The boy with his hair in shiny spikes—Sonic—stretched out in a patch of sun on the big Oriental rug on Nektar’s floor, the shoons yipping and cavorting with him. He wore black wool tights, a red T-shirt, and a lightweight leather jacket with tailored shirring.

As usual, the shoons’ appearances changed according to the whims of the beezies currently controlling them; right now a couple resembled monkeys, another pair was playing beetle and beetle-flea, another was a classic Happy Shoon like a buck-toothed Korean baby with a thick rubber bottom, and two had tweaked themselves to resemble Jayjay and the pigtailed girl in striped leggings.

Jayjay forced open the bedroom’s sticky window. Sitting in the easy chair right by Nektar’s bed was the plain-faced woman with the blue tattoo.

“I’m Kittie,” she said pleasantly. “It’s great to meet you. I watch Founders all the time. And I’ve seen you around the Mission, of course.” Fresh air drifted into the room.

“I’ll treat your little group to a big dinner,” said Nektar. “Have you ever been to Puff?”

“Mostly we eat garbage,” said Kittie. “We’re rough and tough.”

“Hmm,” said Nektar, thinking that over, her beetle-free mind feeling giddy and agile. Kittie reminded Nektar of the girlfriend she’d had in college before she’d met Ond; Kittie had that same quality of inner refinement beneath a streetwise demeanor. “You just gave me an idea for a new restaurant presentation,” Nektar told her. “We lead the customers into a dim room with food hidden in miniature garbage cans along the wall. They root out their entrees; it’s a walk on the wild side.” Just to see if she still had it, Nektar gave Kittie a come-hither look.

“I want white tablecloths for our meal at Puff,” said Kittie, radiating back. “Clean and calm.”

“Did this start out as a sudocoke run?” interrupted the girl in the striped leggings, wandering over. “I’m Thuy.”

“That’s baby powder on the mirror,” said Nektar, glad to be getting this information out to her audience. “A hoax. I was under the control of those beetles. They wanted to set the scene so it looked as if I had a reason to stay in bed. For the last two days, they’ve been tormenting me, wanting me to make an ad for that silly Dick Too Dibbs. I’ve heard him come out strong against the nants, but who owns him, really? Since when did any Homesteady politician care about anyone who’s not filthy stinking rich?”

“Tell the world, Nektar,” said Jayjay. “Listen up, Founders fans! My homie Sonic designed these six-dimensional Calabi-Yau beetle-fleas. They’ll gnaw beetle malware out of your orphids.” He gestured with both arms, tossing a complete image of a beetle-flea into the orphidnet for Nektar’s viewers to grab. Then he flopped down on the floor to join Sonic in playing with the shoons.