From Surgipelago, the Beach Surgery encyclopedia
The Red Mile
The drive into the interior begins at dawn. Leif, eyes bandaged, sits in the passenger seat beside Katita, who drives with one hand resting on the steering wheel. The Hawaiian hibiscus shirt clings to him in the heat. The external pacemaker on his chest—a red diode blinking steadily—is visible beneath unbuttoned fabric. Behind them, on the horizon, the first data-harvesters breach the dunes: geometric shapes of pipe and sensor, autonomous, relentless.
Katita: The box is secure. How's the pressure in your shoulders?— Chapter 4
Leif: Like the earth is rubbing against something.
She knows exactly what he means. The sound of the earth rubbing against space—he is hearing it now, at the edge of audibility, and the wings are beginning to unfold behind his shoulder blades, micrometre by micrometre, invisible even to Katita. The harvesters draw closer. The cycle spins forward. One of the machines breaches a second dune.