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the hour—the streaking of the eastern sky into bands of orange and indigo, the illuminated columns of the Chicago skyline that formed the Parkway’s backdrop. “Ever since he became Oligarch, Morden nìRau Cèel’s goal has been to turn back humanish-idomeni relations fifty years.”
    â€œFifty years ago there were no humanish–idomeni relations.” Lucien turned down the first in the succession of tree-lined avenues that led to Jani’s house. “Isn’t Cèel a little young to be that closed-minded?”
    â€œAge has nothing to do with it. He was just as isolationist twenty years ago at the Rauta Shèràa Academy.” Jani thought back to the Cèel she had watched from afar that lifetime ago,the green-eyed, slope-shouldered warrior who turned away whenever a humanish crossed his path. “If we find out that the mine was deliberately planted, I predict a proclamation from Cèel that all bornsect and Haárin must forsake the evils of the humanish Commonwealth and return to the godly confines of the Shèrá worldskein. I then predict that a certain percentage of the Haárin will tell him to go to hell. After that, things should get really interesting.” She paused to yawn. She should have taken the opportunity while at Lucien’s flat to grab a couple of hours’ sleep. Needless to say, she hadn’t availed herself of that particular option.
    The trees that lined the narrow streets had been strung with colored illumins. Backlit by twinkling leaves, Lucien cocked his head like a young boy considering what he wanted for Christmas. “You’re thinking civil war?”
    â€œNo, we enter uncharted territory with that one.” Jani sat up straighter as the skimmer rounded onto the street she called home, a cul-de-sac of eight identical three-story houses, each built of tan brick and ringed by metal gates and hybrid greenery. “Civil war is the divinely ordained shedding of bornsect blood that may or may not lead to a regime change. A bornsect offensive against balky Haárin who refuse to toe the line hasn’t occurred in recorded idomeni history to my knowledge. Cèel would have to have decided that the Haárin who disobeyed were no longer true Haárin, that proximity to humanish had degraded them to the point that they no longer merited his protection. It would prove an interesting point for the theologians to debate at Temple. I can see arguments for both sides.”
    â€œCan you?” Lucien eyed her doubtfully as he turned up the narrow drive that curved behind her house, then waited for the gate to slide open. “All that religious instruction has sunk in, has it?”
    Jani tipped her hand in a back and forth motion that spoke more of the humanish bargaining table than it did any idomeni gesture. “It’s just rules. Rules and order. I’m a documents examiner by trade, remember. A paper pusher. That’s all weknow, rules.” She glanced at Lucien as he unfastened the top of his shooter holster, his gaze locked on the skimmer’s dashboard array. “What’s wrong?”
    â€œReadings from the backyard. One skimmer. Two men. One of them is armed.” Lucien tapped codes into touchpads—multiple views of the house and yard formed on a small display. “You have company.” He relaxed, but only a little. “Your doctors make house calls, I see.” He drifted up the drive and around the house, coming to a stop a few meters behind a silver sportster. Safety lighting activated, illuminating the yard and the two men who emerged from the sleek vehicle.
    â€œSo much for a little time to ourselves,” Lucien muttered.
    Jani alit from the skimmer just as John Shroud and Val Parini drew near. Val led the way, his stride clipped and his head high.
    â€œNot that we were worried, mind.” He circled around to Jani, high-boned face aging from boyish to middle-aged as he drew