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his　cup。　He　could　remember　the　buzz　so　clearly：　riding　home；　guns　empty；　flying　on　fumes；　the　rush
of　a　combat　survived　still　twitching　in　his　gut。
As　the　throb　of　the　mighty　turbofans　began　to　fade；　Kaminsky　turned；　hearing　voices　suddenly
audible　back　in　the　yard。　He　wandered　back　that　way；　and　saw　Senior　Pincheon　standing　in
conversation　with　a　Navy　flier。
Pincheon　looked　flustered；　which　was　never　good　for　anyone　else。　The　senior　noticed　Kaminsky
approaching　and　called　out　to　him。
“I　need　a　driver！”
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“Ready　and　willing；　senior；”　Kaminsky　replied。　Though　he　wasn’t　due　on　yet；　he　knew　he
wouldn’t　be　doing　any　more　sleeping　now。　He　fancied　a　little　distraction。　Besides；　he　didn’t　want
Pincheon　blithering　into　the　section　post　and　finding　all　the　standbys　asleep。　The　poor　bastards
would　be　on　penalty　shifts　until　doomsday。　Which；　of　course；　might　be　just　a　few　days　away…
“I’ll　take　it；”　he　said。
“Good。　Transportation　run。　Conveyance　needed　to　the　Old　Town　and　back。　Fill　this　in。”
Kaminsky　took　the　proffered　data…slate　and　entered　his　work　number　and　details。　He　wrote　as
quickly　and　neatly　as　his　hand　would　allow。
“I　need　to　go　to　a　bar　called　the　Hydra；”　the　Navy　flier　said。　“Do　you　know　it？”
Kaminsky　looked　up　at　the　sound　of　the　voice；　and　saw　to　his　surprise　that　the　tall　flier　was
female。　It　was　the　woman　whose　mob　he’d　transported　in　two　days　earlier。
“Yes；　mamzel…　forgive　me；　commander。　I　know　it。”
“Good；”　she　said。　She　nodded　thanks　to　Pincheon　and　fell　into　step　beside　Kaminsky　as　they
headed　for　his　transport。　“You’ll　ride　in　the　cab？”　he　asked。
“Thanks。　Yes。”
He　opened　the　cab　door　for　her　and　she　climbed　up。　Then　he　went　round　to　the　driver’s　side；
boarded；　and　turned　the　engine　over。
Lamps　blazing；　they　rumbled　out　of　the　compound　and　left　the　airfield；　joining　the　empty
highway　strip　into　the　city。　She　said　nothing；　just　gazed　out　at　the　hooded　lights　of　the　field　as　they
went　by　and　receded。
It　felt　funny　having　company　in　the　cab。　He　usually　shipped　teams　of　personnel　around；　loaded
in　the　back。　The　cab　was　his　private　space。　He　felt　embarrassed　suddenly　by　the　litter　of　disposable
cups　in　the　footwell；　the　fact　that　someone　could　see　the　way　he　had　to　lock　his　prosthetic　hand
around　the　wheel　spoke。
But　it　would　have　been　rude　to　expect　her　to　ride　in　the　rear。
At　length；　uncomfortable；　he　cleared　his　throat　and　said；　“The　Hydra；　you　said？”
“Yes。　On　Voldney。”
“Yeah。”
Did　she　recognise　him？　Half　of　him　presumed　not。　Just　another　Munitorum　drone。　The　other　half
was　outraged。　With　a　face　like　his？
The　thought　made　him　smile。　Suddenly；　August；　vain　about　your　looks！
“Something　the　matter；　driver？”　she　asked。
“No；　commander；”　he　said。　“I’m　to　wait　for　you　at　the　Hydra；　is　that　right？”
“Yes。　I　shouldn’t　be　more　than　five　minutes。”
“Not　going　out　for　a　celebratory　drink；　then？”
“No。　Why？”
“Oh；　you　know。　A　flier；　back　from　a　mission；　wanting　to　wind　down。　The　Hydra　is　popular　with
pilots。”
“So　I’ve　heard。”
So　what’s　this　about；　then；　he　wanted　to　ask？　But　he　stopped　himself。　It　wasn’t　his　place。　He
wasn’t　one　of　them　any　more；　and　he　couldn’t　get　away　with　insolence。　He　was　a　Munitorum　drone。
As　if　she　sensed　his　curiosity；　she　suddenly　said；　“I’m　looking　for　an　FTR。”
“Ah；”　he　said。　Understanding；　he　smiled　again。　He　was　flattered　that　she　should　bother　to　make
even　that　much　conversation。　She　said　nothing　else　until　they　were　pulling　up　outside　the　Hydra。
“Wait　here；”　she　instructed；　and　jumped　down　out　of　the　cab。
Five　minutes　passed。　Ten。　A　trio　of　drunken　Commonwealth　troopers　staggered　out　of　the　bar
like　a　six…legged　beast　and　blundered　off　down　the　pavement；　singing。　It　was　dark。　Just　the　lights　of
his　truck；　the　neon　bar　sign；　a　few　still…lit　windows　overlooking　the　narrow　street。
46
He　saw　her　re…emerge；　alone。　She　looked　up　and　down　the　street；　annoyed。　She　crossed　back　to
the　driver’s　side　and　he　wound　down　his　window。
“Not　there？”
