He listened as the fury of the storm blended with the violence of Wagner’s “Flight of the Valkyries.” Hurricane winds buffeted the ship. The sound of thunderclaps filled the room as the skylight flashed white, leaving afterimages burning in the Consul’s retinas. Wagner is good only for thunderstorms, he thought.
“Who knows what the Ousters will do?” he said. “They no longer appear to be motivated by human logic.” Martin Silenus laughed loudly, spilling his wine as he gestured. “As if we fucking humans were ever motivated by human logic!”
“What do the ship logs show?” “Nothing,” said the Consul. “No violence. No forced entry. No deviation from course. No unexplained time lapses. No unusual energy emissions or depletions. No physical phenomena of any sort.” “No passengers,” said Het Masteen.
“Marvelous melodrama,” laughed Silenus. “A real-life, Christ-weeping Sargasso of Souls and we’re for it. Who orchestrates this shitpot of a plot, anyway?” “Shut up,” said Brawne Lamia. “You’re drunk, old man.”