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best game in there, she would, or at least I thought so. But she was upset, and that unsettled me.
    The’On frowned, partly in embarrassment I think. I resisted the temptation to argue with her. It’s true we’d decided to preempt the opposition with the adoption. I didn’t think we did it just to take a victory lap. I thought we’d considered the options very carefully and decided this was really our one good play. I had to admit, though, we’d all felt pretty smug about it. We’d all smiled at the thought of short-circuiting all those carefully laid plans by the opposition. I didn’t think there was another way, but maybe if we’d thought harder about it we could have come up with one. Maybe, maybe not. In either case it was too late now. The train had left the station.
    The question was whether our decision had compromised Gaisaana-la’s loyalty, a notion which had never occurred to me or anyone else until right that moment. And if it had compromised it, what did that mean in material terms?
    “Atrium still calm?” I asked ah-Quan. He hesitated before answering, studying the video feed through his viewer glasses.
    “Still calm, but more Varoki than before. Not moving, just waiting for something.”
    I glanced at Borro, who had overheard the exchange. He pulled his gauss pistol from his shoulder holster and checked the charge level and flechette magazine.
    “They aren’t going to let you take that into the council chambers,” I said.
    “That assumes we actually get there,” he answered.
    Ah-Quan unholstered his own gauss pistol, which looked about twice the size of Borro’s, and checked it as well. I hadn’t brought a sidearm, and as I sat there I wondered why.
    The autopod decelerated smoothly to a stop and I could see the main atrium through the clear transit tube even before the doors slid open. The atrium was at least a hundred meters tall, lined with open vine-draped balconies from each of the levels above and below us. The tube station deposited us four levels up from the broad plaza. The plaza’s floor was an elaborate terra cotta mosaic surrounding a tall fountain, topped by a metallic abstract sculpture, a sparkling, whispering irregular column of polished metal and cascading water which climbed at least fifty meters up the center of the atrium. But the beauty was marred by the hundreds—no, thousands—of Varoki lining all of the balcony railings in the atrium, all the way up to the top, unmoving, silently staring at us.
    You know what’s scarier than a couple thousand angry people? A couple thousand silent, motionless people—scarier and infinitely more creepy. I was about to get everyone back into the autopod when I saw a familiar Varoki striding down the broad corridor stretching south toward the riverside wing of the tower, none other than my old pal from the cocktail party, Elaamu Gaant, best-selling author of inspirational, motivational, and self-improvement tracts, and self-proclaimed mastermind behind the Edict for the Preservation of Familial Assets.
    “Well, well,” I said, “look who’s here. I didn’t see you on the guest list for this sit-down, Mr. Gaant.”
    “Possibly an oversight,” he said. “Ah, and this would be the Honorable e-Lotonaa. It is a pleasure to meet you, sir,” he said turning to The’On, bowing slightly and raising his open hands to shoulder height, the old Varoki equivalent of a handshake. The’On returned the gesture without the bow. More and more Varoki had adopted the Human habit of actually shaking hands, but lately there’d been a growing backlash against borrowed Human customs. Gaant was clearly a traditionalist.
    “I have heard of your speeches and recordings, Mr. Gaant,” The’On said. “I understand they are quite popular. Allow me to introduce Madame Gaisaana-la, who will speak for Tweezaa’s guardian, Madame Marfoglia.”
    Gaisaana-la bowed but did not offer her open hands. Gaant barely nodded in response. Was that the