Rewrite, GHOST OF THE DEVIL-HORSE, 12/28/2020.

Better get to that horse soon!

“So, tell me about the dig,” I said over the inevitable cups of coffee. Even if you don’t drink the stuff, you end up drinking the stuff. By now I even like it. “How many do we have on-site already?”

“With your group? About fifty. You’re the last ones in; the Imperium Orci University folks showed up last night. Hank’s having a meeting after supper, let us all know what’s what. Figure he’s got a surprise, Johnny. You know anything about it?”

“Not unless it’s me,” I said. “But I don’t think so. He’s really excited about the airport, so maybe it’s that.”

“That’s fair,” allowed Barbara. “There’s a lot of folklore about the place. Damned lurid stuff, too; dating back to the Old Americans, some of it. Secret cults and hidden passageways, all burrowing through the ground.” She barked (I’m sorry, but it’s how it sounded) laughter. “Surface folk always do get too excited about that sort of thing.”

“It’s what they’re used to,” I said as I poured another cup. “What about that encampment at the old Tower? They’re not with us, right?”

“Aye,” Barbara said. “Military research, Alliance-only. Oh, the folks there are nice about it, but what goes on there’s none of our business until somebody says otherwise. They’re probably just playing spy, though.” She sipped her coffee. “Better them than me.”