Category: Chapter 5

The next morning, with pastries and coffees in hand Dominic and Brock meet on the opposite side of the ship to observe the sun as it rises in the same spot it had set the night before. “They told us they wouldn’t be going straight,” notes Brock. Looking up at the circling seabirds Dominic adds, …

Rebekah, Elvis, and Dominic are sitting hunched over something at the breakfast table as Brock approaches. For a moment his line of sight is blocked by the flowers that had been pushed to one side but he can soon see the sheet of paper that they’re focused on. As he gets even closer he sees …

“I’m a little nervous,” admits Brock as he stares fixedly at the white enclosure. “Perfect,” replies Dmitri while attaching a final cable from a laptop computer to a port at the back of the pod. Mirabelle observes quietly from a chair against a wall, leaning back casually with a lit cigarette held loosely in one …

“My mozer,” begins Mirabelle, “say zis to me. Zat maybe we are relative to Louis Antoine de Saint-Just.” Section B stare at her blankly. “You know Maximilien Robespierre maybe?”, she asks hopefully as she taps her cigarette over the small ashtray. Their expressions morph into ones of puzzlement. “La Révolution française? ‘ave you ‘eard of …

“Wait,” says Brock with a perplexed expression on his face. “What do you mean you think you worked for the Russian mafia?” “I don’t really know, not for sure,” replies Dmitri, hoisting his shoulders up into a shrug. “But I know enough Russian. And when I heard the new boss’ bosses calling themselves the new …

Golden reflections of the rising sun ripple across blazing swells as they glide past the incandescently white vessel. A couple of seabirds circle overhead in wide, lazy arcs. A single puffy white cloud hangs casually on the horizon. From all sides come the whooshing churn of water, the fresh briny smell of the ocean, the …

The rendezvous point is near the same temple complex in which Brock had spent some time recently, erroneously assuming he was alone. Given OpTwo’s revelations the Section don’t bother splitting up and instead head wearily to their destination as a group. They’re met there by a darkly-tanned man with a serious expression pressed deeply into …

“… why it’s called deterministic,” Dmitri says to Elvis with a huff, bags piled under both arms. “That’s the only way I can think of to tell us from the machines these days.” Labouring under his own load, Elvis asks, “So people get more like thirty percent and computers get twenty-five?” “Yeah,” replies Dmitri, “on …