Trin waits at the bar, sitting in the same seat he sat in yesterday. Hunkered over a glass of tepid water and a half-empty plate of spaghetti, something Aissa whipped up for him because she said he needed to eat, he surveys the common room in the mirror behind the bar. Gerrick isn’t with the other gunners. He isn’t sitting alone at a corner booth. And he isn’t by the jukebox, or over at the pool tables, or at the pinball machines, either. The only good thing about his not being at the waystation is that Trin doesn’t have to watch him flirt with the chore girls again this evening. The leggy blonde has turned her attention to the gunner who propositioned Trin the night before, and the bounder who caught Gerrick’s eye is nowhere around. Trin tells himself the guy probably left the outpost alr
