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her window in a blur. She’d been terrified every second, her heart fluttering wildly in her throat, especially when the conveyance sped over roads covered with snow and ice. Equally frightening to her had been the voice of a woman that blared repeatedly from out of nowhere inside the vehicle. In these modern times, did not all individuals have bodies? Ceara found that difficult to believe, but she’d definitely heard a female speaking, and she saw no crystal ball from which the voice might have come.
    Once she was at the station, Ceara’s senses were once again blasted by strange sights and sounds. The earth outside the large brick building was covered with a black, hard substance, the likes of which she’d never seen. At home, dooryards and roadsteads were sometimes cobbled with stones, but mostly they were packed dirt.
    Ceara nearly parted company with her skin when a woman’s voice shouted from a horn-shaped object attached under a corner eave of the structure. “DV, domicile 1430 Oak Street, ABH in progress. AFA held at gunpoint by AMA. Calling all available cars.”
    As Ceara was guided forward by her escorts, she stared stupidly at the horn, picturing a woman hovering in the attic to shout at people outside. What kind of world was this? And what was she going to do now that she was stuck here?
    Once she was inside the building, Ceara was bombarded by even more noises—loud voices, humming sounds, beeps, and trilling that made her wonder whether maniacal large birds were nesting just out of sight. She was led through a maze of cluttered desks, at which both uniformed males and females sat, talking into black rectangular objects or interviewing people whose wrists were shackled behind their backs, just as hers were. At the far end of the huge room, Ceara was pushed onto a bench already occupied by others.
    An older female with missing teeth and frizzy yellow hair sat beside her. She smelled so strongly of flowery perfume that Ceara’s eyes stung. The woman’s sagging face was coated with a pale substance. Only her eyes, heavily lined with black, her unnaturally pink cheeks, and her bloodred lips lent color to her countenance.
    She jostled Ceara with her elbow. “Whatcha in for, sweetheart?”
    “’Tis uncertain to me at this time. I havena committed a crime.”
    The other woman laughed. Ceara couldn’t help but gape at the woman’s breasts, which were about to jiggle out over the extremely low neckline of her léine. “That’s what we all say, and ain’t it the truth. A woman can’t make an honest living anymore. Half the money I get from my johns goes to pay fines and post bail.”
    Ceara didn’t understand what this woman meant. How many men named John could one person possibly know? And why did they give this straw-haired female their coin? Before Ceara could ask, a man dressed in dark blue trews and a pale blue léine approached them. “On your feet, Paula. Time to get you processed.”
    The woman pushed up from the bench to follow the officer. Her tight trews, held up by a gaudy studded belt, rode so low on her hips that the crack between her buttocks showed. Even more shocking to Ceara, someone had drawn or tattooed a dragon on her skin with different colors of ink. Just the thought of allowing another person to see that part of her person made Ceara’s cheeks burn, but clearly this woman had done so. It was humanly impossible to draw an image so intricately on one’s own rump.
    Soon Ceara was fetched by a female officer who led her to a nearby desk. The woman had dark hair pulled back in a bun and brown eyes that seemed flat and hard. Her manner was brisk as she sat across from Ceara and held her hands over an odd rectangular contraption with rows of buttons on it. Instead of looking at Ceara, she stared at a flat, boxlike object that threw out sky blue light from the front side.
    “Name?”
    Ceara shifted on the chair. “Ceara O’Ceallaigh.”
    “Spelling?”
    Ceara slowly recited the