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say, Pilot,” he began. “Could you tell me when we'll arrive on—?”
    Golden fire coruscated across the Pilot's black eyes, flared brightly, then vanished. She turned her gaze on Septor.
    The blood drained from his face.
    The Pilot turned, cape swirling, and left the restaurant.
    Vin stared at Yoshiko. “She
talked 
to you!”
    â€œIt was kind of her.”
    Yoshiko dabbed at her eyes. Stupid to be affected like this, but it had been unexpected.
    I miss you, Ken.
    â€œYou're acquainted with Pilots?” Lori asked, while passing a napkin to Septor, who mopped his now-damp forehead.
    â€œBoth my family and Ken's—he was my husband—worked on their programme.”
    For eight generations, on and off.
    â€œVery impressive,” said Lori. “Wouldn't you agree, darling?”
    â€œAh, yes.” Septor took a deep gulp of wine. “Impressive, yes.”
    â€œVin?” said Lori. “Perhaps you might invite Yoshiko to visit us, while she's on Fulgor?”
    â€œYes, please! Yoshiko, if you could come, that would be great!”
    The pleading look in her eyes melted Yoshiko.
    â€œI'd love to.” She couldn't resist adding, “Do you think Jana will be piloting our ship?”
    Vin snorted with laughter at Septor's expression, and even Lori's face was tight with amusement.
    Â 
    A mounted samurai horseman, his banner floating in an unfelt breeze, reared above Yoshiko's hand. One of her tu-rings was flashing high-priority red.
    She looked around the departure lounge, but it was almost empty, an hour before transit.
    The banner bore an incoming-mail icon. She pointed, and the horseman, one of her NetEnv agents, swirled and broke apart, then reformed into Tetsuo's familiar features.
    â€œMother. I'm looking forward to seeing you, but I have urgent business to attend to.” His expression was blank, but there was an unsettling edge to his voice. “Perhaps Akira can arrange for a later trip? I'll contact you soon.”
    Yoshiko's thoughts were still whirling when the lounge began to fill. Eager passengers chatting brightly. Holiday atmosphere.
    A migraine began to pulse over Yoshiko's left eye.
    â€œAre you OK?” A man's voice. Crew-member's blue jumpsuit.
    â€œI will be.” She looked up. “Oh, Eric. How are you?”
    â€œEr…Fine.” Eric Rasmussen tugged at his beard, looking concerned. “Are you sure you're OK?”
    â€œI had an h-mail from my son.” The words flowed from Yoshiko without volition, surprising her. “I'm not sure he wants to see me.”
    â€œDid he give a reason?”
    â€œYes. Well, no. Not really.”
    He stared at her for a moment. “Fulgor's a big world. Plenty of other things to see.”
    â€œYes, but—” Her shoulders sagged. “You're right. It seems stupid to turn round and go straight back to Earth.”
    Not to mention the insult to Akira, who had paid for the trip. And Tetsuo could hardly turn her away, once she was there.
    â€œI just wanted to say—” Eric's voice trailed off. Unexpectedly, he grinned. “I'm glad you dropped in, even on our monkey business.”
    A smile tugged at Yoshiko's lips, despite herself.
    Eric added, “You've brightened this place up, you know.”
    She had noticed it before, in the refectory: that damned twinkle in his eyes.
    â€œI bet,” she said, “you say that—”
    â€œâ€”to all the beautiful, intelligent scientists who wander by.” Eric laughed. “Yeah, right.”
    Stop this.
    Yoshiko shook her head, just as a low chime sounded.
    â€œTime to board.” Eric raised an eyebrow. “If you're going.”
    â€œI am. Thank you, Eric.”
    â€œCan I give you a hand with that—? I guess not.”
    Yoshiko hefted the narrow two-and-a-half-metre carry-case.
    â€œYou're a pole-vaulter?” said Eric. “No. Let me guess—”
    â€œIt's a naginata,”