Victory, took me about six hundred hours to build. I don't quite build to museum quality. You have to paint them for that, and I can't bear to put paint on the beautiful and exotic woods that come in the kits. I just put a clear finish on everything, or wax, and leave them their natural colors. That's the way most of it would have been back in the sailing ship days anyway, except maybe for the hull, which might have been painted to make it last a little longer, exposed to salt water. They painted the gun decks red, so that the crew couldn't see the blood splashed all over the place, but you couldn't see that in a model anyway, so I don't do that either.Anyway, while I'm carving a yardarm from a dowel, and then sanding it smooth, I think about stuff. My hands know what to do, so I don't have to think about what they're doing. I think about whatever needs thinking about, such as this woman, and how I was going to find her.It was clear to me that I had to find her. Her list spoke to me. It really wasn't much. It had the empty slots from the service revolver and suppression pistols he still had on his harness. He finished with the toilet, and stood at the mirror. Falcon checked the size of his canines, looked for fangs. He checked his eyes for a color change. The only difference he noticed was sensitivity to the light. Any light above a dim level seemed to hurt his eyes. He felt different, but couldn't see anything abnormal.He stumbled back to his bed and collapsed upon it. Just staring up at the ceiling he realized what the change was; the lines. He hadn't focused on his ability to see the lines of the net, but he could see it more clearly now than he ever had before. He watched it move and pulse, it was like a living thing to him. Watching it, he realized its vastness, and began to realize how small he really was. Falcon could see the lines of the net through walls, he could see it move no matter what was in the way, and yet he couldn't see through the wall. It was.
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