DU Trieux said from the railing. Miller wanted to agree with her, but the boat crossing the East River felt more vulnerable than anything else. The sun wasn’t quite up yet, but the eastern horizon was painted in blood and gold, a smattering of silver in the clouds. He thought he’d seen something churning around in the water under the Astoria compound’s docks, like an oversized eel, and he wondered what the Archaeobiome had in store by way of marine life. The thought wasn’t doing him any good. Neither was worrying about drones spotting the boat, alone on the water. The pilot boat wasn’t particularly big, a little like a converted tugboat, but it was more than big enough for a dozen crates of the Rats’ gear, shipped down the coast from Boston. The captain had been happy to move Cobalt across the river before making the return trip home. It turned out that through a byzantine tangle of financial alliances, Schaeffer-Yeager owned a controlling stake in the port authority he worked for.
