( . . . and that thought, trivial as it was, seemed to catch up against some hidden knot of anger in Fift’s Only-Child gut.)

The house feed was flickering in and out, but over it, Fift could see Father Squell reach out towards zir shoulder, sigh . . . and then take vir hand away. Zir own expression, eyes closed, was impassive.

Faintly—no louder than a whisper—from somewhere, Fift heard a rumbling, squeaking, rolling rhythm:

Baaa-RUMP, ba-chiggity-chiggity-whuppity-chiggity-chiggity-BOOM!

Baaa-RUMP, ba-chiggity-chiggity-whuppity-chiggity-chiggity-BOOM!

For a moment (more somatic confusion), ze didn’t know what body ze heard it in.

“Vvonda,” ze said, zir heartbeat beginning to accelerate, zir ears beginning to buzz. Ve turned back to zir with a look of incredulity, and Foon Pelix paused in zir story. Fift swallowed. Some part of zir was distantly intrigued to notice a bifurcation beginning in zir raw emotional balance: a few automated agents were now betting on collapse, but others were buying, on new evidence of courage. Ze felt the slight prick of professional banker-historian’s curiosity as it occurred to zir for the first time that this would all be a very interesting tale to reconcile, mixed with sudden hope. Ze smiled, and Vvonda’s glare flickered, maybe faltered, for an instant.

“Vvonda,” ze said. “Listen. Can you explain what I did wrong?”

“You honestly have no idea,” Vvonda said, more an incredulous observation than a question.

“No,” Fift said. “I don’t.”

Ze could hear the rhythm (chiggity-chiggity-BOOM!) on the byway, faint beyond the chanting and roaring of the riot.

Vvonda exhaled, and for a moment vir grand and provocative and stylish posture slipped. Not that ve looked insecure, or troubled—not Vvonda. But ve wavered. Ve bit vir lip, staring intently at Fift as if ze were a puzzle ve was trying to figure out. Vir swagger evaporated so completely that Fift realized it was made up. Vvonda must have felt just as out of place as Fift among these middle-aged glitterati and bureaucrati, all of them pretending to be entertained and not terrified. Ve didn’t belong here, either. But if ve had to be here, the set of vir jaw said, then—by Kumru’s fertile womb—ve would contest the transaction as a Sibling, not be excused from it as a child.

Vvonda sighed. “Please excuse us,” ve told Foon Pelix.

“Oh, oh, all right,” Foon Pelix said, “although if there’s anything I can assist with, as I said—”

“No, we got it,” Vvonda said. “Have a good party.”

Over the chanting of freedom and valor and conquest and babies, beyond the press of bodies, came the whisper of a rhythm, faint and tinny:

Baaa-RUMP, ba-chiggity-chiggity-whuppity-chiggity-chiggity-BOOM!

Vvonda pulled Fift under one of the privacy cones. Its crenelated deep purple hollow plunged like a labyrinthine dagger into the ceiling overhead. Fift could smell the anti-surveil; there were even wisps of fine purple mist to blur them from lip-readers.

Vvonda glowered at Fift. “You sisterless waste of volume . . . Shria really likes you!”