A heavy fog had dimmed the cobblestones as Gand walked the streets. He could see the torchmen as they lit the gaslights, forms pronounced by bright pinpricks that illuminated the gray vapors and stretched the shadows to trailing ribbons. Gand could see others lining the streets of the colony, and then he heard it: The rhythmic march of hard-soled boots against the stones. Gand's attention was drawn to the middle of the procession. There walked a tall, thin Human in stately gray, his face enclosed in a breath mask. Some type of commander, Gand surmised. "Murderers!" — — — — — — He lost everything.