Daniel found his third or fourth wind and rose to scattered nods from around the gathering. Most seemed to know him already. He told his story of mayhem at the Souk, one hand braced on the table like he needed the support. He left me and Julian out of it. All that mattered, all they needed to know, was about burning food stalls and a potentially barterless economy. His description set Red Katja poking at her tablet. The staccato click of her long fingernails on the slick plastic made me glance down at my own, clipped to the quick and not entirely clean. She even wore nail polish.

“My tent is an ash heap,” Daniel finished. “I was lucky to get out in one piece. Not sure about everyone else. Those who paid up should be fine, as long as they kept the fire from spreading to their own stuff.”

Rousseau shook his head heavily. “You warned us. But that it should happen so soon!”

“The full slash-and-burn,” muttered Jake.

“Waste in a time of scarcity,” Zuleika mourned.

“Flamethrowers and assault rifles?” Tom Doyle seemed more stirred up about hardware than losing his main source of supplies. “These guys were Adders?”

“Hard to tell under all that armor,” Daniel replied. “If they were, someone’s put some training into them.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Me?” When he wasn’t goofing, Daniel could muster a certain authority. “Better to ask, what are we going to do?”

Doyle’s face tightened. “That’s what I meant, of course.”

“Charismatic for sure,” Rubio whispered, “but not the sharpest knife in the drawer. I’m guessing it’s Mitsuko who guides that ship.”

The Gimme Shelter ladies, one light, one dark, fixed Daniel with anxious stares. “Our cow lives on grain from the Souk,” one said. “What will we do for the children’s milk?”

Maxine leaned over to Irv. “How much would we have to increase production to manage without the Souk? How much can we?”

“Max . . .” The papers sagged in his hands. “We’ve nothing left to produce with.”

Maxine dropped her forehead to her bandaged fists. “Oh god, of course we don’t.”

The older Smith patted her arm in awkward sympathy.

Red Katja stirred, clearing her throat. “It’s not the end of the world yet. Most dens have kept this sort of data private, so our prediction is based on estimates. For a truer picture, we need accurate, updated stats from each of you: in-house production versus picking versus volumes of foodstuffs purchased at the Souk.” She smoothed her blood-colored tunic, adjusted a matching scarf, then glanced from table to table like she was asking for the time of day instead of carefully guarded secrets. “Can we all agree to provide that?”

Rousseau said, “Whatever’s necessary.”

Between fisted hands, Maxine muttered, “You’re welcome to our old data . . .”