Squell didn’t seem to be paying attention. Ve was staring out into the middle distance, as if replaying memories. “Even before you were conceived, some of us were a little worried.” Ve smiled wanly. “Seven Vails and two Staids—were we really equipped, if you turned out to be a staidchild? But we thought, you know, we have Pip and Grobbard. Pip is so dominant, and so committed! And Grobbard is so . . . so properly Staid, if you know what I mean. Versed in the classics and so on. Though of course Pip is, you know, ah”—ve blushed a little, and looked to the side—“very . . . Vail-oriented. We were all, I think, so flattered by that, amused by it. We didn’t think about whether that might in itself have any . . . impact . . .”

Dobroc Pengasius Um of name registry Hopalong Fennel Trance 3 was 17 years old, a latterborn, three-bodied Staid from Dimmin habitation on the other side of Foo. Like Fift, a child of Foo, but unlike Fift (according to the agents reporting back) one with excellent ratings. A rock-solid parental cohort: eighty parents! And ze was some kind of Long Conversation prodigy—still in First Childhood, and ze already had a ranking in dialectical subcurrent initiation (which Fift hadn’t even attempted in private). What did ze want with Fift?

“But perhaps it did have an impact,” Squell said. Ve turned to the wall and stroked a rough scar in the wallskin where the apartment had grown too fast and torn. “Perhaps it’s made it easier for you to get . . . confused. And perhaps we haven’t given you the proper guidance. Perhaps we’ve failed you—”

“Don’t say that,” Fift said, hating the quiver in zir voice. “Of course you haven’t—”

(“—have to accept,” Bluey was saying as they crossed a byway from Perilax to the bubbling goopfields of Tentative Scoop. Ve ran a finger along the thorns that bordered vir aquamarine face. “It’s not like this fucker can keep claiming to be anonymous now. We know who ve is—”

(Shria reached into Bluey’s dark hair, untangling and rebraiding the glittering gold threads. Bluey grinned, closed vir eyes, leaning back into Shria’s hands. Shria’s other body, a step behind, watched Vvonda’s profile . . . )

“Fift, please!” Squell gnawed one of vir thumbs. “It’s perfectly obvious! We don’t even participate in religious rituals . . . as a family, I mean. We pay lip service to the idea, you know, of the Balance—between the quick and the stable, the center and that which protects the center—but . . . we never find the time to . . .”

(“and then we—” Bluey went on, eyes still closed.

(“Bluey, shut up,” Vvonda said, eyes on the goopfields around them. “We’ve got audience, and you’re going to run off the lapine.”)