The Trans-Siveron Rail Line, Siveron People's Federation
Zai
Sommer flinched, but having been caught, did not try to hide the device or what he'd been inspecting.
"Oh... it's you," he said, moving to stand.
Zai quietly reached out a hand, and he placed the looking device and a piece of microfilm in her palm. It was clearly a way of passing information, and she would need to assess it to make sure there were no hidden messages. She caught the faint whiff of peanut butter from it. "What were you doing?" she asked.
"Merely reading the paper," he said. "The Oilers went up against the Quarryhawks and lost... but I suppose you don't care for blitzball."
"You wanted to talk, talk," Zai ordered.
"I was hoping we could find a place that's more private..." he lowered his voice, "son."
