“How far back did Vespasian go,” Netherton asked, “to initiate this stub?” “Mid-2015.” “When is it, there… — William Gibson
“How far back did Vespasian go,” Netherton asked, “to initiate this stub?”
“Mid-2015.”
“When is it, there, now?”
“2017,” she said, “fall.”
“Much changed?”
“The outcome of the previous year’s American presidential election. Brexit referendum as well….”
“But why would Vespasian, of all people, have desired positive change?”
“He was a sadist,” said Lowbeer, “and terribly clever at it…when he failed to return to fine-tune and amplify course, as he always did, things went their own way.”
“How is it there, given that?”
“Grim. They’re being driven into the same blades we were, but at a less acute angle.”
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More from this book
Netherton said nothing, something he’d only recently been learning to deliberately do.
“Turkey and Syria weirding you out?…Folks in Frankfurt made me feel like the Cold War never really went away. Somebody shoots down a couple of Russian jets, wham, it’s Cold War Atlantis, risen from the depths.”
“What’s going on?” asked Manuela, eyeing the container’s door. “Is this a cult? Kidnapping people and telling them somebody’s after them?”
“Let me think about it,” Verity said.
“You’re kidnapped too? Let’s fucking escape!”
