* * * * *
Perhaps thousands of miles away, perhaps only twenty, Whitney Leroy Jackson watched himself jog through the park in front of the Statue of Liberty. He was almost to the top of the platform, almost ready for the usual avalanche of fluid sand, when the pealing of bells tore the sky in half, eroding all of this from mind and memory.
He shot up in bed and immediately got another shock―he hit his face on the ceiling.
"Every time!" he shouted, throwing a hand over his smarting nose. "Every goddamn time!"
No one paid him any attention. It was still dark, maybe four or five in the morning, and everybody else was already up, rushing through the room. He jumped down off the bunk like the rest of them, got his bearings, moved into the line, slid down the pole.
Finding his spot on the wall, he jumped into his overalls and boots, got into his coat, all while focusing on what the chief was shouting. The fog of sleep was completely gone; the feeling had returned to his nose, and his blood was really flowing. Fire at the Filbert Penitentiary. He forced his gloves on and climbed into the driver's seat.
You just can’t beat this job, he thought. You just can’t beat it.
The fire had started while the inmate Su Kim Khan was asleep and dreaming.
C H A P T E R 2
Vessel, Book I: The Advent Page 4