“I like Melina as much as anybody does, but she’s not above teasing somebody when she knows he can’t take it,” Nolan said stubbornly. “I’ve seen her bait Colt before. So have you.”

Sochin spread his hands in a gesture that indicated an inarguable case. “Her prerogative,” he said. “She’s an indigo woman. Her word is law.”

“Well,” Nolan said again, but again Felder interrupted with some passion.

“At no time, under no circumstances, is violence against a blueskin woman tolerable! And perpetrated by a guldman—ten years ago that would mean instant death! Forget having him fired! He deserves to die!”

Nolan looked at him seriously. “You can’t mean that.”

“I do mean it! If he had hit my mother or my sister, I would have killed him myself.”

“I think Melina can take care of herself,” Nolan said.

“Well, she’d better tell Cerisa. Or I’ll do it,” Felder said.

“And my guess is that Pakt would like to handle this without Cerisa’s interference,” Nolan added.

“Pakt!” Sochin snorted. Nolan gave him a level look.

“You have a problem with Pakt, too?” Nolan asked gently.

Sochin looked away. Even Felder shrugged. “Pakt’s all right for a guldman,” Felder answered. “But he’s a guldman. He doesn’t see things the way we do. And you know he’ll take Colt’s side.”

“I think Pakt is pretty fair,” Nolan said.

Hiram spoke up unexpectedly. He was the most quiet and submissive of the lot, and the others could sometimes forget he was even present. “I like Pakt,” Hiram said. “And he likes Melina. I don’t think he’ll let Colt off so easy.”

“Well, if I don’t like the way he handles this, I’m going to Cerisa,” Felder said.

Things seemed to calm down a little after that, bravado spent and honor satisfied. Talk turned inevitably to work matters, a new drug Hiram was working on, a slippery virus that Felder had been examining. Nolan let his mind wander, idly watching the passersby, blue, gold, white, in endless variety and profusion. His eyes were on the pageantry before him, but his mind was on Melina, when Felder suddenly exclaimed, “Look at that! Revolting.”

“What?” Hiram asked, and Felder pointed. Nolan’s eyes automatically sharpened on the view outside the window. Felder was slamming his palm against the table in disgust.

“How can he do it? Look at him, he’s got to be mid-caste, looks respectable enough—”

“Well, she looks clean, anyway,” Sochin said with a smothered laugh.

“Clean is not the issue. Self-respect is the issue. A—a basic human decency, a basic understanding of what is allowable and what is not—”