 He eyed the silhouette at the top of the hillcrest, a black, morphing shape against the blue night sky.  The time was right, he checked, and he began his ascent.
 âKrill Mathias,â the man called down to him.  The shape became a billowing trench coat as he neared.
 âTiberius Talmid,â acknowledged the visitor.
 They exchanged goods.  For Krill, a sum of coins.  For Tiberius, the disjointed parts of a very powerful Stromling.
 Then Krill turned around and descended to his rocket parked in the strip mall lot.  Client business wasnât his business, he knew, yet he still gave the exchange some contemplation, as he began unlocking the cabin.  He paused to consider if he should enter the nearby convenience store and stock up on refreshments.  It was dark inside the store, despite the absence of a âClosedâ sign, and the only person in sight, half the lot away and leaning against the outside of the storefront, seemed to be checking her phone, so he returned to his thoughts.  The mercenary and Gallant Strong Cyclone had a history that he acknowledged, and maybe he felt a little bad handing his pieces off to certain doom.  But that wasnât his problem.
 Krill felt a rush of air and suddenly the girl with the phone was standing behind him.  He could tell by the direction of her voice.  âHow much to get him back?â she asked.
 âTo the point,â he noted, turning around, and he stifled a gasp.  She didnât look good.  His excuse for not noticing before was the distance, not a factor now.  Her hands were in the pockets of what could pass as a sweatshirt, although its condition, thoroughly tattered, would get it thrown out of a thrift store.  Her face wore the long dried effuse of some nasty cuts and bruises, and the hair that stuck out from her hood, when not burnt a charcoal gray, was an identifying red.  âNo, I wonât backstab your great uncle.  Itâs a policy of integrity to not backstab any client.  Youâll have to pay someone else.â
 âNo,â Red sighed, âI wonât have to.  The job might just be a little harder, for those that take it.â
 âSpeaking of them,â Krill pointed with his eyes, for a second, at the telltale sign of rockets in reentry, several trails of flame in the sky above.  âYeah, theyâre probably angry with me.â
 âYouâd best depart.â
 âTook the words out of my mouth.  Anything I can do for you?â  Krill sucked in his breath.  âYes, of course.  Of course thatâs why youâre really here.â
 Red looked up and met his gaze, and again Krill was taken aback by her appearance.  Wherever sheâd been last, it must have been bad.  Heâd heard of the transdimensional girl, of course.  Tales of her travels frequented the trading spots, and other locations, he often found himself in.  Well, not always of her specifically.  Transdimensional travelers werenât a new development.  Heâd become one himself not three years prior, when the job required it.
 âI need a Manipulator.â Red said.
 Krill nodded gravely.  The implications were obvious.  What would a transdimensional operative, who no doubt already had her own Unverse breacher, need in another such device?  He didnât say what didnât need to be said, so he got to work.  He fired up his rocket.  Rolls of Imagination energy, fire, and steam blew out to cover the parking lot.  When it cleared he was gone, high in the sky and climbing rapidly.  He knew Red was gone, too.
 Once out of Elistraâs gravitational influence Krill pointed his rocket to an obscure vertex of the Nimbus System, reclined his seat, and took a nap.
<ac_metadata title="Song of the Swans Chapter 56"> </ac_metadata>