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continues. . . . Bring forth the beasts!”
    There was a blare of horns and something of a stir as a man wearing a leather hood, vest, and pants led a column of pathetic-looking animals out into the arena. A white angen led the way. It had what Rebo assumed to be a fake horn secured to its forehead and was harnessed to a cage on wheels. An old dire cat could be seen lying inside the bars, tongue lolling, either too old or too sick to stand.
    A hairy tusker had been secured to the back of the cage and followed head down, its tail drooping. A dog rode on top of the mammoth and continually turned somersaults, as if trying to bite its own tail. The children loved that, but their parents were becoming restive, and a piece of overripe fruit sailed through the air. It hit the cage, exploded into fragments, and sprayed the dire cat with orange pulp. It snarled, and that generated scattered applause.
    “This is absurd,” Rebo said disgustedly, as he whispered into Norr’s ear. “Let’s leave.”
    The sensitive was about to agree when the animal that was supposed to be the main attraction followed the tusker out into the arena. Like all its kind, the L-phant had been bioengineered to perform a variety of tasks. Hauling mostly, which was why the ancient engineers had chosen to eliminate what had once been huge heads and thereby create more cargo space above their immensely strong spines. Of course it was important for the L-phants to see the road in front of them, so their eyes had been moved down under their prehensile trunks, forward of their chest-centered brains.
    But after more than ninety years of hard labor in Thara’s southern jungles, this six-ton beast was no longer useful. Everything from the slowness of his gait, to the way his tail drooped, suggested the same thing. The angen was sick, tired, and depressed. Something that Norr experienced as a vast heaviness. The sensitive was familiar with the breed, having ridden them on Ning, and had come to admire them. So now, as the L-phant plodded out into the center of the arena, she shook her head in response to Rebo’s suggestion. “In a minute. . . . I want to see what happens next.”
    Rebo was about to reply, but a blare of trumpets overrode the runner as the beast master went to free the L-phant from his tether. “Look at this mighty beast,” the ringmaster commanded, “and imagine his power!”
    That was the cue for a clown to carry a huge melon to the beast master, who ceremoniously placed the object on the ground next to one of the beast’s enormous pillarlike feet. It was clear to everyone present that the angen was supposed to raise its foot and bring it down on the object, thereby demonstrating its strength, but nothing happened. The beast master reacted to what he saw as a betrayal by prodding the L-phant with a six-inch-long steel needle. The poor beast produced what sounded like a human scream, and Norr came to her feet. “Stop that!”
    But either the beast master didn’t hear the sensitive, or didn’t care, because, when the L-phant failed to lift his foot for a second time, the goad went in again.
    Rebo had already started to stand, and was in the process of reaching for Norr’s arm, when the sensitive stepped up onto the knee-high wall and jumped down into the arena. Puffs of dust exploded away from the variant’s feet as she landed. Logos yelled, “Stop!” from the vicinity of her neckline, and the audience produced a reedy cheer. Some of the onlookers felt sorry for the L-phant, while others were simply bored and eager for some sort of conflict. None had any reason to support the beast master.
    But the members of the troupe did, and they came out to defend one of their own, as the angry young woman crossed the arena. Some were armed with cudgels, others carried wooden staffs, and some wore ancient brass knuckles. A sure sign that they were not only ready for a dustup—but had been in plenty of them before.
    The Crosser hung butt down under