Entry 29

The entire trip took us a little over three days and left us with both unease and satisfaction. Things got remarkably easy as we passed through the patrol grid. Barcelona, as it turned out, was a powder keg ready to explode much like the rest of the country, which meant that everyone was minding their business and no-one was willing to engage a heavily armed column of strangers clearly heading to the port.

Or so we thought. In reality, Ferguson once again worked her magic and convinced the authorities to let us pass through. From what she'd tell later, it wasn't even that hard – with the importance of the port diminishing due to security issues, the officials were glad for every piece of business they could conduct at a profit (which would inevitably end in their own pockets).

Law and order were still kept around the port area but the suburbs were a different story. The poor were left to fend for themselves while the rich were kept safe private security forces with little to no scruples. Especially one sight haunted me for several nights – an image of an otherwise idyllic park converted into... something obscene. I will not describe the scene but there were people hanging in the trees. A lot of people, and that was the least of its horrors. We spent the remaining trip in silence.

Despite everything, the port seemed to be bustling as ever and a port manager quickly pointed us to our pier. The ship was already waiting for us, the trip around the country actually having been faster than right through it – the captain must have been hauling ass at maximum speed without suffering any delays in Gibraltar. Remarkable feats were fast becoming the bread and butter of Perihelion forces, it seemed like.

We wasted no time embarking the vessel only to realize there was no rush – the refueling would take quite some time, as would loading up the supplies Ferguson ordered for the operation. Fine by me, I thought, as I hurried to do one thing everyone else had been dreaming about the whole trip.

Take a shower.