The release notification comes through: Linka’s getting out tomorrow. Nocti wants to dance all through the Cut singing it at the top of his lungs. He wants to hack-and-jack the artificial sky, scrawl the words in swirling cloud and pulsating constellation. After eight excruciating months in a company prison, Linka’s free—and everyone in the city, everyone on the whole world, ought to know. One of the folk he most wants to tell is Chloro, the biomod artist who built the copper-strung cruth into his bad leg and made it his best leg. She lives west Cut, recycling district, in the