Sato Okada almost whispered, “I have begun to wonder whether our coming here might have been a merciful escape for us all.” Okada was the only one standing in Saan-Kakja’s Great Hall. He refused to sit, didn’t seem able, and paced almost continuously during the interview. There was a small audience for this . . . momentous event, despite the furor at the dock when Mizuki Maru tied up and the boarding party marched tensely ashore with Okada, his officers—and three bedraggled, almost-emaciated human passengers. Sandra’s and Laumer’s faces had been stormy as they helped the two weakest men down the gangplank. Silva’s one eye glittered murderously as he watched from the ship. He’d stay aboard and supervise the placement of more pumps and hoses, but he wouldn’t go down in the holds again. He might claw through the steel with his fingernails and sink the hideous abomination he stood upon. This initial gathering was only for senior personnel so they could absorb what Okada had to say and take measure of his tale before deciding if it had any bearing on current priorities.
