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were standing below Lake Werner , their heads thrown back. They were an almost comic mismatch in size—a small Asian man between two gangly giants. The small man would gesture now and then, composing some picture in the air. The tall men stood with their hands on their hips, looking up at the ship with the appearance of climbers figuring the best way up a cliff face.
    The day was warming already and Lake Werner ’s sleek silver volume was visibly sinking, settling a little nearer the ground, the gas in her cells slower to take heat too, and now cooler than the air.
    Millie hauled Xas over to the trio, and placed herself under the nose of the tallest man. ‘Connie,’ she said, ‘this is Xas.’ Then, mischievous, ‘I think it’s short for Texas.’ She cackled, then said with a straight face, ‘Xas is a stunt flyer. He used to be with an air circus in France.’
    Conrad Crow was a patrician individual. His face was fresh and young but his hair was an even, luminous grey. He looked down his nose at Xas, then asked, interested rather than challenging, ‘Do you have any use for a surname?’
    â€˜Just call me Xas.’
    Millie chipped in again, ‘Xas can fly one of the Fokkers. He used to own one.’
    As if on cue a fourth Fokker wobbled to the nearest airstrip and made a clumsy, hopping landing. It slowed alittle then made a slewing turn toward the other planes, taxied to them, stalled and stopped.
    â€˜Excuse me, Millie,’ said Crow, and hurried away toward it.
    â€˜Sorry,’ said Millie to Xas. ‘He’s like that.’
    The other tall man, a fair-haired spit of his brother, said, ‘And what is that like? Eh, Millie?’
    â€˜You know as well as I do,’ said Millie. Then to Xas, ‘This is Gil Crow. He’s assistant director. And this is Jimmy Chan.’
    Jimmy said, wistfully, ‘I’d really like to get a camera up in the control cabin of that airship. I could get some great take-off shots.’ Then he shook Xas’s hand and said, sympathetically, ‘ My name isn’t really Jimmy. I changed it when I went to school, because it was too difficult getting people to understand that the name that came first was my family name.’
    Xas said, ‘I sometimes find it convenient to change my name in order to change my nationality. For instance, I found I could get a pilot’s licence with a French name, not a German one.’
    â€˜Is “Xas” a French name?’ said Jimmy.
    And Gil said, ‘Here real pilots always say “wings”, not “licence”—as in “I got my wings”. In case you find it convenient to blend in.’
    Millie rolled her eyes and started after Crow. Jimmy, Gil and Xas followed her, Jimmy looking longingly back at Lake Werner .
    They joined the knot of people who had surrounded the pilot and were escorting him from the Fokker to the parked trucks and—between the trucks—a businesslike thicket ofcameras, campstools, people. The pilot was holding a balled-up silk scarf against his right ear. He looked ill. He was dabbing at blood coming from his ear. His friends sat him down on a camp stool. They loosened the fur collar of his canvas flying togs and tucked a towel around his neck as though they were preparing to give him a shave. They gave him water. They appeared to want to coax him into a quick recovery.
    Conrad Crow hunkered down in front of the pilot, turned the man’s head and looked at the ear. ‘I think you’ve burst your eardrum, Frank.’
    Frank said, ‘I had an earache. I’m only here because I promised to bring the plane. It’ll be missed. You have to be quick. Use it, then let me take it back.’ The pilot’s face was white and his hand, holding the glass, was shaking so hard that the water splashed him.
    â€˜I appreciate it, Frank. Right now someone will drive you to a doctor.’ The director looked