“What model is it, Scotty?”

Scotty lay on the ground, a mess of injury and pain. He had given up trying to escape. “What?” he said, lifting his head weakly.

“The model, Scotty,” Sprite said, still looking to the sky, watching the speck’s course. “Is it a 170-A or 170-B?”

Scotty looked at her as if not understanding the question. Helen looked back and forth between the two of them and then eyeing the sky again, but seeing only blue.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Both, I think. It was a rebuild. A real deal.”

Sprite didn’t acknowledge his response.