At the end of the corridor, the strike of footfalls. It's an easy rhythm, characterized by climbing a half dozen sets of stairs to get this high in the tower, and in no hurry. News, it seems, has not travelled very far very quickly. At the very least, it hasn't yet reached the man who appears now at the end of the hallway with his attention in an open mapbook laid open across his arm.

Nevarra lays across his forearm in microcosm. Here is the road to Nevarra City, there is the Minanter. Do they take the road, or do they portage one of the light craft through the Vimmark's and to a landing in the Marches? The line of the brtualized Imperial Highway tempts too and--

Halfway to the Forces division offices, Flint's attention rises from the map to land on the figure in the corridor. He pauses. He stops.

He closes the book.