It was one o’clock in the morning. In Workshop Bay 12, the fire bowls had been banked down to glowing embers. The only light came from the green cathode-ray phosphors of Toby’s tracking data console and the soft amber standby LEDs of Arthur’s Monocle Taxonomy Loupe.
Toby and Valerie were asleep on their canvas cots in the corner, exhausted from hours of tactical prep.
Arthur Vance sat cross-legged on a woven straw mat in the center of the concrete floor. His combat duster was removed, leaving him in a dark, form-fitting tactical undershirt. Attached to his temples, his neck-artery sinuses. The base of his skull were six fine silver sensor leads, wired directly into Toby’s neural latency oscilloscope.
Arranged in a precise tactical circle around him were his four companions.
To his south sat Titus, his massive dark rock shell grounded into the floorboards, breathing with earth-shaking rhythm. To his west sat Grimm. His black glass bone-armor shone in the amber light, his amber eyes locked onto Arthur’s face. Above them on a wooden crossbeam perched Pip, his crimson feathers cloaked in silence. And directly in front of Arthur, sitting upright on a flat stone, was Vesper. Her golden slit pupils burned with ancient starlight.
