Lirien stepped into the vestibule, the small space between boxes illuminated by the soft glow of pyrolamps, and smiled as she discovered Davis standing guard outside the opposite door. A smile that immediately fell away as her friend said, “The archconductor is monitoring a session. From the sound of it, Edwin is having a hard time finishing. They’ve been at it for”—he glanced at his watch—“half an hour. You might want to wait until the old bastard manages to get off.”

Lirien grimaced, her already lackluster enthusiasm for this meeting turning to dread. “The rigrat who delivered the message said the archconductor wanted to see me quicklike, so I’m not sure waiting is an option.”

Davis winced, then gave her a sly grin. “Maybe Edwin asked the archconductor to sub you in. I can only imagine that fucking Veronica is no treat. I’d rather stick my cock in a bucket of ice—I’d get less frostbite.”

Lirien crossed her arms and glared at her friend. “Do not even joke about that. You know I can’t stand Edwin.”

“Frontclass tax, Lir.” Davis’s voice deepened to the archconductor’s gravelly tone as he quoted words they’d heard countless times over the last twenty years: “ ‘Every union you make, every child you bear, is a stone laid in the foundation of humanity’s return to greatness.’ ” Davis gave her a lopsided smile. “And you, my dearest friend, have not signed up to produce a single baby.”

And Lirien never would. “I feel compelled to point out that neither have you.”