Lowen gets in the car and rumbles up the valley under the
smog. There’s a list of questions in his pocket and an old piece of lead pipe
in the trunk to help with the asking.
“War! War!” Loup Roger cried at the meeting. “Let it be war!”
But Lowen doesn’t make war unless there is cause, and finding a cause among the
tribes is like trying to nail water to the floor—maybe it can be done, but only
if you know something everybody else doesn’t.
Almost time now. He cuts the lights and glides up to the curb.