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.
.''
    She moved a hand, cutting him off. ''And
else?''
    He dropped the cards back into the tub with
a shrug.
    ''Guess else is tomorrow, if we can keep the
doors open.''
    A half-bow she offered, and then gave a
second thought.
    ''Security, night work? Is it
experienced?''
    The man sat back, looked at her shrewdly,
appraising.
    ''Bring your own gun,'' he reminded her, but
he reached into the tub for the flimsy.
    ''If necessary, I can do
that.'' She straightened, and took a deep breath. Be assured , she told
herself. Show no doubt . She had done well, Skyblaze night, had she not? She could
--
    ''Yeah, I mean we all can, right? But
they're looking for serious hardware . . . damn, I was impressed
when I read it coming in.''
    He flipped the sheet, then pulled free the
clip-attached sheet, with notes on both sides, running his gaze
rapidly down first one side, then the other.

    ''Here it is, let's see .
. . dumbty here it is . . . 'Must be Nordley, Bangtu, Lademeter, or certified
genuine Resh & Rolfe or Zombin.''' He looked up into her face.
''Big guns, ma'am; not street-wear.''
    She held his eyes a moment, then half-bowed,
hiding her sigh, and her hand.
    ''Do they mention caliber or
charge-range?''
    He glanced down, then again to her.
    ''It says here, service-rating. That's a gun
that can be shot every day and --''
    ''Yes,'' she said, drawing close as if to
peer at the paper, at the same time briefly displaying her cradled
hands.
    His eyes widened. He nodded, several times,
and cleared his throat.
    ''Oh, yes, umm, a Nordley Thirty Pack would
do,
    but . . .''
    He turned the papers over; finger tracing
the details.
    ''You gotta supply your own nightsight gear,
too, combat status. And a cold weather suit.''
    She said something very potent under her
breath and he held his hands up, palm out, placating.
    ''These things grow on trees on
Surebleak?''
    He blinked, eyes flicking to her hands.
Vertu smiled, deliberately, and tucked the weapon away.
    ''Forgive, it was not to threaten you. But
work is good.''
    He nodded, relaxing visibly, still using his
hands for emphasis.
    ''I was hoping we had you a match today,
much as I seen you in here. Maybe come winter-gone, if you can get
in with 'em. It's port security, they're beefing up big time, but
best come here unless you get an in with a Boss to put your name
through.''
    She made a puffing sound with her lips as
the gun found its inner pocket.
    ''Security is not my first choice,
please.''
    ''Got that,'' he said, nodding. ''Yes, got
that.''
    He opened his hands wide -- and went on,
''Far as I know, all the others is digging, shoveling,
construction, work-crew things. Even the forefolk gotta be able to
stand shoulder-up with the rest of the crew . . .''
    ''Ayes and more,'' she said, drawing from
the bakery, and making his eyes widen again. ''I understand.''
    ''Good. And sorry. You best get on to cover
by lunch, 'specting a bad one, I hear.''
    ''Heard it ya.'' She nodded and turned at
the dismissal, striding with unexpected purpose past the man who'd
been behind her, who must have seen or heard something of her
discussion, because he cleared room for her, hissing, ''Seery,
seery, ma'am, nothinmen.''
    Nothing meant.
    Perhaps she should break into her precious
capital to buy herself a coldsuit and dark-goggles? Work was, truly
said, work, and the contract had been long-term. Weighing the
matter, she nearly walked all unsealed into the storm.
    Warned by the clatter of the door and the
frigid breeze that kissed her face, she stopped there in the
vestibule to seal her coat against the wind and snow. She pulled
her hat on, and gloves, being sure that the coat's collar was well
up around her face.
    Think, Vertu, can you really report to your
daughter, the delm, that you've hired on as a gun hand? That report
she must take to the Council and Wylan is not yet safe from the
price of your errors. You are a dangerously unbalanced radical, in
league with the villains Korval. Gun-hire is the last thing