Now two years had past and Isensi rarely thought about her rape in that ally.

It happened, deal with it, move on.

That was her motto.

And she found that dwelling on it was . . . counterproductive.

Her aunt had finally died a year ago. Isensi told herself this was a good thing. Now she had far less work to do.

At night she went to parties. There was an old warehouse on the east side of town where people her age would gather, to writhe in the fast, pounding beat of the electronic music, and pulsing light.

The town itself was also more densely populated now, what with the influx of refugees from the nearby mining planetoid.

Isensi heard there�d been some kind of accident.

One evening, on the way to a party, she became aware of an incessant cawing sound.

The cloth bird. It was following her.

Isensi put her hand to her temple. It was like the bird was trying to climb inside her head.

She wanted to throw a rock at it.