“No。　Is　there　anywhere　else　you　know？”
“A　few　places。　Get　in。”
He　drove　down　through　the　Gillehal　Plaza；　and；　as　there　was　no　one　around；　took　a　shortcut　up　a
one…way　ramp　onto　the　shelving　streets　of　the　Zagerhanz。　The　truck’s　gears　wallowed　as　he
downshifted　on　the　steep　slope。
“Where　are　we　going？”　she　asked。
“There　are　a　couple　of　places　up　here。　The　Lullabye　and　the　Midwinter。　They’re　often　open　after
hours。”
She　nodded。
“How　long’s　he　been　gone？”
“Since　22。00　yesterday。”
“And　you　don’t　want　to　make　this　official？”
“No；　I—No。”
“What’s　your　name？”　he　asked。
“Jagdea；”　she　said；　reluctantly。
He　waited　for　her　at　the　Lullabye　and　the　Midwinter；　but　she　came　back　from　both　on　her　own。
“One　last　idea。　There’s　a　place　on　the　Grand　Canal。”
He　drove　the　truck　expertly　along　the　narrow　Old　Town　streets。　There　was　just　the　tiniest　hint　of
dawn　in　the　air　now。　When　they　got　to　the　place；　he　turned　off　the　engine　and　climbed　down　with
her。
“You　can　stay　with　the　transport；　driver。”
Kaminsky　shook　his　head。　“Actually　no；　Commander　Jagdea。　You’ll　need　me　to　get　in。”
“Why？”
“Zara’s　is　an　old　drinking　den。　Not　a　bar。　Women　are　only　allowed　in　if　they　are　the　companions
of　male　clientele。”
She　stared　at　him。
“It’s　true；”　he　said。　“Maybe…　maybe　that’s　why　your　FTR　came　here。”
Together；　they　walked　to　an　iron…hinged　door；　set　down　from　the　street　by　three　little　steps。
Kaminsky　knocked；　and　the　door　opened。
The　door…guard　was　a　massive　Ingeburgan　with　fat…hooded　eyes。　He　looked　them　up　and　down；
then　waved　them　through。
The　den　was　almost　empty。　Some　chairs　were　already　up　on　tables。　Half　a　dozen
Commonwealth　fliers；　all　male；　were　playing　cards　around　a　corner　table。　A　yawning　waitress　was
serving　them　another　bottle　of　joiliq。　Two　Navy　fliers　shared　another　booth；　talking　in　low；　fierce
voices　about　something。　A　few　other　patrons　sat　alone；　or　played　the　chancer　machines　with　their
last　pieces　of　change。
“Is　he　here？”　whispered　Kaminsky。
“That’s　him。　At　the　bar。”
There　was　a　boy　sitting　at　the　bar　side。　A　handsome　sort；　Kaminsky　realised。　He　put　the　thought
aside。　Any　one　of　the　bastards　in　the　room　was　handsome　compared　to　him。
But　still；　this　boy　was　especially　handsome。　Dark…haired；　fair…skinned；　tall…　clearly　from　the
same　gene…pool　that　had　produced　the　striking　Commander　Jagdea。
The　boy　was　very　drunk。　A　weary　barman　was　cleaning　a　glass　and　watching　in　horrid
fascination　as　the　boy　tried　to　find　his　mouth　with　a　shot…cup。　He　missed；　emptied　the　dregs　of　the
liquor　down　his　front；　and　then　settled　the　glass　on　the　marble　bartop　again。
47
He　tapped　it　with　an　index　finger。
“Whu’more。”
The　barman　shook　his　head。
“Oh　fershizake。　Whu’more；　s’all　I　ask。”
“No；”　said　the　barman。
“Time　to　go　home；　Vander；”　Jagdea　said。
The　boy　looked　at　her；　blinked；　and　shook　his　head。
“Yes；　Vander。　Come　home　now；　and　we　can　forget　this。”
“No。　No。　No…no。　I’m　woshup。”
“You’re　in　your　cups；　but　you’re　not　washed　up。　Come　on。　I’ve　got　transport。”
The　boy—Vander—fixed　her　with　suddenly　probing　eyes。　“Espere！”　he　spat。
“He’s　in　the　infirmary。　They’re　patching　him　up。”
“Espere。　He　won”　fly　“gain。”
“No；　he　won’t。　But　that’s　not　down　to　you。”
“I　got　him　hurt。”
“No；　you　didn’t。”
“Y’esss！　Yes；　I　got　him　hurt。　I　got　him　hurt。　I　got　him。　Hurt。　I　did。　Me。　I　screwed　up。”
“Maybe　you　did；　Vander。　Maybe　you　didn’t。　No　one’s　blaming　you　for　what　happened　to　Pers。”
“Killacyclone　too。”
“What？”
The　boy　made　a　shrugging　movement　with　his　hands。　“Killacyclone。　Killed。　Killed　a　Cyclone。
Shot　the　frigging　thing　to　pieces；　like—”
“No；　Vander。　We　went　over　the　gun…cam　footage。　The　Cyclone　was　stung　by　a　bat。　Not　you。”
“Yeah？”
“Yes。　Not　you。”
“Hnh。　Thassomething。”
“Yes；　it　is。　Now　come　on；　pilot。　Get　up。　We’re　going　now。”
Vander　shook　his　head。　“Espere…”　he　muttered。
Jagdea　took　a　step　towards　him　and　put　her　hand　on　his　arm。　“That’s　it；　Marquall。　Enough　with
the　self…pity。　Get　your　arse　upright　and　follow　me。”
“G’way！”
“Marquall；　I’ve　stuck　my　neck　out　for　you。　My　whole　neck。　I　came　looking　for　you　rather　than
re