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long whiplike antennae that moved slowly through the water and large round eyes that were an unexpectedly brilliant azure. Beneath its thorax was a tiny pouch holding what appeared to be myriad pearls of a nacreous pink. It was a mysid, a kind of shrimp that carried its young in a brood pouch until they were several months old. The eggs of this one were supposed to hatch very soon.
    Reive gazed transfixed at the tiny creature, murmuring. It was not a wild creature, of course, but stolen from a vivarium on Dominations Level, where the mysids were raised to feed larger animals like fish and certain aquatic birds. A patron of Reive’s, a biotech who had befriended the gynander on one of her solitary visits to the vivarium level, had given it to her in exchange for a dream reading. A completely illicit transaction—if a sentry from the Reception Committee were to find it here, Reive would be executed. Animals and plants still carried all the ominous weight of their origins Outside, despite the fact that every creature now living within Araboth had by this point been so genetically altered as to bear little resemblance to its forebears. The mysid, for instance, was descended from creatures only an inch long. When the HÃ¥bilis Emirate took control of the Archipelago and its hydrofarms, the Ascendants engineered the mysids as an alternative to reliance on the Archipelago’s krill shrimp. But Reive didn’t know that; Reive just knew that the mysid was beautiful, and it was hers, a secret from the prying eyes of the other gynanders on Virtues.
    â€œDon’t be afraid, we are here, we will protect you,” the gynander whispered, tracing the curved glass with a grimy finger. Within its turquoise globe the mysid swam lazily, its feathery legs sending phosphorescent ripples through the water. Reive reached one hand behind her, pulping the bedclothes until she found a box of papery rice crackers. She crumbled the corner of one into the globe and watched entranced as the mysid fed, the bits of cracker disappearing between the transparent mandibles and its inner organs deepening to royal purple as it digested its food.
    Without warning a soft, bell-like tone echoed through the room. Reive sat up in alarm, spilling a little precious water onto her lap. She clutched the globe, looking back and forth. The room seemed to be trembling—she could not be sure at first. It was all so quick, a tremor so slight that it was only when she focused on her kimono on its brass hook, its faded sleeves swaying ever so slightly, that she was certain of what was happening. She took the globe and hid it behind her bed, bracing it with a mismatched pair of slippers. By the time she stood in the center of the little chamber all was still again.
    â€œDamn,” Reive breathed. She crossed her hands in the ward against Ucalegon and flopped against the bed, her heart thudding. Maybe the storms were beginning early this year. It was only a week until Æstival Tide; perhaps the winds were rising in anticipation of the great festival. Or the Commonwealth might have struck against the city; but even Reive, untutored as she was, knew that was unlikely. She took a deep breath and stood, crossed the room and opened the door and stuck her head into the corridor.
    Outside, the long, curved hallway seemed undisturbed, except that one panel in the ceiling lights was flickering deep violet instead of its accustomed pale blue. After the fishy must of her chamber Reive breathed deeply, grateful for the modestly fresher air out here. Virtues Level was not considered important enough to benefit from the more advanced filtration systems of the upper levels. A complex perfume filled the corridors connecting the warren of little chambers where the hermaphrodites lived. Opium sugar and krill paste; the lemony scent of the cheap cologne the gynanders favored this season, a perfume called Arielle; the muskier odor of the myrrh and sandalwood chips the