Before the technician back in the command room can say another word, Wright lets the phone fall back onto the receiver next to the silver and abalone handgun Teruya's father gifted him years ago.

He pours himself another shot of whiskey, some Japanese brand named Suntory. It had been twelve years old when he received it, so that makes it, what, twenty-seven?

However old it was, it tasted immaculate.

It's exactly what he needs right now. He hopes Teruya will join him. He does have a second glass back in the cabinet. Maybe they could toast his country, toast the world as Siron rises again. He doubts the young man will want to sit here and do nothing, but what Wright is doing isn't nothing.

This long toast was nee...

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