Her mister had many talents, and getting people to talk was one of them. Wash had this aura of naivety about him that evoked trust, simply because strangers tended to underestimate him; he was jovial and extrovert and made friends easy. But he wasn't exactly the most discreet and subtle person in the 'verse, nor was he known for keeping his cool when he was out of his element. And so they decided, or rather Zoë decided, that the best course of action would be that she talked to the factory's management while he mingled with the workers.

Northern Star Wood Processing, Incorporated was in fact the only workplace in town. The Cobbs had not been exaggerating. As long as you didn't count the supply stores and other small family businesses, it seemed like everybody was in some form or another connected to it, and the place was seething with life. Hover trucks came and went, arriving with timber from the forests further inland and leaving again with finished products that were to be shipped out with the railway to 'all over Paquin', as Zoë soon learned.

The manager, a plump and quite informal man in his forties, seemed very proud of the business and gave Zoë the grand tour without her having to ask for it, and it was grand in the strictest sense; the place was huge. "We have close to two thousand employees," he told her. "They work in a three shift system, so the engines are always turnin', seven days a week, twenty-four hours a day."

Zoë was observant and attentive as always. She looked at the heavy machinery, the people, the comings and goings, and was – perhaps a little unconsciously – constantly searching for any sign of trouble. But the manager no doubt contributed this behavior to true and genuine interest, and it only made him happier and chattier.

"You mentioned you were looking for work?" he asked.

They were walking on a gallery above one of the many busy rooms, and she tore her eyes away from the buzzing crowd beneath