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facemask as he surveyed the charts and blueprints.
    He had twenty Watchmen at his disposal, but they were useless near the CHAR. This meant he had to rely on a team of fifty or so human employees, a few of whom had already been evacuated to the Depot with respiratory problems. Even though he was well outside the Alpha Zone, his ear throbbed fiercely, a sign that the fumes were affecting his implanted metal earbud.
    This cleanup was pointless. Nothing of worth could possibly be salvaged within that foul morass. He was understaffed and poorly equipped with no further support coming.
    And yet despite it all, Goodwin’s mind churned with anticipation. Kaspar’s intel could change everything.
    Assuming it wasn’t just the wild raving of a madman.
    Or whatever Kaspar was now.
    â€œWhat is the current status?”
nagged a voice in Goodwin’s ear.
    â€œWe have been waiting,”
said another.
    â€œCom-Pak sets cannot enter the Alpha Zone, so I am unable to correspond with the crew. There will be no updates until this work shift ends,” Goodwin explained. “However, there have been no significant changes in the past six hours.”
    â€œYour point being?”
    â€œThe ferro-crotic spread has advanced exactly as our models predicted. It is unlikely that anything can be salvaged.”
    Silence in his earpiece.
    â€œOf course, if I find anything unexpected, I will notify you at once,” he continued calmly. “Is that all?”
    â€œWhat are these figures we’re seeing?”
    Goodwin turned his attention to his Scrollbar and sifted through the most recent upload from his Watchman unit. He had equipped them with perimagnetic densometers and assigned them to specific quadrants outside the Alpha Zone. Quickly, he made notations on an elevation map, which was already blanketed with red hatch marks and X’s.
    â€œWhat are you up to, James?”
a voice asked.
    â€œWe understand the outward spread of CHAR, but I am gathering information on its subterranean impact as well,” Goodwin lied. “I have the Watchmen taking samples of ore at various depths to augment our data.”
    â€œA blatant waste of resources.”
    â€œRecall the units.”
    â€œFocus on the task at hand.”
    â€œOf course,” Goodwin said. “This is merely an exploratory measure.” He spoke into his Com-Pak. “Watchman Unit 4J-729. Adjust subsurface sounding frequency to minus fifty feet.”
    There was a pause as his order was processed and obeyed. Numbers on his Scrollbar flickered as new data rolled in.
    Goodwin felt his skin flush. There it was, the reading he had been waiting for—his road to redemption. He scribbled on the elevation map, pressing so hard the tip of his pencil snapped.
    â€œWait,”
commanded one of the directors in his ear.
    â€œWhat on earth?”
    â€œJust what are we looking at here?”
    A warm, caustic wind blew, and the poles of the tent creaked around him. A sprout of jarring pain grew in his ear. He had to hold on to the table to remain steady.
    â€œUnbelievable…” Goodwin said, feigning surprise for maximum dramatic effect. “It cannot be.”
    â€œReport!”
came the response in his vulnerable ear.
    â€œYes, yes!” Goodwin said urgently. “There is an anomaly beneath the surface. It…it looks like a channel seven feet wide with eighty percent reduced density and it…”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œA tunnel?”
    â€œExactly! And it is leading out from the Alpha Zone.”
    â€œMeaning?”
    â€œPrepare an assault team,” Goodwin commanded.
    â€œRemember your place, Deputy Manager.”
    â€œLadies and gentlemen of the Board,” Goodwin interrupted. “This is an escape route. I have found the Covenant.”

M icah stood beside Dollop, trying to appear at ease while they waited for Phoebe, but his insides were jumping. Nearby, a huge complex of gray hide tents