Terrence sat down at his office and turned the computer on. He had been on sick leave for three days. Officially, he’d had a bout of influenza. He had bought some Kleenex to make it more believable, and blew his nose when talking with colleagues.
Was the test over? Was it why she had disappeared? Or had the Empire caught her?
He logged in his John Tammen page. He had a new piece on the Black Shield to write, to dismiss other theories.
Subvert and protect.
Protect who?
Vita’s face materialized in front of him. She could at least have left him some Synth.