Frida enters Celestalis flat. She’s pale.
“I went and see the crash. Terra Gunship. Black, with red insignia, just like ours, Lawrence. Black Guards of Nova Venetia”
“I know, Frida”
“Did we take it down?”
“No, Frida. No idea who did it, actually”
Frida opens the small fridge, pours herself a glass of vodka, gulps it down. She turns to Celestalis.
“We hacked their signal, Lawrence. They’re bombing Hangars. From tomorrow.”