Clea began a word, but pushed her tongue hard against the roof of her mouth. "Tomar?" she asked after a moment.
"Yes?" He had a rough voice, which, when he was sad, took on the undertones of a bear's growl.
"What's happening about the war? Will there really be one?"
Again he shrugged. "More soldiers, more planes, and at the Ministry there's more and more work to do. I was up before dawn this morning getting a fleet of survey planes off for a scouting trip to the mainland over the radiation barrier. If they come back this evening, I'll be busy all night with the reports and I won't be able to make the party.
"Oh," said Clea. "Tomar?"
"Yes, Clea Koshar?"
"Oh, don't be formal with me, please. You've been in the City long enough and known me long enough. Tomar, if the war comes, do you think they'll draft prisoners from the tetron mines into the army?"
"They talk about it."
"Because my brother...."
"I know," said Tomar.