“The Synod?” Shwartz loathed The Synod. He had been around long before First Contact and saw right through them. “Harrington, I am 214 years old, my body dissected by cancer and other diseases that would make you retch. This damned cybernetic skeleton is the only thing keeping me in charge. I don’t eat, walk, shit, screw or bathe, but I know a hell of a lot. All my friends and family are long dead and my only solace is looking out the windows here at my beloved city.”

Rant on thought Harrington.

“And…my mission in life, the target of my will is to stop the Synod from doing whatever the hell they are doing. The USNE is just a buffer to keep them from paying attention to us directly. Let the High Council negotiate with something they do not have. The bottom will fall out soon enough.”

Monologing becomes you sir – another thought.

“It is us, the great builders, who hold the key to human destiny. We cannot sit by and let our politicians give it away to charlatan wizards from space.”

“Yes sir.”