Máni peers out from the alley, solemnly observing the attack drones--blasphemous bio-mechanical parodies of mankind in form, tearing apart the street, their strange chittering intermingling with the screams of those civilians unfortunate enough not to have been evacuated when the siege began. He pulls back into the safety of the shadows as a airborne unit passes by, looking for more victims to cut down.
He whispers to his companion, "I think we're losing hold of the situation."
While the children tuck into their pizza, Bill continues quietly conversing with Mrs Carson. "Your daughter is turning out to be an excellent convert."
"Well, all those examinations the government did should have made them confident of that. But she's always been a sweet child. I'm glad she gets the chance."
She shakes her head a bit. "I don't quite like that name, you know."
"I was outnumbered. And most of my suggestions as it turned out didn't translate well to English."
She chuckles. "Well, as long as the good kids get it first and lay down - norms, or traditions, or whatever it is, it's going to help everyone else get turned sooner, right?"
"It's a good thing. Even if it came at a terrible cost."
"I should very well hope so. But it's a scar."
"I like to think of it as a broken bone. The break is forever evident, but it heals stronger."
"...No, I think it really is a scar. But scars diminish, and you grow stronger around them without really forgetting them."
(In the background, Gren has reluctantly withdrawn her pineapple position. For now.)
"Forgive me if my metaphors seem unwieldy. When an !Qell scars, we just pay for a replacement."
"Perhaps a scar on a tree trunk, then. A tree here keeps signs of things that happen to it until it dies, steadily growing none the less."
"Don't talk to me about dad. I hardly never see him, he's not, not... Important. Mom and Coach are the ones who really matter."
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