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The newcomer shuffled in beside O-Man and placed his hands together at chest-level and then spread them apart, palms facing up. The room quieted, and he turned his attention to Brandon. “I am Windwalker Franklin,” he said, his words even and serious, “head of the DMIC, chapter two five seven.”

The room exploded in lusty unison of “two five seven!” Franklin looked side to side, pleased.

“My multi-month semi-sabbatical is now over. Veero has been keeping me apprised as to your progress,” he said, looking over each member in turn. “You have done well, which is why I have returned.”

Brandon had the uneasy feeling that cartoon characters have when they step out into thin air and take a moment to begin falling.

“I have many things to say to each of you,” he began, “and of course, mementoes for each of you, but second things first. There will be time and time yet again for these, for where I have been and what has happened. For now, the meeting, as planned.”

So this is where Wenchy gets it from, thought Brandon. He ate another piece of pizza, more as way to anchor himself to reality than any need for food.

Franklin looked over at HIM. “Please, go ahead. But remember,” he said, whipping out a pocket-sized lunar calendar. “Because it is a blue moon, we must do the eagle view.”

Brandon noticed that HIM had no notes unlike everyone else. “Are you sure?”

Franklin smiled. “The road teaches you many things; please, go ahead.”

HIM cleared his throat and began to summarize the ins and outs of the strategy of the DMIC. It was all new to Brandon, who only partly processed the approach to ridding the world of incompetence, though when HIM got down to concrete matters, it started to make sense.

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