You have to ask yourself. This isn't the only small airport in the district. I've got competition. In the old days it was okay to be a little loose, cut everybody some slack. It was all semi-amateurs, independents like you. Now there are corporate charter companies bidding up hangar space. Even if the books balanced I'd be taking a loss on you. That's just a fact."

"I can't make money if I can't fly my plane, Mike."

"The trouble is, I can't make money whether you fly it or not."

"Seems like you do okay."

"I have a payroll to meet. I have a whole new raft of regulations coming down from the Provisional Government. If you looked at my spreadsheets you wouldn't tell me I'm doing okay. My accountant doesn't come in here and tell me I'm doing okay."

And you probably don't call your accountant an amateur, Turk thought. Mike Arundji was an old hand: he had opened up this strip when there was nothing south of Port Magellan but fishing villages and squatters' camps. Even a half-dozen years ago the word "spreadsheet" would have been foreign to his vocabulary.

That was the kind of environment in which Turk had arranged for the import—at eye-bulging expense—of his six-seater Skyrex. And it had made him a modest little living, at least until recently. He no longer owed money on it. Unfortunately, he seemed to owe money on everything else. "So what do I have to do to get my plane back in the air?"

Arundji shifted in his chair and wouldn't meet Turk's eye. "Come in tomorrow, we'll talk about it. Worse comes to worst, it wouldn't be hard to find a buyer."

"Find—what?"

"A buyer. A buyer, you know! People are interested. Sell the plane, pay your debts, start fresh. People do that. It happens all the time."

Turk said, "Not to me."

"Calm down. We don't necessarily have conflicting interests here. I can help you get a premium price. I mean, if it comes to that. And shit, Turk, you're the one who's always talking about hiring onto a research boat and sailing somewhere. Maybe this is the time. Who knows?"

"Your confidence is inspiring."

"Think about it, is what I'm saying. Talk to me in the morning."

"I can pay what I owe you."

"Can you? Okay. No problem. Bring me a certified check and we'll forget about it."

To which Turk had no answer.

"Go home," Arundji said. "You look tired, buddy."

* * * * *

"First," Brian said, "I know you were with Turk Findley."

"What the hell?" Lise said promptly.

"Hold on, let me finish—"

"What, you had somebody follow me?"

"I couldn't do that if I wanted to, Lise."

"What, then?"

Brian took a breath. His pursed lips and narrowed eyes were meant to announce that he found this as unpleasant as she did. "Lise, there are other people at work here."