Perry splashed to a halt. "Holy shit," he breathed. The ride was lit with glow-sticks, waterproof lamps, and LED torches, and the lights reflected crazily from the still water that filled it as far as the eye could see, way out into the gloom. Lester looked up at him. His face was lined and exhausted, and it gleamed with sweat. "Storm broke out all the windows and trashed the roof, then flooded us out. It did a real number on the market, too." His voice was dead. Perry was wordless. Bits of the ride-exhibits floated in the water, along with the corpses of the robots. "No drainage," Lester said. "The code says drainage, but there's none here. I never noticed it before. I'm going to rig a pump, but my workshop's pretty much toast." Lester's workshop had been in the old garden-center at the side of the ride. It was all glass. "We had some pretty amazing winds." Perry felt like he should be showing off his wound to prove that he hadn't been fucking off while the disaster was underway, but he couldn't bring himself to do so. "We got caught in it in Miami," he said. "Wondered where you were. The kid who was minding the shop just cut and run when the storm rolled in." "He did? Christ, what an irresponsible asshole. I'll break his neck." A slimy raft of kitchen gnomes -- their second business venture -- floated past silently in the harsh watery light. The smell was almost unbearable. "It wasn't his job --" Lester's voice cracked on *job*, and he breathed deeply. "It wasn't his job, Perry. It was your job. You're running around, having a good time with your girlfriend, firing lawyers --" He stopped and breathed again. "You know that they're going to sue us, right? They're going to turn us into a smoking ruin because you fired them, and what the fuck are you going to do about that? Whose job is that?" "I thought you said they weren't going to sue," Perry said. It came out in an embarrassed mumble. Lester had never talked to him like this. Never. "Kettlewell and Tjan aren't going to sue," Lester said. "The lawyers you fired, the venture capitalists who backed them? They're going to turn us into paste." "What would you have preferred?" Hilda said. She was standing in the doorway, away from the flood, watching them intently. Her eyes were raccoon-bagged, but she was rigid with anger. Perry could hardly look at her. "Would you have preferred to have those fuckers go around destroying the lives of your supporters in order to enrich a few pig assholes?" Lester just looked at her. "Well?" "Shut up, Yoko," he said. "We're having a private conversation here." Perry's jaw dropped, and Hilda was already in motion, sloshing into the water in her sandals. She smacked Lester across the cheek, a crack that echoed back over the water and walls. Lester brought his hand up to his reddening face. "Are you done?" he said, his voice hard. Hilda looked at Perry. Lester looked at Perry. Perry looked at the water.