And—his hand felt around his neck—his Auditor’s seal-ring on its chain. Not that any of its overrides or other tricks would work on this world’s com-net, but Armsman Roic might at least have tracked him by its ping. If Roic was still alive. He’d been upright when Miles had last seen him, when they’d been separated by the panicking mob.

A fragment of broken stone pressed into his foot, and he shifted. If his eye could pick out the difference between pebbles and glass and plastic on the pavement, why couldn’t it tell the difference between people and huge insects? “It was giant cicadas the last time I had a reaction this bad,” he told the butterbug. “A giant butterbug is actually sort of reassuring. No one else’s brain on this planet would generate butterbugs, except maybe Roic’s, so I know exactly where you’re coming from. Judging from the decor around here, the locals’d probably go for some jackal-headed fellow, or maybe a hawk-man. In a white lab coat.” Miles realized he’d spoken aloud when the pair backed up another step. What, were his eyes flashing celestial light? Or glowing feral red?

“Just leave, Jin,” the butterbug told its lizard companion, tugging on its arm. “Don’t talk to him. Walk away slowly.”

“Shouldn’t we try to help him?” A much younger voice; Miles couldn’t judge if it was a boy’s or a girl’s.

“Yes, you should!” said Miles. “With all these angels in my eyes I can’t even tell where I’m stepping. And I lost my shoes. The bad guys took them away from me.”

“Come on, Jin!” said the butterbug. “We got to get these bags of findings back to the secretaries before dark, or they’ll be mad at us.”

Miles tried to decide if that last remark would have made any more sense to his normal brain. Perhaps not.

“Where are you trying to get to?” asked the lizard with the young voice, resisting its companion’s pull.