“And after your lie-down, I can come back with some food,” Jin offered.

“After a lie-down, my stomach might well be settled enough to take you up on that, yes.”

Jin smiled and jumped up. “Want any more water?”

“Please.”

When Jin returned from the tap, he found the little man easing himself down in the bedroll, laid along the side wall of an exchanger tower. Lucky was helping him; he reached out and absently scritched her ears, then let his fingers massage expertly down either side of her spine, which arched under his hand. The cat deigned to emit a short purr, an unusual sign of approval. Miles grunted and lay back, accepting the water bottle and setting it beside his head. “Ah. God. That’s so good.” Lucky jumped up on his chest and sniffed his stubbly chin; he eyed her tolerantly.

A new concern crossed Jin’s mind. “If heights make you dizzy, the gutter could be a problem.” An awful picture arose of his guest falling head-first over the parapet while trying to pee in the dark. His off-worlder guest. “See, chickens don’t fly as well as you’d think, and baby chicks can’t fly at all. I lost two of Mrs. Speck’s children over the parapet, when they got big enough to clamber up to the ledge but not big enough to flutter down safely if they fell over. So for the in-between time, I tied a long string to each one’s leg, to keep them from going too far. Maybe I could, like… tie a line around your ankle or something?”

Miles stared up at him in a tilted fascination, and Jin was horribly afraid for a moment that he’d mortally offended the little man. But in a rusty voice, Miles finally said, “You know—under the circumstances—that might not be a bad idea, kid.”

Jin grinned relief, and hurried to find a bit of rope in his cache of supplies. He hitched one end firmly to the metal rail beside the tower door, made sure it paid out all the way to the corner gutter, and returned to affix the other end to his guest’s ankle.