“Listen,” the Somebody continued. “Not just Bali. Or just the Mentawais. Or just two bloody weeks on the boat.”
Attention was being paid.
“Six months,” the Somebody reckoned, “from one tip of Indo to the other. That’s a mission. That’s a Search.”
It was, everyone agreed. It is.
About that time, Dillon and the rest of the groms came crashing into the office, meat pies on their faces, ocean in their manes, exotic reverie on their breath. The brains had their students; a Search was started.