“D’neschopita,” the eggling told him, with emphasis. “T’carais’amp b’lenarkanarak’ab.”

He lifted an eyebrow and walked forward. “Say you so?” he murmured, keeping his voice smooth. “Well, she is your kin and I must bow to your judgment in the matter.”

At this, the eggling burst into a storm of volubility, emphasized by meaningful blinks of the huge eyes. Val Con shook his head. Too much, too fast, lacking structure… Perhaps. He pulled on the ’chora strap; brought the keyboard across his chest; flipped on the power.

The eggling paused for breath, eyes glowing. Val Con moved his fingers over keys, manipulated stops—playing back the rhythm and sound of the child’s speaking, wondering what would happen…

A much larger sound interrupted the experiment. He looked up to see the nurse approaching, arms upraised for a strike.

The ’chora! Instinctively, he bent forward, shielding the instrument with his body; tensing his shoulders to take the blow…

Which did not fall. Instead, she stood over him and loosed an ear-ringing tirade, no doubt listing his faults and probable bad habits, annotated, cautiously, he turned his head and looked at her out of the corner of an eye.

The abuse cut off in mid-annotation. Thin chest-armor heaving, she grabbed the eggling by the arm and dragged him away.

Val Con straightened slowly, watching them go. Nurse was in no mood for nonsense, it seemed. She jerked hard on the youngster’s arm when he tried to hang back, roaring something the man felt must be unsuitable for delicate young ears. The youngling bleated and was borne away.

Bully, Val Con apostrophized her, just wait until he’s grown.

Then reaction hit and he collapsed cross-legged to the ground, hugging the ’chora and shaking.

* * *

“T’CARAIS, I MUST insist—” the Broodmother’s words proceeded her, reaching Edger as he walked with his brother Handler. He turned ponderously to face her.