33

It was the first snowfall of the year today. It's been a dry winter, so far. Some minor flurries, but nothing like this. It turned dark in the middle of the day; the base grounded all air and space travel, everyone closed their windows, the foot traffic disappeared from the streets. The weather warning was for three feet of snow. It's a little more than what Chicago is really used to.

Angilo couldn't get enough of it. He was near the window, all day, barely pretending to work on the files in front of him. He was entranced by the sky, and how the clouds were getting darker.

I couldn't stop watching him, but he didn't notice.

Once, he got a phone call. The person on the other end was doing most of the talking. I didn't really hear what it was about. The pain in my leg was flaring up, and I was breathing, deep and even. It was an exercise Cerebel taught me, back during the war.

"Thank you, sir," I heard Angilo say. "You have my word."

He slid the phone closed, and glanced towards me. "You tired of sitting around the apartment all day?"

I was. It's was maddening, being trapped here. The snow was a relief; it made my prison a prison of nature, not a prison of man.

"I have you another job."

He waited for my reaction. I don't know if I gave one. If I did, he's one of the people in the world who could have seen it.

"It's with kids," he said. "Martians."

It was like a flash of ice, through the pit of my stomach. "I don't know if I can-"

"Rayne," he interrupted (my name, get my name off of your tongue), "they need someone."

"Do you play chess?" I asked him, after a pause.

"Um," said Angilo, "a little?"

"Bring a set," I told him. "Next time you come."