On the ruins of the Antarctic Bronze Cocoon, surviving members of The Foundation used a satellite phone to stream video of the G7 summit.
The cold wind carrying snowflakes swept through the shattered dome, mixing Hamilton's roar and Macron's denunciation into a chaotic noise.
"The ancestors were right," he chuckled softly to the accomplice on the other end of the line, "only by letting them infight can we reap the profits." In the distance, a generator left behind by the scientific expedition team was running, powering an encrypted radio—their only channel for communicating with remaining global forces.
Chapter 307