Fift didn’t want to hear this. In the anteroom, ze kneaded zir hands together and riffled through zir message queue. Homework agent nags, parental fussing, zir classmates’ boring gossip . . . Zir attention agents had recovered themselves enough to clear out most of the bizarre messages from strangers. But there was another message from Thurm’s connection Dobroc Pengasius Um of name registry Hopalong Fennel Trance 3, the Staid who’d suggested asking Hrotrun about Far History, about the time before Vail and Staid.

Ze told zir agents to run a query on this Dobroc Pengasius Um. Who was ze? How were zir ratings? What about zir history of public emotional transactions? Why would ze keep contacting Fift anyway? The message sat in the queue, unopened.

“Father Squell, I haven’t done anything wrong.” Sweat prickled zir scalp; did the house know that ze was lying? Would they start searching back through the feed archives, wonder about the lost hour? “And neither has Shria. Anyway, don’t people have enough real things to worry about without—”

“Fift, listen to me—this isn’t only about what other people think, about our parenthood ratings or our emotional capital or the bets at the bookies’ shops or your future prospects. It’s not even just about the very real threats to this cohort’s existence, up to and including forced dissolution! Those are all just—outside things, consequences. No, the important thing is you, Fift.” Squell bit vir lip. “I think you know I have never been a gender conservative. I’ve certainly spoken up many times in defense of Staids doing some of the more . . . well, collapsing ontologically, for instance! And we have never been terribly controlling about emotional displays and so on. We both know some families that are very strict about Staid children being uncalm! Who use neural enhancements to avoid it. Do you remember the cohort we met in Flouncedaddy with the Staid children who were mood-collared? What was that cohort called? Kydena? Kydara?”

Ve paused, frowning as though ve were looking it up, but then said, “And I think that’s very wrong. I think Kumru’s stomach would turn. I’ve always wanted you to be a full person, free to make your own choices . . .”

Mood-collared? Kumru’s eyeballs, this was getting ugly. “Look, Father Squell, I’m sorry for whatever you think I—I mean, I’m totally fine with staying home. Maybe I could just come back here and stay for a handful of days, until the world is back in order—”