an aye the Chair thay dinno hiv. “Noo, the stores—”

“Haad on!” Brenna golders, horrid reid gittan.

“Ir we no gaan tae discuss whit A’m spaekan aboot?” “Yass, yass,”

says Unn, coothie an blide. “Wha’s gotten somtheen thir waantan

or needan tae say cheust noo tae Brenna’s clivver notions?”

The fill Haa is dainty silent. An silent yet.

Brenna didno ken tae practiese fer this, an Unn

is practiesed aa thir life. Unn hoasts. “Noo, the stores . . .”

Brenna at the Council

Brenna’s making a speech. She speaks affectedly about the inherent inequalities of the interstellar economy, whathowwherewhy the extractive industrial labour relations in Light production now require a radical reimagination of Orcadia’s power, about whathowwherewhy the Faster-than-Light drive wasn’t a threat but an opportunity to showpass the galaxy whathowwherewhy to work a better way. She speaks pretty well. She has been practising her arguments for weeks.

“Girlwoman, thanks for that,” says Unn, the oldest there and always the Chair they don’t have. “Now, the stores—” “Hold on!” Brenna yelllaughroars, growing veryhorribly red already. “Aren’t we going to discuss what I’m talking about?” “Yes, yes,” says Unn, friendlycomfortablepleasantunthreatening and happyfondpleased. “Who has something they wantneed to say now to Brenna’s very quickintelligent ideaexperimentinventions?” The wholefull Hall is verydaintily silent. And stays silent. Brenna didn’t know to practise for this, and Unn has practised all their life. Unn coughharrumphclears. “Now, the stores . . .”

Noor an Eynar spaek eftir the Ting

“I sayed tae see wiss at wir best,

no this,” he says. Noor wis waatched

the meeteen, takkan notts. Sheu laaghs.

“It’s better than a research committee.”

Eynar’s heid is tiftan fae ringan

an rallyan debate. “A’d tak a vott

instaed o this some days,” he says,

an shrugs. Thay taak a waak i’the wynds.

“I wouldn’t,” says Noor. “At least you try

to build consensus, make things fair.”

“Oh yass,” says Eynar, an Noor kens noo

this ferly disno mean agreement.

“I doot thir no a system coud copp

wi whit this days is takkan wiss.”

The Ting wis biggid fer manajan stocks,

resolvan contracks. Hids bleudiest wark

wis exile, no the ruinaetion

o tekno-economic chaenge.

“Is that why you didn’t speak?” asks Noor.

“A’ll spaek whan A’m gotten somtheen tae offer,”

he says, “an that’ll no be till A’m—eh . . .”

He steps an leuks awey. “Until . . . ?”

“Ach, na. We’re here.” Thir by the Hoose.

Noor feels sheu’s missan somtheen important

but feels that ivry day. The big man

leuks as lost as her. “Thoo’re no

pit aff?” Sheu shaks her heid an smiles.

The invitaetion is somtheen new.

“But you’ll have to teach me the steps,” sheu says,

an waves a cheerio. Thir fock

waitan fer Eynar tae tak the drinks

fer the unofficial second meeteen.

Ivry ee is on the pair.

“Ach, wheesht,” says Eynar, ahint the bar.

The goldereen’s aither a anchor or