"As if we had called the Glitches down on our own heads?" Hork wriggled in his cocoon, folds of brushed leather rippling over his ample form. "You know," he mused, "if only that were true. If only the Glitches were human in origin, to be canceled at a human command. But then, the scholars tell us — repeating what little wisdom was allowed to survive the Reformation — man was brought to this Mantle by the Ur-humans, modified to survive here. If once we had such control over our destiny, why should we not regain it, ultimately?" He smiled. "Well, Physician?"

Muub returned the smile. "You've a lively mind, sir, and I enjoy debating such subjects with you. But I prefer to restrict my attention to the practical. The achievable."

Hork scowled, his plaited hair-tubes waving with an elegance that made Muub abruptly aware of his own baldness. "Maybe. But let's not forget that that was the argument of the Reformers, ten generations ago. And their purges and expulsions left us in such ignorance we can't even measure the damage they did...

"Anyway, it's not revolt I fear, Physician. It's more the feasibility of government itself — I mean the viability of our state, regardless of whoever sits in my father's chair." The man's wide, fleshy face turned to Muub now, full of unaccustomed doubt. "Do you understand me, Muub? Damn few do, I can tell you, inside this wretched court or out."

Muub was impressed — not for the first time — by the younger Hork's acuity. "Perhaps, you fear, the Glitches will render an organized society like Parz City impossible. Revolts will become irrelevant. Our civilization itself will fall."

"Exactly," Hork said, sounding almost grateful. "No more City — no more tithe-collectors, or Crust-flower parks, or artists or scientists. Or Physicians. We'll all have to Wave off to the upflux and hunt boar."

Muub laughed. "There are a few who would like to see the back of the tithes."

"Only fools who cannot perceive the benefits. When every man must not only maintain his own scrubby herd of pigs, but must make, by hand, every tool he uses, like the poorest upfluxer... then, perhaps, he will look back on taxation with nostalgic affection."

Muub frowned, scratching at one eyecup. "Do you think such a collapse is near?"

"Not yet," Hork said. "Not unless the Glitches really do smash us wide open. But it's possible, and growing more so. And only a fool closes his eyes to the possible."

Muub, wary of what traps might lie under the surface of that remark, turned to stare down through the dusty, illuminated Air of Pall Mall.

Hork growled, "Now I've embarrassed you. Come on, Muub, don't start acting like one of these damn piglet-courtiers. I value your conversation. I didn't mean to imply my father is such a fool."

"...But he does not necessarily share your perspective."