Chapter 9
Birk fled the woman’s room, rage masking the humiliation and insecurity that stabbed at his psyche. The noises in his throat were subhuman growls and half-words that never coalesced into coherent meaning. He was half blinded by tears as he lurched down the hall and up the stairs to his own level—and beyond. He went up to the roof, to the open air, to the delta that awaited him on top. The delta was the symbol of his freedom, his personal magic carpet to soar the open skies. Somehow, with the pain of his wounds searing at the edges of his mind, it was only natural that he would come here.
He climbed into his familiar seat and switched on the controls. The bubble came down and sealed itself around him. He knew that if he waited more than a minute or so, Arthur would be here too,
