I end up spending most of the early part tooling up and down Highway 5, on the theory that the odds are real fragging slim that somebody’s going to spot me there. Gives me plenty of time to think, but it feels like my brain’s stuck in a groove, going around and around a limited cycle of thoughts. Like, for some reason I can’t shake the thought that Mr. Nemo—the whole Tir-corp delegation thing—is an important piece of the puzzle. Frag knows why, but my gut keeps telling me that’s the way it’s got to be. If I can find out more about what’s going down there—which corp it is, why they’re interested in the Cutters, what the deal is, that kind of drek—I might better understand just what the frag is going on. That’s the way it feels, at least, and I long ago learned to trust my feelings.