”“Before what?”Michael hesitated. This in turn proved to be a fantastical flatboat or barge, its lower hull and tall smokestacks painted black, its superstructure a curling t They’re like us, but not identical. “Along the lines of, why am I being treated like shit rather than royalty? What happened to the rest of the Few, what is this fucked up, miserable place, and so on.
“Push,” the birth-master was saying, his hands on the quivering mound of her belly. Me—I was relieved, exhausted, giddy, ashamed. That line was abandoned decades ago. The woman was middle aged and obviously Indian, her skin dark, her hair straight and black.
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