“Oh, you can drive yourself to distraction, tweaking their agents—and your own,” said the Vail with the orange hair (ve was a feed-skein meta-reactant and Father of four). “But why? With the band, you can just set—”

Fift’s hand gripped the railing above the docks; and in the apartment, ze felt behind zir for the railing of the stairs.

Shria was sending.

“For blessed Kumru’s sake!” barked the old Staid four seats over, the one whose lookup stats Fift had seen change from “proto-cohort of five” to “no cohort.” Burst capillaries made jagged red traceries across the whites of zir eyes. Ze waved a bony finger at the Vail with the orange hair, at the old Staid in front of them. “Stop inserting yourselves into this drama! We all know perfectly well you’re just trying to capture viewers—”

{Fif} Shria sent.

“All of you shut up!” the seven-hundred-year-old Vail with the feathers said. “The last thing any of us needs is all this audience! For Groon’s sake—”

{t}

The Vail with the nimbus of orange hair stood up. “You shut up! Do you think I’ll take this sort of insult lightly?”

{Shria, Shria, are you all right?}

The feathered Vail heaved vemself to vir feet, tottering slightly. “Oh? And do you think I have anything more to lose?”

{go} Shria sent.

There was a gentle bump as the skywhale came up against a dock. “This,” Pip said mildly, “is our stop.” Ze stood, and the two Vails backed up a step. Ze looked over at Fift.

{the f}

Fift opened zir mouth to speak. “I—”

Pip shook zir head and turned away.

{uck home}

A hand closed on Fift’s shoulder and ze jumped. It was Frill, on the stairway by the docks. Ve looked worn. The silver midges swarming around vir hair glinted in the purple of second evening.

“Come on, Fift,” ve said.

Fift got up and hurried after Pip, weaving around the screaming Vails and stepping from the bobbing skywhale onto the docks.

Six million viewers.

In the hallway at home, staring at Father Frill, Fift flushed hot. At the docks, ze looked away from Frill’s insistent eyes, and cold crawled along zir scalp.

Ze was making a fool of zirself. In front of the world. In front of Shria . . .

“Come on,” Frill said, more gently, and Fift followed vem back up the stairs.

Interlude

Excerpt from the CHAT LOGS of Meroc Ipithia of name registry Barking Undulation 12, Staid, 145 years old, apprentice splage coordinator:

Zetich: see the link I sent you?

Meroc: Is it important, Zetich? I need to get all these supplies ready for the splage tomorrow.

Zetich: It’s about Fift and Shria . . .

Meroc: Woah! Really? Uh . . . I probably shouldn’t, but . . .

Zetich: You won’t believe what’s happened.

Meroc: Really?

Zetich: Yeah. But if you’re not interested, I’ll just show Morinti . . .