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Kileen deflected people who came up to him and wanted to discuss things. A clammy fog shrouded the growing fields to the south of Metropolis. They walked among towering fragrant corn. Toby had never seen cultivated plants so high and couldn’t recall even the long rows of tomatoes where he had once played near the Citadel. The Eater rose and cut through the thin fog, bringing a crisp savor to the air. Killeen went back to the hut and slept easily until the Witnessing.

The Kings spoke against him.

They had worked on their arguments, using testimony from the Kings in the raiding party to good effect. They made a simple case, plainly thinking that the facts would be enough.

Fornax presided, since he was the Cap’n who had been in power longest. The Kings were deferential to him. They would choose a Cap’n soon after the Witnessing, but until then Fornax was in nominal control of the Cap’nless Family. And he would be a good ally to have later.

Once the opening charge was made, and the Kings were done, Cermo and Shibo spoke in opposition. Following tradition, Killeen sat in the middle of the crowded bowl carved from a hillside. Each speaker took turns at the center of the bowl. Except for the perimeter guard, the bare scooped rock held all known humanity.

Shibo said few words but conveyed much. She was respected. Though she gave the same picture of Hatchet’s killing that Cermo did, her words weighed more heavily. In the Witnessing, all that mattered was the final vote of the assembled Families. Every person convinced by Shibo’s simple eloquence was a gain.

After her, Ledroff spoke as Cap’n of the defending Family. He was vague, saying that Killeen was reliable and not the kind of Family member who would ever attack a Cap’n unless it was in some way unavoidable.

Killeen thought this did him no good at all, but he was not prepared for Fornax.

As presiding Cap’n, Fornax was nominally neutral. But as the wiry man began, Killeen saw that his every sentence was slyly shaped.

Fornax’s lined face wrinkled with skepticism even as his mouth formed wry, scornful phrases. He treated gravely everything the Kings claimed. Then Fornax passed over the Bishops’ version as mere opinion.

He did it subtly, choosing his words to soften the facts and round them to his end. His face, turned up to the rings of faces, carried a sorrow at what he had to say.

Killeen could not tell if the expression was real. He did know that Fornax could reasonably expect to exert much power in Metropolis as the senior Cap’n. Though a King would still run Metropolis, the new King Cap’n would necessarily be less powerful because he or she would be fresh. The more Fornax appeared as a wise figure, the greater would be his influence among all the Families.

Fornax sat down and it came to Killeen by tradition to say the last words.

Killeen felt himself alone. Yet he did not doubt what he should do. Against Fornax’s eloquence he had no wordy defense. The gathered Families looked at him with expectant faces.

“I speak flat and plain. You know what happened. Point to all this is why. You can’t know that without feeling it yourself. So I call on the one way you can see that and feel it and know it for what it was. Not through talk can anyone do that. Only this way.”

He stepped back a pace as though admitting someone else to the flat slab of tan-flecked gray rock. This was the speaker’s spot; Hatchet had spoken often from that already worn place.

I know you’re listening. Killeen made each word separately in his mind. You must have stored it. Bring it. That’s the best way.

Something shimmered at the speaker’s spot. A whirlwind frenzied the air.

And abruptly Killeen was there again.

The mechplex. The vast shadowed plain dotted by gray-moist contortions.

In awful, gravid grace the events unfurled. The Fanny-thing shambled closer to the figure which Killeen only slowly saw was himself.

Hatchet stepped forward. Unhitched his harness and then his pants. Let them drop. Reached out. Drew the scaly thing toward him.

She cupped him with a blunt, budded hand.

With a quick soft jerk he entered between the canted thighs.

They worked together. A soft sucking sound came from them.

And the fragile world of the sensorium shattered. Killeen’s shots came as rushing hard claps that reflected from icewall layers, hammering at the images of falling bodies and maddened frosty air.

And then Killeen was back.

He let his breath ease and slow, watching the bowl of stunned faces. He had made no attempt to use his sensorium to reach the Mantis, not since the party had left it in the hills beyond.

Yet he had sensed what to do. He saw the long journey ahead and knew it whole, though each step his feet sought was fresh as it came to him.

He said nothing as a shaken Fornax stood. Long moments drifted by as the people recovered. They said little. Talk trickled over Killeen like mild warm rain. He answered the questions with only a few words but that seemed enough. The voices tapered away.

Fornax called the question. Killeen sat.

He could not vote himself and did not look up to see the oldfashioned raising of hands. They could as easily have taken a vote through the sensorium, but it still echoed and seethed with the presence that had passed through it like a chill wind.

Fornax counted, grimaced. His face a grave mask, he summoned up the ancient formal terms, “By a factor three do the assembled Families absolve he who stands in trial. I so validate said judgment. I do welcome the once-pariah back to the manyfold. I do salute the once-cast-out as reborn into the Family of Families. Rejoice!”

The ritual embrace from Fornax was stiff and unfriendly and told Killeen more about the man than words could. As he stepped back in the still silence the Mantis voice came.

A good ending. Now that I am summoned forth by your needs, let me speak.

The Mantis voice was a sure, steady thread in their sensoria.

I offer you all protection from the buffeting you have received for so long. I express my sorrow at your suffering. (Unintelligible.) I shall keep you here and prevent further attacks. Know this as tribute to the essence of what you are.

Killeen nodded. He had known this would come. One more step.

The Families stirred. Fear and hope dawned upon them in equal measure and fought across their faces.

Your ways must be preserved and exalted in the manner of art. You are valuable. Your quick and savory lives are themselves your highest works. Give this to me and I shall preserve the best in you now and forever.

A fevered breeze rippled through them.

The Mantis paused.

Killeen rose and spoke to the bowl with a powerful voice.

“Some would live in such a place. There is an old word for it. Zoo. And some would not.”

The Mantis countered:

Without my skills, the Marauders will have you. I am but one element in a complex beyond your imagining. I cannot stop the Marauders, for they proceed from a longer logic. Forces align against you.

“Not everything’s against us,” Killeen said dryly. “The magnetic mind, it made you speak true ’bout that.”

The Mantis voice returned, cool and sure. Killeen could see by the transfixed eyes of the Families that they heard.

True, I cannot conceal what was forced from me. Organic intelligences do range elsewhere in the zone of the Eater (as you call it) and measures are proceeding to see that they do not unite. You are such an element. Though diminished now, your potential is harmful. Thus vectors intersect and bequeath for you a future of perpetual onslaught from the Marauders. (Unintelligible.) Only if you consign yourselves to my aid shall you survive.

These thoughts came with the solidity and massive presence of words written in granite.