[Kim's mind drifts to the bullet riddled buildings of Revachol West, all representing the unmarked mass graves of communards and loyalists alike. His parents lay in one of them, while a good way to get pocket money at the orphanage was selling off old shell casings to pawn shops, usually in exchange for battered toy soldiers.
The aerostatic commanders up above them all must have said very similar things to their subordinates, before ordering them to push buttons that did nothing more than light up the clouds beneath them, like streetlights shorting out in the fog.]
Maybe so. [But to the civilians left to pick up the pieces, what did that matter?] You seem very confident that yours is the correct power.
no subject
The aerostatic commanders up above them all must have said very similar things to their subordinates, before ordering them to push buttons that did nothing more than light up the clouds beneath them, like streetlights shorting out in the fog.]
Maybe so. [But to the civilians left to pick up the pieces, what did that matter?] You seem very confident that yours is the correct power.
[They all always are.]