HEDY LAMARR<br/><br/>There were a few comments across the bar aimed at me after I sat down. I heard them clear enough. Only to be expected in a dive such as this. I only assumed such uncouth ruffians were not going to come to me for work. Sadly that wasn't the case and the Canadian who had spoken loudly from the bar came over shortly after the barkeeper announced I was hiring.<br/><br/>I watched the room. Several men and ladies were around, all distinguishable by flying gear of one kind or another, then again what else did a person expect in a port named Sky Haven? The whole city flourished on the flying industry; construction, maintenance, supplies, sales and flyers for hire. I was interested in all but the first and it seemed several were interested in work as a waiter came across and passed over a polite and private message, discreetly pointing out a lady in a long black coat with a fan seated at the bar.<br/><br/>I liked her style, it said something about her, more so than these other lowlifes who called out in public at a lady. I said nothing but held up a finger to the waiter,<em>wait</em>. From my purse I took a business card and flipping it to the blank reverse wrote:<br/><br/><em>"Mooring tower East 17. 2pm tomorrow. I'll test your gunnery."</em>With a nod to the lady behind the fan I raised my glass to my lips and took a sip as the waiter returned with my message whence he had come.<br/><br/>As the waiter departed the Canadian arrived at my table.<br/><br/><div class="quoteheader"><div class="topslice_quote">Quote</div></div><blockquote class="bbc_standard_quote">"So, what's a classy dame like you doing in a joint like this, if you don't mind me askin' that ma'am? I heard you're looking for pilots to hire."</blockquote><div class="quotefooter"><div class="botslice_quote"></div></div><strong>"Your statement answers your question Mister Aviator. To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?"</strong>I kept my voice low, so that no-one who was not at the table with me could hear, certainly not anyone over at the bar. Sure, everyone knew I was hiring flyers but then half the entrepreneurs of the fractured states of the old nation were doing that. It was just prudent to not let people know<em>why</em>you were hiring, and what skills you needed most. The room was noisy enough but it was never wise to announce your plans loudly enough so that a roomful of strangers could hear, especially in a place like this. You never knew who might be eavesdropping... or who's side they were on.<br/><br/>Just then a woman also arrived at the table. Jeez, I'd have to get Benson to tell them to get in line. Secretly I was pleased though, the more pilots who wanted work the more it was a sellers market.<br/><br/>The woman spoke:<br/><br/><div class="quoteheader"><div class="topslice_quote">Quote</div></div><blockquote class="bbc_standard_quote">"Is it true you're looking for pilots? I may not have been in any dogfights, but I can fly pretty well. Name's Rebel, by the way."</blockquote><div class="quotefooter"><div class="botslice_quote"></div></div><strong>"I'm pleased to meet you Miss Rebel, my name doesn't get announced in a public place like this, and I have my own reasons to be coy about who might know I'm here."</strong>My voice was still low and I checked the room beyond the table incessantly with tiny, well practiced flicks of the eyes. A technique I'd been taught by R.K. himself as a way to be alert to nosy reporters.<br/><br/><strong>"Dogfighters is what I need my dear. Good ones. Arm your plane, go get some practice on the flying school ground targets tomorrow and then be at mooring tower East 17 at dusk. I have a streamed target you can practice on the next day. Same goes for you, Mister Canadian if you want work, I'm offering but I want people who can shoot first, shoot straight and land on a skyhook without their plane smashing into my airship's belly."</strong><br/><br/>There was a commotion as someone pushed through the group. I felt, more than saw Benson move and my protection was at my side an instant before the newcomer was. I saw Benson make to grab the offender and do his 'Hollywood extra hurled through the saloon window during big barfight scene' move on him but I held up a hand. The man hadn't got a weapon out so he was safe so far. If he made a move to draw one he'd better be damned quick or his piloting days would be over. A face full of Tiny's front windows couldn't be good for anyone's aiming skills.<br/><br/>The man spoke,<br/><br/><div class="quoteheader"><div class="topslice_quote">Quote</div></div><blockquote class="bbc_standard_quote">"You're the dame looking for new pilots?"</blockquote><div class="quotefooter"><div class="botslice_quote"></div></div>I was about to answer him when he had the rudeness to turn and hold a conversation with the huge barman. Was the man talking with me or someone else? Insolent cretin. When he'd finished he turned back to me but I'd had enough.<br/><br/><strong>"No. You heard wrong, Mister,"</strong>I said calmly.<strong>"Now if you'll excuse me I have some people to discuss business with."</strong>I signalled to Benson who moved between me and the pilot and unfolded his arms. I could sense Benson's smile but it would have not a scrap of humour in it. Big as he was, he was fast and winning the Alabama bare knuckle boxing belt three years running '34 to '36 didn't count for nothing.<br/><br/>While Benson took care of Mr Annoying Ass, I rose from my chair and nodded my thanks to the Canadian, Miss Rebel and the dark lady at the bar. Three possible pilots in ten minutes. Not bad going.<br/><br/>Just as I was considering leaving for somewhere less claustrophobic a waitress shimmied over with a bottle of '22 Glenlivet. A rare sight in these parts. In fact a rare sight anywhere outside of the Scottish Highlands in this day and age. I looked up at the man who'd sent the whisky and with a nod, sent him the same message on a business card as I'd extended to the Lady in Black.