But Tip just kept hanging in limbo. Sometimes more lucid. Others, like tonight, drifting off as Raya tried to manage his pain. And the fucking wound in his calf? The thing just kept leaking pus. Some kind of single-cell Donovanian version of a bacterium. Cheng—when he wasn’t working on the crisis of the moment—had cultured it. Vik Lawrence was in the process of coding its TriNA. A process a hell of a lot more laborious than was possible with the machines that cataloged DNA.

At Inga’s, Kylee glanced up and down the avenue, seeing but a few people scurrying about their business in the rain. Then she stepped inside. And, of course, the first person she ran into had to be Hofer, who was talking to one if his friends.

“Oh,” Hofer growled. “It’s you.”

“Never figured myself for anyone else.” She gave him a menacing smile. Or what she hoped passed for one. “Glad to discover that you don’t forget a face.”

“You know, kid, if I hadn’t been drunk that night . . .”

“You sober now?”

“Mostly.”

“Wanna step outside where Tal can’t break it up and give it a second try?” She shot a side glance at the second man.

He smiled, offered his hand. “Toby Montoya. We haven’t met.”

Got it. Shake the hand. A form of polite greeting. Dek had made her practice. She thought she did a pretty admirable job for a first for-real handshake. “Kylee Simonov. I hear good things about the stuff you build. Chaco says you’re the best.”

Montoya’s grin was honest. “High praise, even if he’s an old friend.”

“Shit on a shoe,” Hofer growled. “Old home week.”

“Lighten up, Hof,” Montoya told him. Looked at Kylee. “You heard about Dek?”

“No. Thought he had a game down at The Jewel.”

“Game of the century. You know that sister of his? Falise? She went down to find him, didn’t recognize him behind that beard and all. He set her up, broke her. She folded on the last hand rather than take a chance on losing those people she owns. I mean, slaves? Really? Should have seen her stomp out of there, like someone set fire to them fancy clothes she’s wearing.”

“Would have loved to see that for myself,” Hofer said wistfully.

“Where’s the sister?” Kylee asked. Figured that it wouldn’t be past the silly bitch to set up and ambush Dek on his way home. Especially with all these nobles killing each other. And, who knew, maybe it was Falise who’d taken out that Grunnel?

“She’s down at a table against the wall,” Hofer muttered, still giving Kylee an askance look. “Trying to nurse a glass of whiskey for all she can. Looks at it more than sips it.”

“Hey,” Montoya added, “it’s all she’s got left. Dek took the rest.”