I stripped anyway, slathering every inch with the waterless antibacterial that Rousseau paid the best sort of trade for at the Souk. He bought in bulk and never stinted with it, since any illness risked the health of all.

On a whim, I tried the showers, found one that gave up a slim trickle, enough for a rinse. I left my clothes in a wet, stinking pile under my hook, then snatched the biggest scrap of towel on the public-use shelf, wrapped it around me, and made for my tier.

The bunk hall was packed. Everyone up and working, stowing small or fragile goods on the lower bunks, leaving the larger stuff on the floor. The already narrow passage was an obstacle course. I had to climb over stuff to get to my bunk. Stripped to a wet towel, a prime target for the grabbers and cat-callers, but nobody bothered me this time.

I’d fully intended to go back to work. But when I spidered up to my bunk and shed the towel, I barely had the strength to dig out my sweats and struggle into them. The wind had blown away my bit of window screen, beading my blanket with rain. I mopped up best I could, then checked inside my gut wallet: dry as a bone. Amazing. Worth every credit I’d saved up for it.

Toweling my hair, I couldn’t help listing toward my pillow, which was the last thing I knew until someone nudged me awake.

“Glim?” Jenn peered anxiously over the horizon of my mattress.

I jerked up, then fell back. “Yow!”

“You okay?”

It hurt even to nod. “Everything aches.”

She leaned away to the full length of her arms. “You sick? Got a fever?”

“No, no. Just real stiff. Got caught out there and tossed around a bit.”

“Oh. No wonder.” She eased up the ladder to perch on the far end of the bunk. She was in heavy work duds with her hair an unusual mess. “Jake said you got back, then no one could find you.”

“How long . . . ?”

“It’s midnight. Rousseau’s rallying the troops in the loft. Cold meal and a pep talk.”

I tried for a look out my window, but my back and shoulders locked. “Is it over yet?”

“Still raining, but the surge has dropped a bit. Main floor’s draining off. The mop squad’s already at work.” She peered at me hard. Maybe feeling a bit guilty for being inside safe and dry while her picker pals braved the elements. “You need anything? Water?”

“Had enough of that for a while.” I sat up with a groan. “What’s the count?”

“Serious walkway damage. Lost some solars. Roof garden’s a disaster. And, oh, the Loft is such a mob scene! Stuff just dumped everywhere. How will we get the com up again if I can’t even get to my workstation?”

“Jenn . . . what’s the people count?”