“Not at all,” said the man, raised the bottle, and gulped thirstily. He stopped suddenly when it was about three-fourths empty to ask, “Wait, is this all your water?”

“No, no. There’s a tap on the outsides of each of these old heat exchanger towers. One’s broken, but the custodian hooked up the other for me when I moved all my pets up here. He helped me rig my tent, too. The secretaries wouldn’t let me keep my animals inside anymore, because the smell and noise bothered some folks. I like it better up here anyway. Drink all you want. I can just fill it up again.”

The little man drained the bottle and, taking Jin at his word, handed it back. “More, please?”

Jin dashed out to the tap and refilled the bottle, taking a moment to rinse and top up the chickens’ water pan at the same time. His guest drank another half-liter without stopping, then rested, his eyes sagging shut.

Jin tried to figure out how old the man was. His face was pale and furrowed, with sprays of fine lines at the corners of his eyes, and his chin was shadowed with a day’s beard stubble, but that could be from being lost Below, which would unsettle anybody. His dark hair was neatly cut, a few gleams of gray showing in the light. His body seemed more scaled-down than distorted, sturdy enough, though his head, set on a short neck, was a bit big for it. Jin decided to work around to his curiosity more sideways, to be polite. “What’s your name, mister?”

The man’s eyes flew open; they were clear gray in color, and would probably be bright if they weren’t so bloodshot. If the fellow had been bigger, his seedy looks might have alarmed Jin more. “Miles. Miles Vo—well, the rest is a mouthful no one here seems able to pronounce. You can just call me Miles. And what’s your name, young… person?”