Fift slumped against the wall of the apartment, trying to understand where ze was, where ze’d been; looking at zir hands, flexing them, thinking, Whose hands? My hands?; and trying to trust that ze simply wouldn’t disintegrate again, torn apart, atomized, annulled . . .

Fift hadn’t even noticed zir Father leave.

Peaceables had taken Squell away. Two more Peaceables were still there, arguing with Ellix. Fasmul something of name registry Blue something, Uban something of name registry something something. Fift had seen their full lookup records when they’d come in, but it was hard to keep track of such details at the moment and ze couldn’t be bothered to check again.

Someone had taken the feed down in Foo—the Midwives, or maybe rogue feedgardeners or vailarch revanchists. Foo was an empty blur in the feed.

“I don’t want any part of this,” Ellix said.

“Any part of what, though, Ellix?” Fasmul said. “That’s the question. Because this wind could blow either way.”

Uban looked uncomfortably at the other Peaceable. “Fasmul . . . come on. Ellix just suffered a loss. Just drop it.”

“No,” Fasmul said. “We need to talk this out, now. We need to figure out where we stand.”

“Pom,” Shria said. “Please. You can’t ask Fift to talk to them yet. Look at zir.”

Fift nestled in Shria’s lap. They were in an empty lab, not far from the party Fift had heard on the way there: showy laughter piercing a soft murmur of voices, the anharmonic chimes of a chatterdance beginning. But it was silent and cool in the lab; the walls swallowed echoes.

“We can’t wait too long,” Pom Politigus said, zir voice in the willowy, yellow-furred body scratchier than in zir others. Ze sounded weary. “Ze has to be seen; ze has people to talk to. We’re at an inflection point of influence here, Shria. Do you have any idea what I had to stake just to get that bat here safely?” One yellow-furred hand rose, fingers spread, then fell to zir side. “I’ve managed to get Rysthia and Elo to come—senior Midwives, who are somewhat sympathetic to our perspective. But it’s going to take a good deal of persuading before they’ll break with the others.”

“Just give us ten Kumru-spurned minutes,” Shria said. Vir voice was rich with anger.

“We’re cutting it close,” Pom Politigus said. “We don’t have much leverage here. And make no mistake, my most talented and troublesome apprentice: if this goes wrong, it thrusts me to the periphery, too. My own ratings hang by a thread.”

Shria said nothing, just kept stroking the peach fuzz of Fift’s scalp with one hand. After a few moments, Pom pushed out through the room’s cervix, heading back to the party.