Mister Johnston smiled slightly as he sat on the couch, accepting the glass of bourbon from the slender woman. "I'll be blunt, Miss Lamarr. The Organization I... represent, tends to<em>facilitate</em>things between the fractured states. Strictly grey-market."<br/><br/>He paused, taking a sip of the strong drink. "As an example, do you recall the food riots in Salt Lake last year? The government said that God would provide. The truth is far more... mundane." He smiled slightly, placing his briefcase on the floor next to him, unlatching the cuff so he could use his left hand for additional expression.<br/><br/>"As for yourself, I know much of your recent history. Up-and-coming Hollywood starlet, a dozen movies of generally improving quality, invested almost all your personal funds into five ships for trade and passenger transportation. And, less than a year after your company was formed, here you are in Colorado, with only one shot-up ship, recruiting pilots, and rumours that someone is going to get the full firey force of your wrath poured upon them."<br/><br/>He paused, sipping the bourbon again as the Zeppelin slid back into the clouds, encasing the cabin in diffuse light as the afternoon sunlight warred with the thick haze of the condensing moisture.