"The Assembly won't sign onto it." Numair was still inspecting the little shell he'd picked up. "And they must, for it to work."

"How come?"

"Oh, the Assembly is full of old traditionalists. If bitterness and apathy are an Aetherian disease, they have it the worst." He was still facing away from Hawk, and his voice was very simply manner-of-fact about this. "They don't want to work with other countries even to help ourselves. That might accidentally help offworlders, after all, and how terrible that would be."

He didn't need to look to sense a sudden flare of anger rise up in Hawk--he could feel his fists clench and his wings rustle in the flicker of lightning and the low, slow, long peal of thunder that followed overhead.

"...Do they..." Hawk started, the anger clearly restrained behind his voice, "Do they know what people go through, in the trade?"

Numair glanced down. "They do," he said gently. "They simply don't care, I'm afraid."

He knelt then and began undoing his shoelaces. Hawk was standing very straight and still, watching him, his fists still balled up.

"Okay," he muttered. "Fuck." And then, louder, "What's radio got to do with this?"

"Hearings between the Cynn and the Assembly are closed to the public. Or rather, the building where they are held is," Numair explained. He removed his boots, stuffed his socks into them, and set them down in the sand, before getting up and brushing more sand off his shins. "There's nothing saying I can't broadcast the hearings to all of Escalus.

"I want everyone to know why R.I.T. hasn't been created," he continued. "Why their friends and family are still disappearing. I want them to be angry enough that the Assembly can no longer drag its feet. The Assembly can stonewall the Cynn all they like--he's only one person. But they can't stonewall everyone forever."