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"Don’t get me wrong," said Makoto. "I know she figured out what the first message meant. But the TV thing said Cody McGavin thinks the old bat is going to figure out the new message, too." He shook his head in a "can-you-imagine" sort of way.

"Speaking of messages," said Lenore, gamely trying to change the topic, "I got a call the other day from Ranjit at CFH. He says—"

But Don couldn’t help himself. "Professor Halifax understands the Dracons better than anyone."

Makoto waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, she might have back in her day, but—"

"This is still her day," said Don. "She’s Professor Emerita, remember — and without her, we wouldn’t be communicating with the Dracons at all."

"Yeah, yeah," said Makoto. "But if McGavin would put some of his money behind someone who’s got a chance—"

"You mean you," Don snapped.

"Why not? Better someone born this century, this millennium, than a dried-up old fossil."

Don looked down at his half-empty beer bottle, trying to remember if he was on his second or third. "You’re being unfair," he said, without looking up.

"Look, Dan," Makoto said, "this isn’t your field. You don’t know what you’re talking about."

"It’s Don," Lenore said, "and maybe he should tell you who—"

"I do know what I’m talking about," said Don. "I’ve been to Arecibo. I’ve been to the Allen."

Makoto blinked. "You’re full of shit. You’re not an astronomer."

Damn. "Forget it." He got up, his chair making a loud wooden whack as it collided with the table behind them. Lenore looked at him in horror. She clearly thought he was going to take a swing at Makoto, and Makoto had a "just-try-it" scowl on his face. But he simply said, "I’m going to the John," and he squeezed his way past Halina and Phyllis, and headed for the stairs leading down to the basement.

It took a while to empty his bladder, which was probably just as well; it gave him some time to calm down. Christ’s sake, why couldn’t he have just kept his mouth shut? And he knew what conversation was going on back in the goddamn snug.

"Shit, Lenore, that friend of yours is—" and Makoto would plug in whatever term kids today used for "touchy" or "crazy."

Kids today. The urinal flushed as he turned around and walked to the sink. He washed his hands, avoiding looking at his reflection, then he climbed back upstairs.

When he sat down, Lenore glared expectantly at Makoto.

"Look, man," Makoto said, "I’m sorry. I didn’t know she was your grandmother."

"Yeah," said Phyllis. "We’re sorry."

He couldn’t bring himself to respond in words, so he just nodded.

There was more conversation, although Don didn’t say much, and lots of wings were eaten; the primal tearing of flesh from bone with his teeth actually helped calm him down. Finally, the bill came. After paying his share, Makoto said, "Gotta motor." He looked at Don. "Nice to meet you."

Don managed a calm tone. "And you."

"I should go, too," said Phyllis. "Got a meeting with my supervisor first thing in the morning. You coming, Halina?"

"Yeah," said Halina, the only word Don had heard from her all evening.

When they were alone, he looked at Lenore. "I’m sorry," he said.

But she lifted her rusty eyebrows. "For what? For defending your grandmother who wasn’t here to defend herself? You’re a good man, Donald Halifax."

"I’m sure I spoiled your fun. I’m sorry your friends don’t like me, and—"

"Oh, they do. Well, maybe except for Makoto. But while you were in the washroom, Phyllis said you were gallant."

He felt his jaw go slack. "Gallant" wasn’t the sort of word one normally applied to a twenty-five-year-old.

"I guess I should be going, too," he said.

"Yeah," she said. "Me, too."

They headed out the pub’s doors, Don carrying his two plastic bags full of file folders. To his surprise, it was now dark; he hadn’t realized how long he’d been in the pub. "Well," he said, "that was fun, thanks, but—"

Lenore seemed surprised that it had grown dark, too. "Walk me home?" she asked.

"It’s only a few blocks, but my neighborhood’s a bit rough."

Don looked at his watch again. "Um, sure. Okay."

She took one of the bags, and they made their way along, Lenore chatting in her animated way. It was still hot and sticky as they came to Euclid Avenue, a tree-lined downtown street filled with crumbling, ancient houses. Two beefy guys passed them. One, with a shaved head that glistened in the light of the streetlamps, had an animated tattoo of the grim reaper on his bulging right biceps. The other had laser scars on his face and arms that could easily have been erased; he was presumably wearing them as badges of honor. Lenore cast her gaze down at the cracked and broken sidewalk, and Don followed her example.

"Well," she said, a hundred meters or so farther along, "here we are." They were standing in front of a dilapidated house with dormer windows.

"Nice place," he said.