The Bureau came on a weekday morning, which was itself a message.
Three officials in continental gray, walked into the Class Z common room where the pack was eating breakfast, and the senior of them asked, politely, if there was somewhere they could talk.
"Here's fine," Soren said, and didn't stand, and Maren didn't take her leg off the chair arm, and the officials looked at the available seating, which was a bench with a mole asleep on one end of it, and sat.
They had come to him.
Everyone at the table could do the reading.
The senior official laid a folder on the table, face up, which Joan had taught him meant they wanted it read in front of them.
"Reclassification," the woman said. "Effective on signature. Class Z is re-designated as a primordial response asset, continental registry, with standing authority over the containment site beneath the east yard."
Soren read the folder without touching it.
