Quentin adjusted the strap of his shoulder sling, then stepped inside.Images of his teammates floated in the middle of the room, lines of light leading between them, or to bits of text, or to paused holos showing scenes of flaming buildings, or to sentients Quentin didn’t recognize. System police, perhaps, from various regions. Floor to ceiling and wall-to-wall, Yolanda had filled her cabin with information.She sat in the middle of the floor, cross-legged, staring up at all of it. The furniture had been pushed to the sides of the cabin, making more space for her tangled web of data.“Yolanda, what is this mess?”“This mess—” she said, then reached, grabbed an image of Virak the Mean and moved it to the left, the lines connected to him moving with it “—is how I do my job, Barnes.”He scoffed. “Give me a break. This looks like your holotank overdosed on estarex and threw up all over the place. No one could make sense of this.”She stood, shook her head at him.“And if you handed me the Krakens playbook, think I could figure out the offense in the first five seconds?”“I see your point.
