Shadowed: Chapter 37, Part 2: Felicia’s Fish
So, yeah, I’ve not been the best with getting out posts lately. However, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about the upcoming Wintermas season, and have decided…
That instead of my usual Wintermas romance novel, I will review not one, not two, but THREE Wintermas movies.
Well, okay. Two Wintermas movies and one episode of a TV show.
I feel very good about this plan.
But it does entail finishing Shadowed before Black Friday, so here we go!
After her meeting with Straight at the closed-in-real-life-but-open-in-Atheistopia restaurant, Felicia has a plan, a way to get “back into the game”–she’s going to GO BACK TO WORK!!!
I know. Shocking.
Strange. In her in-box, along with the normal buildup of busywork, were more than a dozen sealed plain white envelopes. Each contained a folded sheet depicting a simple ichthyic symbol, a sketch of a fish made by two intersecting curved lines. Could there be that many secret believers here?
I’m less surprised by that than I am by the fact that the in-boxes of NPO staff contain paper, not emails. Aren’t we in a FUTURE where there are hardly any books?
This just seems like an unbelievably risky way for the zealots to communicate with each other. With paper that anyone could see them drawing on or sticking in a mailbox. With their fingerprints on it. I mean, holy crap, seriously.
Heck, poor Felicia didn’t even know what was in these envelopes. Which means she could have potentially opened them in front of anybody. And can you imagine (because Jenkins, apparently, can’t) the atmosphere of heightened suspicion that must exist since the genocide?
And here’s the kicker–these fish papers aren’t any kind of special code, key to the survival of the resistance. They’re just “notes of encouragement.” That’s it. In fact, Hector has to get Felicia to his cubicle on pretense so that he can inform her verbally of the dinner meeting the believers are having that night.
Because there are no less than THIRTY secret believers in Felicia’s office. Which was also Paul’s office. Yep, Paul was just the greatest agent alive, wasn’t he? Dickweed.