"Good." She grinned and finished off her drink all in one go—with only a bit of a shudder—and got to her feet. "Be seeing you, Pottinger," she said, giving him a casual salute and leaving him to work out how she knew his name (not that it was hard to find out, ranking E-Rep officer and all) and to wonder what hers was.

An hour later, she waited in the drab little room she was renting, the component parts of her various small firearms neatly out on the table as she cleaned them. She didn't really need to, but it was something to do with her hands. She wasn't that worried about things turning violent—and even if they did, she didn't need a gun to protect herself.