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house, then.”
    “And make sure he stays there. I don’t care what the doctors say. I want him kept away from Jupiter’s people until emotions have cooled. Urban! ”
    Lot jumped at the sharp bark of command. The boy by the window had moved up silently behind him.
    “Stay away from him, Urban,” Kona warned.
    “Why, Dad? He’s not going to bite. Are you, Lot?”
    Lot studied him warily. Urban looked several years older, and he stood at least a head and shoulders over Lot. He had skin like mild brown tea and short black hair fixed in about a hundred braids that bobbed around his face as he crouched in front of Lot. He was more than halfway to manhood, and there was a wildness on him that set Lot’s heart pumping. “You hungry?” Urban asked in his harsh accent.
    Kona shifted, his irritation clouding the room. “He can eat at the hospital.”
    “I’ll get you some food,” Urban said.
    Kona swore softly, but he let it go. One of the other Silkens was asking him something, and he let his attention move off that way while Urban strode out of the room. Lot pulled his knees up to his chest and bowed his head. He felt so tired. When his forehead came to rest against his knees, he didn’t try to lift his head again, not even when Urban sat down next to him. “Hey, you awake?” When Lot didn’t respond, he leaned closer and whispered, “The real people will deep-run through your head if you let them.”
    Lot felt a twitch of trepidation. He raised his head a few inches and frowned at Urban.
    “Here, eat something,” Urban said, and shoved a plate at his face.
    There were two rolled crepes, thin skins like iridescent butterfly wings wrapped around a creamy green filling. Steam spiraled from the open ends. “Come on,” Urban said. “You want it or not?”
    The smells had already set Lot’s stomach growling. He started to reach for a crepe. But his hand was soiled, sweat-sticky, coated with the residue of ugly emotions, tainted by death. He rubbed his palm against his thigh. Jupiter had always commanded him to cleanse his hands before taking food, because grace was found in ritual and respect.
    Jupiter was gone.
    Hesitantly, Lot picked up a crepe. It felt silky smooth. He took a tentative bite. Sweet green flavors exploded in his mouth, and then he ate ravenously. Urban grinned at him. “Now, listen,” he said, leaning close to Lot and talking softly. Lot glanced curiously around the room, wondering why Urban bothered to whisper. Amplified hearing had been a pretty common asset on Nesseleth. But nobody seemed to be paying attention. “You don’t want to stay long at the monkey house. They like to switch you off in there, and you’ll never know what they’ve done to you while you’re under.”
    Lot reached for the other crepe. He didn’t want to admit to Urban that he didn’t understand. So he said nothing.
    “Give them enough time,” Urban said, “and they’ll deep-run through your mind. They’ll turn you into a happy monkey.”
    “Have you been there?” Lot asked, forcing the foreign words around a mouthful of food, so it was luck Urban understood him at all.
    “Not yet. But I know people who have. You like being happy?”
    “Yeah.”
    Urban’s expression skewed into contempt. “Then you’ll like it there, monkey. You can float high enough to be happy all the time.”
    Lot stared at him. He could already feel the glucose from the food running through his arteries. It slammed into his cells, overwhelming systems stabilized at starvation levels, leaving him giddy, frenetic, shaking with a mean buzz. “I’m not a monkey!” he screamed. “I’m not a dog. Don’t call me that.”
    “Urban.”
    Lot looked around at the stern voice. Kona was eyeing them again, but Urban hardly glanced at him. “If you’re that mad at me,” he said in a low voice, “why don’t you hit me with that evil eye, like you did the old lady?”
    Lot sat back in sudden confusion. He sensed no real animosity in