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They ate in a diner, killing time until Valentine's appointment with the camp supervisor.
Which was just as well, as the service was slow to the point that Valentine got their own coffee refills.
Valentine helped the attendant at the register make change for his bill, when Valentine threw him off by paying a $12.62 tab with $13.12.
"I'm all muddled up from multiplication and division, sir," the attendant said, tucking his head in that old Kurian Zone gesture of submission. "Clean forgot my subtraction."
"Take your time," Valentine said. "I just wanted a couple of dollars to buy a paper."
"Always amazes me that they can even find their way to the Territory," Patel said once they were back on the street.
"West to the big river and freedom," Valentine said. "The underground helps some of them along."
Valentine turned a WET PAINT sign right side up as they walked down the sidewalk, and the gap-toothed painter gave them a Morse-code grin and a thumbs-up.
Liberty's administration building looked like an old town hall or possibly a courthouse.
They got directions from a bright and attentive young woman in another strange dual-color outfit.
Supervisor Felshtinsky had a nice corner office with a view of the towering rice mills and a staff of three. One was arguing over the phone with someone about duck poaching and the other two were buried in paperwork.
"My name's Argent," Valentine said. "Southern Command. I've got a two o'clock appointment."
"The super is out on the grounds," an older woman said. "I can page him on the walkie-talkie."
"I'd appreciate that."
"Sorry he's out, but you never know with the trains," she said, smiling. "He's a very busy man."
The other put down his pencil and turned around and took a plastic bag off a bureau.
"Welcome to Camp Liberty. Visitor ID tags and a house key," he explained, handing the bag to Valentine. "You can use the ID tag to eat in any of the cafeterias. Your trailer's in the southeast quadrant, just behind this building. Go in through the green arch. You can see it from the south side of this building. You're lucky: As guests, you have a kitchen with a fridge and everything. We'd appreciate it if you didn't wear pistols, and you can check any other guns in at the armory. It's in this building's basement."
"Why no pistols?" Patel asked.
"Most of the folks here, they just wilt when they see someone with a gun," the older woman with the walkie-talkie said. She spoke into it again and then returned her attention to Patel. "Might as well put on a pair of lifts and a Reaper's hood."
Patel looked at Valentine and glanced heavenward.
Valentine changed the subject. "I'd asked for an index of your current residents who came out of Kentucky and Tennessee. Even the Virginias."
"And we haven't got to it yet," the man on the phone said, covering the mouthpiece.
"We've got only one computer allocated to admin and only one man who knows how to work the database. Our old printer runs on curses and tears."
"Ho dog," Valentine said, letting out a deep breath. "Hammer's going to go red as a baboon's butt."
Patel's eyes widened, then he nodded. "Tell me about it."
"Who's Hammer?" the man with the key packet asked.
"My CO," Valentine said. "Ex-Bear." He tapped the scar running the side of his face for emphasis. "He'll probably be here by tomorrow to get things moving."
"You think the file cabinets will fit through that window?" Patel asked Valentine.
"Eventually," Valentine said.
"You'll have your list delivered to the trailer this evening," the man with the phone said, clicking off his call and dialing a new set of numbers.
