by Michael Bard The meeting had soiled his soul. So soiled that he went straight to his chambers upon returning from the meeting with Exeter. His room was austere, with only a sleeping gravpad, a workdesk, and a cabinet for clothes and materials. After he removed his robes and tossed them into the cabinet where forces would clean, press, and fold them, for tomorrow, he placed his helm on his desk, and finally removed his undersuit which followed his robe into the cabinet. Padding across the floor as it warmed itself beneath his feet, a blank wraithbone wall puckered and created an opening which he passed through into the bathchamber where the huge tub was already filling itself with water at his preferred temperature.