"Much more deadly. I call them that, but Lang says I'm being semantically unsound. War, for example. Racial inferiority. To date we haven't found a cure." She broke off, and her eyes were shining wet.
"But you don't have wars," Saxon said.
"No."
"Then?"
"We have a—ghetto," the girl said slowly. "I can't tell you about it. Perhaps soon—"
Abruptly she changed the subject.
Slowly, Saxon's defenses began to crumble.
To all intents he was now a member of Lang's household, Veena's adopted big brother.
Big brother—or pet?
It did not really matter.