Agreed, they shut down the lab. Laneff grabbed a journal to read during the break, aware of how behind she was in her reading. They climbed the front stairs to the courtyard door where she'd said goodbye to Shanlun, and she asked Azevedo for news. "Nobody has heard a word, nor has there been anything from Mairis. But Shanlun can take care of himself, don't worry."

She discovered to her dismay that it was a torrid summer day outside, with lowering clouds and no wind. The city drowsed about them, people outside the gypsy bands living indoors under air conditioning. The gypsies, however, preferred nature unalloyed and had their windows open. As always, gypsy children, dogs, cats, and family tumult abounded in the yard.

Amid all this, Desha had a class of young Simes jogging around and around the courtyard, leaping obstacles, tossing objects, and chanting. Meanwhile, their fields were doing the oddest gyrations, flickering through a wide inventory of emotions and degrees of intil. In the center, near the fountain, Desha trotted about in a smaller circle, tracking them and shouting instructions. Among the Simes, Gens wove some sort of braided pattern, further churning the already dizzying nager.

Laneff had never seen or heard of anything like it. Gypsies watched from the open windows, as awed as Laneff, but amused by people who'd work so hard in such heat. Azevedo beat a straight path through to Desha, spoke a few words, gesturing toward the doorway where Laneff and Jarmi waited, and Desha called out something to the class. They stopped in their tracks, folding gracefully down to rest.

While Azevedo and Desha spoke, other children scattered about the court began to yell, running toward the alley that led to the main street. It was no game. The Simes of Desha's class rose, most augmenting slightly, and followed the children to the mouth of the alley, forming a cordon.

Azevedo walked along behind them, Desha at his side. The children's yelling became belligerent and rose to hysterical pitch as they swarmed into the alleyway. A second-story window opened over the alley, and a Sime man leaped to the ground just in front of the children, facing the distant street. Another window opened farther down on the other side, and a Sime woman leaped out.

Laneff looked at Jarmi. "Invasion?" They shrugged at each other, then began walking across the court. They'd always had the impression that this place was deliberately kept private, but they'd never seen an outsider attempt entry. They were barely halfway across the court, mixing with the Gens of Desha's class as they pulled into position behind the Simes. The ambient nager was thick but firm with a kind of menace in it.

Through it all, though, Laneff zlinned something familiar. Gen. She ran, augmenting, leaving Jarmi far behind.

She came even with Azevedo as he breasted the double row of Simes across the alley mouth. Cutting through the cordon, she zlinned the Gen nager. Not Shanlun. Yuan!

Azevedo, too, had made that identification. "Desha!" he called over his shoulder, running down the alley. The close, damp stone walls framed Yuan, cloaked from hair to boot tops in a forest-green and chocolate Householding cape, woven with heavy insulating fabric. He was swaying on his feet, facing the two Simes who'd jumped down to challenge him.

Unable to muster the strength to speak, he crumpled to the ground —unconscious. Laneff arrived at his side just as Azevedo did, opening the cloak to find a bloody mess of a shoulder wound, pluming selyn– and roaring pain through Laneff’s raw nerves. The thrill of that washed the shock away, and she went hyperconscious, soaring into high intil and lusting after killbliss as she never had before.

The next thing she knew, with a rending shock, she was in Jarmi's arms, two channels shielding her from Yuan's pain. She barely had time to catch her breath when two more Simes arrived with a stretcher, and they bundled Yuan off into Thiritees, leaving only two Simes behind to explain to the gypsies.

Several anxious hours later, Laneff and Jarmi were called to the Thiritees infirmary. Laneff thought she had her reactions under control, more worried now about Yuan—and Shanlun—than about her own peaking need.

The infirmary was located on the top floor of a two-story addition to the building that stuck out at an odd angle to the bathhouse wing. It was painted inside in dozens of colors, with filtered lighting adding more color—like living inside Shanlun's nager. Speakers provided soft music and potted plants hung everywhere, flowering in many colors.

Azevedo came out of one of the rooms. He seemed tired but triumphant. "It wasn't as bad as it looked. The bullet went cleanly through his shoulder, nicked a tendon. But it should all heal very nicely now. He's lost a lot of blood. This must have happened three, four days ago. Laneff—you should take transfer before you try to talk to him."

She shook her head. "The longer I can delay, the better chance my baby has of being viable—when I die. It's not bad, now." She nodded to the two channels who'd worked to stabilize her. "They're good. Thank them for me."

Azevedo said something in the Rathor dialect, and the two channels responded politely. But he was zlinning Laneff the whole time. "All right," he agreed, "but they have to come in, too. I can't do it all." He seemed like a weary old man. Need is eating him up, too. He's waiting for Shanlun.

As they entered the sickroom, Azevedo muttered instructions to the two channels escorting Laneff. A sort of misty cocoon formed around her in the ambient nager. Jarmi was like the sun, hidden in a fog just tattered enough to show a glowing disk. Yuan was another diffuse center, like the moon.

Two channels flanked by their Donors attended Yuan, one on each side of the high wicker-frame bed. A wicker nightstand held a lamp, lit because the drapes were pulled shut. There was a pitcher of a dark fluid by the bed. The whole room was done in shades of orange and cream. Yuan was propped up against a huge pile of pillows. "Laneff!" His eyes slowly refocused. "Jarmi!"

"Yuan!" they said in unison, then Laneff asked, "What happened?"

Azevedo added, "We all want to know everything, but now isn't the time for details. Is there anything we must know now?"

Yuan swallowed, thinking. "I don't know how to say this. I think– I'm not sure, understand—but I think Shanlun is dead."

The silence in the room broke as someone translated for those who hadn't understood Yuan's Simelan dialect. And then the shock echoed even through the damping nageric fog.

Gradually, the story came out, amid many halts. Shanlun had found Yuan in the small depot which he'd chosen to go to if the first had been hit by the Diet. He'd gathered his lieutenants for a conference, taking stock of the losses which were still going on. His Distect forces, however, had given as severely as they'd gotten.

Even handicapped by their Sime contingent's being unable to operate out-Territory, the Distect organization had been able to cripple the nerve center of the Diet. Nevertheless, the Distect was in ruins. Top executives had been assassinated, funds were choked off, communications broken down.

"I told Shanlun to tell Mairis that the Distect was gone. I told him to tell Mairis that if they wanted me to, I'd come out in the open and repudiate our alliance with him in person. But I also told him I didn't think this would be a good idea. Given time, I can rebuild."

"There's been remarkably little of this in the news," said Azevedo. "The assassinations were attributed to organized-crime syndicates."

Yuan nodded, obviously hurting, but Laneff felt none of the pain. "And the rest of the violence has been reported as mysterious fires, explosions due to sewer gas, and they're calling my headquarters labs a sinkhole!" He frowned. "I've assumed Mairis has been requesting the media to downplay it. He is winning in the polls now."