8:13

The beaver plopped down in an exhausted heap. Beavers, he mused, were not made for climbing. But this way at least the flight would be cheap. “’Cause I left my wallet in my other pants,” he snickered to himself.

Other than a sharp draft that wormed its way down from the mooring aperture, this was a comfortable enough spot to spend a day or two. The beaver wasn’t exactly sure how long the flight to Halifax was going to be, but the last he’d heard, the new aero-engines were chopping hours off the flight. He’d be snug here for now and, most importantly, out of the way and out of sight.

He wasn’t sure if he’d been followed to the aero field, but there was no point taking chances. There were enough ways this could get complicated without the rest of the world dabbling in his business as it had an unfortunate penchant for doing. Then, once he had left the overdeveloped conscious of the contingent behind, he might start getting somewhere.

Settling down against the silvery air bladder, the beaver decided a nap would while away a few hours and ensure they were well on their way.

And then he heard the distinct sound of a sharply indrawn breath.