In the top left is Sarah Layton. The slag next to her is about the same age—late forties, I’d guess—but nowhere near as well preserved: thinning, graying hair, bags under his eyes like an old hound-dog. That’s Vince McMartin. Below Sarah is "the White Flash," one Marcus Drummond. He’s a decade younger than the other two, a real burner of a corporate warrior, climbing the old ladder fast enough to avoid the knives constantly directed at his back. Thin and sallow, with eyes that don’t miss a fragging thing. His hair’s cropped almost buzz-cut short, and it’s pure white. (For a moment his hair reminds me of the elf goddess with the Tir corp delegation, and I check Drummond’s ears. Nope, no points.)