But somehow he knew that Saaz was right; it had not been what he'd said in the mess that had led to somebody trying to kill him. At least (said something in him), not directly…

Thone, the squadron's CO, came to see him; no flunkies, for a change.

"Thank you, Nurse," he said at the door, then closed it, smiled, and came over to the bed; he had the white chair. He sat in it and drew himself up, so that his girth was made to look less. "Well, Captain Zakalwe, how are we coming along?"

A flowery smell, Thone's preferred scent, drifted over from the man. "I hope to be flying within a couple of weeks, sir," he said. He'd never liked the CO, but made the effort of smiling bravely.

"Do you?" Thone said. "Do you now. That's not what the doctors say, Captain Zakalwe. Unless they're saying different things to me than they are to you."

He frowned. "Well, it might be a… few weeks, sir…"

"It might be we have to send you home, I think, Captain Zakalwe," Thone said, with an insincere smiled."… or at least to the mainland, as I'm told your home is further afield, eh?"

"I'm sure I'll be able to return to my duties, sir. Of course, I realise there will be a medical, but…"

"Yes, yes, yes," Thone said. "Well, we'll just have to see, won't we. Hmm. Very good." He stood up. "Is there anyth —»

"There's nothing you can get — " He began, then saw the look on Thone's face. "I beg your pardon, sir."

'AsI was saying, Captain; is there anything I can get you?"

He looked down at the white sheets. "No, sir. Thank you, sir."

"A speedy recovery, Captain Zakalwe," Thone said frostily.

He saluted Thone, who nodded, turned and left.

He was left looking at the white chair.

Nurse Talibe came in after a few moments, arms crossed, her round, pale face very calm and kind. "Try to sleep," she told him, and took the chair away.

He woke in the night and saw the lights shining through the snow outside; silhouetted against the floodlights, the falling flakes became translucent shadows, massing soft against the harsh, downward light. The whiteness beyond, in the black night, came compromised as grey.

He woke with the smell of flowers in his nostrils.

He clutched beneath the pillow, felt the single leg of the sharp, long-nosed scissor.

He remembered Thone's face.

He remembered the briefing room, and the four COs; they'd invited him for a drink, said they wanted a word.

In the room of one of them — he couldn't remember their names, but he would remember soon, and already he would recognise them — they asked him about what they'd heard he'd said in the mess.

And, a little drunk, and thinking he was very clever, thinking he might find out something interesting, he'd told them what he suspected they wanted to hear, not what he'd said to the other pilots.

And had discovered a plot. He wanted the new government to be true to its populist promises, and end the war. They wanted to stage a coup, and they needed good pilots.

High on the drink and his nerves, he'd left them thinking he was for them, and gone straight to Thone. Thone the hard but fair; Thone the dislikeable and petty, Thone the vain, the perfumed, but Thone the man known to be pro-government. (Though Saaz Insile had once said the man was pro-government with the pilots, and anti-government with their superiors.)

And the look on Thone's face…

Not then; later. After Thone had told him to say nothing to anybody else, because he thought there might be traitors amongst the pilots too, and told him to go to bed as though nothing had happened, and he'd gone, and because he'd still been drunk, maybe, woken up that second too late as they came for him, shoved some impregnated rag over his face and held it there while he struggled, but eventually had to breathe, and the choking fumes took him.

Dragged through the corridors, socked feet sliding over the tiles; men on either side. They went to one of the hangars, and somebody went to the lift controls, and he still could only dimly see the floor in front of him and could not raise his head. But he could smell flowers, from the man on his right.

The clamshell doors opened overhead, cracking; he heard the noise of the storm, shrieking from the darkness. They dragged him over to the lift.

He tensed, swung round, grabbed at Thone's collar; saw the man's face; appalled, full of fear. He felt the man on the other side of him grab at his free arm; he wriggled, got his other arm free from Thone, saw the pistol in the CO's holster.

He got the gun; he remembered shouting, getting away but falling; he tried to shoot but the gun would not work. Lights flickered on at the far side of the hangar. It's not loaded! It's not loaded! Thone shouted to the others. They looked over to the far side of the hangar; there were planes in the way, but there was somebody there, shouting about opening the hangar doors at night with the lights on.

He never saw who shot him. A sledgehammer hit the side of his head and the next thing he saw was the white chair.

The snow boiled wildly beyond the floodlit windows.

He watched it until dawn, remembering and remembering.

"Talibe; will you send a message to Captain Saaz Insile. Tell him I need to see him, urgently; please send a message to my squadron, will you?"

"Yes, of course, but first your medication."

He took her hand in his. "No, Talibe; first phone the squadron." He winked at her. "Please, for me."

She shook her head. "Pest." She walked away through the doors.

"Well, is he coming?"

"He's on leave," she told him, taking up the clipboard to check off the medication he was receiving.

"Shit!" Saaz hadn't said anything about leave.

"Captain, tut tut," she said, shaking a bottle.

"The police, Talibe. Call the military police; do it now. This really is urgent."

"Medication first, Captain."

"Well as soon as I've taken it, you promise?"

"Promise. Open wide."

"Aaaah…"

Damn Saaz for being on leave, and damn him twice for not mentioning it. And Thone; the nerve of the man! Coming to see him, to check him out, to see if he remembered.

And what would have happened if he had?

He felt under the pillow again, for the scissor. It was there, cool and sharp.

"I told them it was urgent; they say they're on their way," Talibe said, coming in, not with the chair this time. She looked at the windows, where the storm still blew. "And I've to give you something to keep you awake; they want you perky."

"I am perky; I am awake!"

"Quiet, and take these."

He took them.

He fell asleep clutching the scissor under the pillow, while the whiteness outside the windows went on and on and eventually penetrated the glass, layer by layer, by a process of discrete osmosis, and gravitated naturally to his head, and spun slowly in orbit round him, and joined with the white torus of bandages and dissolved them and unwound them and deposited the remains in one corner of the room where the white chairs gathered, muttering, plotting, and slowly pressed in against his head, tighter and tighter, whirling in the silly snow-flake dance, faster and faster as they came closer and closer until eventually they became the bandage, cold and tight about his fevered head, and — finding the treated wound — slunk in through his skin and his skull, coldly and crisply and crystally into his brain.

Talibe unlocked the ward doors and let the officers in.

"You sure he's out?"

"I gave him twice the usual dose. If he isn't out he's dead."

"Still got a pulse. You take his arms."

"Okay… Hup! Hey: look at this!"

"Huh."

"My fault. I wondered where those had got to. Sorry."

"You did fine, kid. You better go. Thanks. This won't be forgotten."

"Okay…"

"What?"