The convoy had been moving for forty minutes. The road was packed earth under the tires, starting to dry from the storm.
Solomon had said nothing since the lifts. He sat in the center of the rear bench, hands folded, eyes forward. Whatever the Ukai Ruler had told him was still on his face - not in any expression Raizen could name, but in the absence of the composure that had been there before. The mask was back on. It just didn't fit as well.
A Warden unfolded a table between the benches before they departed. On it sat a portable reader - a flat device, Neoshiman make, steel-cased with copper fittings and a small speaker grille. Beside it, a chip. A chip so old, the edges were worn smooth - one corner chipped, the surface discolored in patches where time had eaten at the material. The Ukai's ruler gave it to him with a dark look on his face. His only instructions were: "be careful, it almost didn't survive the first reading."
