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that basically every part on it that could be easily unbolted had been stolen. The fact that it had treads instead of tires was the only thing saving it from the indignity of being up on blocks.
    "What the hell happened here?"
    Gideon's jaw stiffened just as it had right before he'd gone crazy on the soldier at the airport, and Josh felt his resolve wavering. But he refused to let his uneasiness show and just stood there waiting for an answer.
    "It's a tractor that NewAfrica provided. It no longer works."
    "I'd say that's an understatement. Where's the rest of it?"
    Another shrug. Josh could already tell that those were going to get really irritating. "Can we get new parts?"
    "It's difficult."
    "Maybe we should find the people who stole them and buy 'em back?" Josh forced a smile, though he hadn't actually been joking. Gideon just stared at him, the water running in sheets down his glasses.
    There was movement to Josh's left, and he turned to watch a long line of workers coming up a path toward them. They examined him carefully as they passed and put their tools inside the shed. Some scattered, but others hung around and listened to a man who had begun to speak. On the surface, he didn't look much different than his audience -- same strong but slightly malnourished build, same dirty jeans and ratty T-shirt. But his voice was clear and strong, and everyone seemed to be paying attention. Overall, he seemed to be a person Josh should get to know.
    He strode up to the man and interrupted him by sticking a hand out. "Hi, I'm Josh Hagarty. I'm from NewAfrica."
    His new status seemed to hover between celebrity and roadside oddity, and all eyes were on him. The man fell silent, not moving at first but finally taking Josh's hand.
    He looked directly at Josh with an intensity that was impossible to match, so he let his eyes wander. The man's skin seemed impossibly black and camouflaged the creases around his eyes and along his cheeks.
    Whatever he saw obviously didn't impress him all that much, and he said something that was meant for the men he'd been speaking to. Josh expected them to laugh, but instead they just nodded gravely.
    "This is Tfmena," Gideon said with obvious reluctance. "He's what you would call a village elder. He says that he is pleased that you're here and grateful for your and your organization's commitment to his people's welfare."
    That might be who he was, but Josh was fairly certain that wasn't what he'd said. If he had to guess, it would have translated more as, "Look at this arrogant asshole straight out of school who's here to tell us how to live. He was born a white American male, and he managed to screw even that up."
    Despite that, this was a man who had the respect of his people, and that didn't seem like something easy to win in this part of the world. Undoubtedly a step in the right direction from the two Africans Josh had interacted with so far -- the soldier at the
    airport and Gideon.
    "Tfmena," Josh mangled, trying to keep the rain from flowing into his mouth as he spoke. What did these people have against vowels? "It's good to meet you, sir. I want you to know that I'm going to do my best to make all this work."

    Chapter 9.
    The rain ended as suddenly as it had begun, though the sound of dripping was still audible as Josh's and Gideon's clothes drained onto the Land Cruiser's seats.
    The metal gate they were stopped in front of was covered in rust but still looked much more formidable than the guard standing next to it. He was at least seventy, armed only with a tiny bow and dart-like arrows that were in danger of falling from their quiver as he threw his weight behind the gate.
    The compound that was to become Josh's home for the foreseeable future was perched on the summit of a low hill and glowed unnaturally in a landscape that was descending into inky darkness. The concrete walls that surrounded it were more than ten feet high and topped with jagged chunks of glass to discourage anyone