Doc cringes. “You looked busy.”

I roar—an inarticulate sound with no words. The stolen patches explain a lot—as I was running from one end of the ship to another, I’d noticed surreptitious looks and veiled comments, but I’d thought it was people passing around Bartie’s manifesto. Now I see they were also passing around the Phydus patches. The people who’ve been depressed—and many who weren’t—are trading anything they have for them.

“The worst thing,” Doc tells me as I stare at his disheveled office, “is that this must have happened yesterday. I haven’t been back to my office since early last morning. Whoever killed Stevy must have pocketed the patches after I left.”

Doc’s lips curl in disgust. I don’t know which part he hates the most: that someone stole med patches, or that whoever it was turned his office into a mess.

“I made the concentration of Phydus in the patches high on purpose,” Doc says, “so that one patch could quickly placate a person. But the problem is, with such a high concentration—”

“It only takes three patches to kill a person.”

“Yes. It’s very concentrated—two patches, and . . . It slows everything down. The organs. It’s too much for the body to handle. Three is death. I should have diluted the drug, but I thought . . .”

“You thought you’d be the one administering it.”

“Me or Kit. Someone who knew the dangers and could regulate it.” He sounds guilty, sad. But I’m as much to blame as he is. I approved the use of the patches.

We both stare silently at his trashed office for a moment. Everything is normally so neat and organized. But now it’s a chaotic mess. The desk shoved to one wall. The locking cabinet smashed open, with med patches spilling out in all colors, but none of them pale green.

Kit runs into the office. “There’re reports,” she says breathlessly.

“Of what?” Doc snaps.

“Dead. Someone dead. From the patches.”

We immediately spring into action. Doc drives the electric cart across the Feeder Level, with me riding behind him. As the level flies past us, all I can think of is how much worse everything has been since I took over.

“You’re going to have to do something,” Doc calls back to me over the roar of the electric cart. “Something to really make the Feeders see you as leader. Use this problem to show your strength!”

Yeah. Right.

When we get to the City, Doc stops the cart in front of the weaving district. “Why are we stopping here?” I ask, my heart sinking.

Before Doc can answer, someone yanks me off the back of the cart and throws me onto the street. I stumble, almost losing my balance.

“You frexing chutz!” Bartie bellows.

I step back, surprised.

“What are you—?” I start.