“Aha!” Smistria said. “You see? I knew it!”

Though ze held Shria’s hand in zirs, Fift couldn’t see vir face. Instead: rags, roaring, red-and-blue arms and shoulders.

“Block the feed!”

“But they claim it was only planned as a momentary interruption,” Grobbard said. “A punctuation to their piece, a pause for reflection, as it were.”

“Quite a pause!” Smistria began. “So now they’ve broken the feed, have they?”

“There seem to be other saboteurs who took advantage—”

“Hold on, Grobbard,” Frill said. “Fift, where are you? Are you away from that . . . group?”

“We’re trying,” Fift said.

Blue and red bodies surged around them. Shria pulled Fift through a gap and ze crashed into vem with a shudder. Fift felt the hard muscles of Shria’s arms, the softness of vir breasts mashed against zir.

“I can’t stand this anymore,” Smistria said, and shrugged out of vir harness.

“Where are you going?” Father Squell cried.

“I’m going to requisition a bat and fetch the children!”

“A bat?” Father Grobbard said. “It seems unlikely that you will obtain one. Those that are not grounded are—”

“I’ll come with you,” Father Frill said. Vir nostrils flared, and ve stood up straighter.

“Requisition a bat where?” Squell said, looking from Grobbard to Frill. “I’m not getting a response from the usual places at all . . .”

Around them, the sea of Vails roared. From vir puff-pillar, Panaximandra smiled vir cool smile.

Shria held Fift. Fift clung to vir surface-forest smell amid the burnt-plastic of the anonybodies.

“Well,” Smistria said, folding vir arms across vir chest, “I happen to know there’s a party at Darnadi’s house with several logistics administrators and a host of important reactants attending. We’ll simply explain the problem. Fift, you come with us, so you can tell us where you are; and also stay here”—ve rapped on the table—“so you can tell your other Fathers what’s going on if we can’t get messages through.”

Fift blinked. Ze had just taken zir frozen soup from the dispenser.

The beating of Shria’s heart, felt through zir bones amid the noise and tumult. The electric hum of vir skin.

“Now,” Smistria said.

Fift handed the soup to zirself at the table, and followed them towards the door.

“Kill—”

“This is nonsensical,” Father Squell said angrily, jumping up from vir seating harness. “The feed is down! People are . . . up to who knows what! Unwatched, unchallenged, no one to hold them accountable . . . someone sabotaging the feed . . . strange groups, gathering in anonybodies . . . and you’re going out?”

“—the Midwives!”

“And they will give you a bat why, exactly? This is not the time for playing capture-the-kernel!”

Fift hurried up the stairs after Frill and Smistria and the door closed behind them. In the breakfast room, Squell’s words hung in the air.

Father Nupolo stood, slowly, and put vir hand on Squell’s shoulder.

“Kill the Midwives!”

“Shut UP!” someone in the crowd yelled, sounding panicked.