“Yes, he came to Jex’s graduation from City College,” said Colt, another gulden. “But that was ten years ago or more.”

“And the spectacle was just as grand,” Pakt added. “You don’t remember it because you were living on your mama’s farm, learning the finer points of cruelty, bigotry, and the subjugation of men.”

Melina favored him with one bright, impudent glance. “And learning them well,” she said before turning her attention back to the parade below. She was a high-caste blueskin with incredibly fine cobalt skin and the blackest imaginable hair, which she kept trimmed so close to the scalp that the shape of her skull showed through. In her mid-twenties, she was the youngest engineer in the lab—and the most outrageous. Pakt, her supervisor, constantly needled her about her patrician background, and she would enthusiastically enter verbal battle with him at a moment’s notice. Everyone adored her, Pakt included.

“So is he actually here?” Nolan asked, stepping forward and pushing between Melina and Colt to look out the window. All he could see were mobs of security forces and throngs of people pressing against a yellow cordon. “I don’t think I’d recognize him if I saw him.”

“Can’t tell one gulden from another,” Colt said lazily. Like Pakt, he was a strongly built guldman, though younger, slimmer, and more athletic. His hair was a metallic yellow, shoulder length, and always carefully groomed. Nolan liked him, but Colt made him just a little nervous. As if some day Colt’s sardonic calm would explode into ferocity over some insult so slight Nolan would not be able to reconstruct it.

“Well, Chay Zanlan’s got bright red hair, and yours is a sickly blond, so that’s how I tell you two apart,” Melina answered instantly. “Otherwise, you know, you’re dead ringers.”

“Chay Zanlan also has a more regal bearing than our friend Colt,” Pakt said, earning a sideways smile from the other guldman.

“At any rate, Chay Zanlan appears to be nowhere on the streets,” Melina said. “When is he supposed to arrive, anyway?”

Others at the window offered their guesses. “By now, I thought.”

“I heard noon.”

“He probably came in last night, but they kept it a secret.”

“Well, how much longer can we stand here looking out the window and wondering?” Melina asked.

“No longer, I hope,” drawled a new voice from the doorway, and in one convulsive movement, they all turned to face the speaker. Cerisa Daylen stood there unsmiling, her long black hair pulled back severely from her aristocratic face, her long thin fingers tapping against her crossed arms. Every inch of her bespoke her Higher Hundred heritage, from her rich blueskin tone to her contemptuous expression. She was head of the lab, the most gifted biologist of their century, and every one of them hated her without reservation.