The lighting in the corridor just dabbles of arcs, afterthoughts, smears. The light a grime that gives him a slight headache. The same type as when it has rained, remained humid, a fetid stale of ozone over everything.

The polka dots are scars left by the cookiecutter shark, a thalassophobia-inducing creature with jaws designed to remove round plugs of flesh.

There is one class of spook we have not encountered as yet. This is the scalp-hunter, or defector-hunter. Quite often a scalp-hunter will be more valuable than almost any other intelligence operator.

All was gas and gaiters, in spite of rain-soaked garments, slackened belts, and squoggy pulpy boots on the hard iron stones.