoming city. Perhaps he had parents. Hopefully he would know some-body who could help.
    About twenty minutes later, the truck stopped and the two of them climbed out, Pedro waving and shouting at the driver. Matt found himself standing at the foot of a mountain with an ugly township, a tangle of bricks and wires, sprawling its way up the slope. He had never seen anything like it. His first impression was that this was a com-munity that had tumbled down the hillside, getting broken and jumbled up along the way. Then he realized that it had been built like this. It was a barrio, a shantytown, home to only the poorest of the poor.
    As ever, Pedro was already moving. Matt followed him as he plunged into a maze of narrow streets and passage-ways, none of them paved, all of them covered in rubbish and other debris. Only now that he was in the middle of it all did Matt see that less than half the houses were made of brick. Most of them had been built out of cardboard, cor-rugated iron, straw mats, plastic sheeting, or a mixture of all four. They came to a sort of square where a group of old women in bright shawls and bowler hats sat squatting beside a rusty oil drum that had been turned into a makeshift oven. They were cooking some sort of stew, cooking it in cans that they had beaten flat and made into pans. A few scrawny chickens pecked hopelessly at the rubble, and a dog — it was hard to be sure if it was alive or dead — lay stretched out in the sun. There was a terrible smell of sew-age. Matt covered his nose and mouth with his hand.
    He was amazed that anyone could live here — although at the same time, Pedro barely seemed to notice it.
    Matt was aware of the women looking at him curiously. He Horowitz, Anthony - [Gatekeepers 02] - Evil Star wondered what he must look like. He was grubby and disheveled, but even so, he was white. His clothes were new and expensive . ..
    certainly compared with what Pedro was wearing. In their eyes, he would be a rich European kid and he doubted that many of those showed up around here. He nodded at them and hurried on after Pedro.
    They were climbing farther up the mountain. The effort was hurting Matt's chest — he could feel his ribs aching — and he was beginning to wonder how long he could keep going when Pedro arrived at a small, brick building with two windows covered, from the inside, with some sort of sack-ing. Pedro cupped a hand, gesturing at him to come in.
    Was this where he lived? Suddenly apprehensive, Matt followed him through the doorway. There was no door. He found himself in a square boxlike space, and as his eyes got used to the lack of light, he made out a wooden table, two chairs, a Primus stove — the sort of thing he'd used to go camping — a few tins, and a low, narrow bed.
    Then he saw that there was a man lying on the bed. Pedro was squatting beside him, talking excitedly. Slowly the man sat up.
    He was about sixty years old, wearing a suit that looked about the same age. He had slept in it, and the material was terribly crumpled.
    Nearly all the buttons were missing and his shirt hung outside his pants. He was unshaven, with gray stubble spreading around a mouth that was thin and rather cruel. The man's eyes were bloodshot and sly. For a long minute he said nothing at all, looking at Matt as if he were weighing him up, trying to work out what he might be worth. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and swallowed. Then, at last, he spoke.
    "Welcome," he said.

    Horowitz, Anthony - [Gatekeepers 02] - Evil Star It was the first friendly word of English Matt had heard since he had been separated from Richard, and he felt a flood of relief. But at the same time, examining the man, he began to wonder if his troubles were yet over. Certainly, this wasn't the savior he had been hoping for.
    "Pedro tells me that you are American," the man said. His accent was unattractive. Or maybe it was the suspicious tone of his voice, the way he drawled the words.
    "No. I'm English," Matt said.
    "From England!" The man was