The dawn that followed the collapse of the sovereign interdict did not bring warmth to the eastern coastal metropolis. Instead, a low, dense wall of sea fog rolled off the grey waters of the gulf, swallowing the high white cedar pavilions and turning the black-water canals into sluggish lanes of blind milk.
Elara sat at the long mahogany table inside the central exchange office, her indigo silk tunic wrinkled at the cuffs from forty-eight hours of uninterrupted operational management. The master data-vault sat open beside her left elbow, its internal copper cooling lines giving off a faint, metallic hiss as the new international parity codes settled into the root directory.
