“Don’t be stupid,” Hrotrun snapped. “We don’t hit Staids, do we? We don’t even speak harshly to you; we don’t want to distress your perfect equilibrium with our ridiculous feelings. No, we just listen to you explain to us why we shouldn’t be feeling anything, and follow your excellent advice. We just clown for your amusement and service you sexually and build your”—ve gestured violently at Fullbelly, arm stiff—“safe, clean, sensible . . . lapine warrens . . . mortuary libraries . . . parking spaces where we all keep our voices down and wait in line and do our . . . work. And occasionally we might be allowed to see a child . . .” Vir voice broke. “Ooh, look, a child! Passing by . . . or of course we can just watch them over the feed. Not that we could have an interactive simulation of course—no, that’s too old-fashioned and dangerous and foolish. We can just sit by the feed watching the public byways. Ooh, look, a child! Or the mats—yes, of course, because there must be some space for Vails, mustn’t there, it’s only sensible; fighting is ridiculous, of course, but Vails have needs, so let’s give them a little space they can go and not bother anyone while they do it, meaning not bother Staids; but of course we have to make an appointment oh-so-carefully in advance, and make sure everyone agrees about when and why and how much we can punch each other. A parody of the Kumru-spurned Long Conversation, that’s what the mats are!”

Fift was at a loss. Zir audience was spiking; ten thousand live viewers, most of them just arrived in the last few seconds. A dozen were accredited reactants, and two entertainment-aggregation agencies had upped their ratings of this part of the feed since Hrotrun began speaking.

There were a number of recommendations from somewhat-strangers of various connection levels crowding Fift’s incoming queue. Suggestions of what to ask, complaints, theories, rants . . .

Pip cleared zir throat, sharply.

Hrotrun’s eyes narrowed, and ve smirked. “Well, maybe you shouldn’t ask for what you don’t want to hear. Anyway, that’s why we were there. All right? I got in an anonybody on a lark, and ended up in a crowd, and Panaximandra told us the truth about our lives; and then I got carried away. I strayed”—ve put a sarcastic edge on the word—“from the path that you wonderful clear thinkers, and the wonderful Midwives and adjudicators and reactant-aggregators, have laid out for us. I was muddled and confused. All right? But remember that I’m just a poor little Vail, and we live by emotion and action, and so in a confusing situation like that, you know, it’s hard for us to not get carried away. So I’m sorry. Are we done?”