The woman on his left shakes her head while the woman in the center answers. [No,] she says, brow furrowing with dismay. [They denied us that privilege generations ago, as punishment for our faith. You can thank the Glencolans for your devices.]

[Probably,] interjects the elder seated to Dirk's right. He has the look of a businessman spat out of a desk job in some western city's downtown, salt-and-pepper hair with a scraggly five o'clock shadow that probably comes back at eleven, with a mismatched suit jacket, pants, and tie (wrapped around his forehead) to complete the look. [Our people haven't talked since the division, either. We can't be certain that they're directly involved.]