She needed something to jar herself loose from the curiously sticky, hampering aura of the Nought. She made the hands slide over the body, seeking some useful tool. Ah, there.

Then she had a very good idea. She swiftly carried it out.

FIVE

As a simple Family member Killeen immediately joined in the jobs essential to setting up camp. The Tribal supply train had brought meager provisions partway up the granite slopes and each Family had to haul their portion to their campground. The wind was coming up stronger and colder with nightfall. His Supremacy’s tent dominated the broad stone crown of the mountain and his staff was erecting some sort of altar in front of it.

Killeen and Shibo pitched their small tent in a narrow athwart the gathering wind. Toby and Besen were nearby. They all divided the skimpy food supply and figured how to cook the strangely spiced ingredients.

Much of the Tribal supply had been stolen from mech stores. The stuff was gooey and lime green; Killeen guessed that it had been foodstuff that fed and lubricated the partly organic mech components. Spices had been added to make it barely edible. A thin reward for a day of hard marching. When Bishops protested, Tribal officers said mysteriously that there would be more to eat later that night. Small fires already dotted the mountainside with flickering orange dabs. Killeen didn’t like this and started telling his people to stop.

“What’re you doing?” Jocelyn asked at his elbow.

Without thinking Killeen said, “This high up, anything can get an IR on these fires from down below. They’ll stand out against the sky.”

“His Supremacy’s allowed fires tonight. Celebration coming.”

“I still think—”

“You’re not Cap’n anymore,” Jocelyn said sternly.

“I—well, look, we both know namin’ Cap’n is a Family affair. That lunatic doesn’t have power over—”

“He’s Elder. You heard him, he invoked emergency power. And you’ll do as you’re told.” Jocelyn folded her arms and smiled coldly.

From her look, Killeen suspected that Jocelyn had already willingly accepted some of the special “priestly” Aspect chips His Supremacy had offered him upon his arrival. They were to be in exchange for what the leader had termed “irrelevant” Aspects from more recent times. The carrying of Aspects was so personal, by ancient tradition, that even the messianic Elder could do no more than “‘strongly advise” this swap. Killeen had managed to politely decline. Conversations with other Cap’ns had convinced him that those chips reinforced the fanaticism of His Supremacy’s followers.

Was Jocelyn even now hearing new, forceful voices, urging her to zeal and obedience? If so, how long before such Aspects were installed into every member of Family Bishop? How many, then, would have the force of will to retain independent thought? It was rare, by all appearances, among the locals.

When he simply looked at her Jocelyn said angrily, “And I’ll thank you to deliver up the tactical systems chips.”

This was at least reasonable. A Cap’n carried those into battle. “You want ’em now?”

“I’ll send a techtype to pop ’em.”

Killeen watched her go, feeling a churning in his gut.

A demotion from command can have serious psychological consequences….

He savagely suppressed Ling, before the ancient starship captain could pronounce eulogy over his unsatisfactory tenure in command. Killeen had other ghosts to do that for him.

Sitting on a rock, waiting for the tech-boy to arrive and strip him of his last prerogatives, Killeen moodily recalled the other Bishop Cap’ns he had known. Fanny—so sure and capable—who died in his arms. Old Sal—who retired in honor and grace to make way for one apparently born for leadership… Abraham.

Yes, Abraham himself. Whose smile was relaxed. Whose laughter was earthy and infectious. Whose confidence was unshakable. Who led Family Bishop through times of grit and grinding poverty, skillfully foiling thè tricks of the mech exterminators, showing them how to hold back the encroaching desert, guiding the Family’s labors until their Citadel was the flower of Snowglade.

Abraham had drawn little notice from mech civilization, leading precise, efficient raids which took from the mechs no more than needed. He had taken just enough to maintain a level which—if inestimably lower even than the High Citadels of Arthur’s time—nevertheless afforded dignity and grace. One in which even luxury was not unknown. Killeen recalled never missing a full, aromatic bath on his birthday. Not while his father was alive.

Unfair. The Calamity had been such an unfair end to Abraham and all he built. For they had done nothing, nothing unusual, to draw such overpowering attention from the mechs! And yet titanic forces came down to crush them.

Why? Why? The question had tortured Killeen for years. Things happened on that day which Killeen still did not understand. Sensations… bizarre colors in the sky. Swift clouds and flickerings he had never seen before or since. It had been as if all nature had joined with the mechs in their assault.

Yet Abraham had fought on. Never flagging. Resonating encouragement. No one lost confidence in him, even at the last, as he held the rear guard firm, allowing Lieutenant Fanny a narrow chance to guide survivors away into scabrous exile.

No one ever lost confidence in father. The words echoed inside him. Even in defeat, he was all a man should be.

Miserable, Killeen allowed his head to slump down into his hands. He smelled acrid smoke, and knew that it was not from today’s struggles. Rather, it was from that day long ago. The day when he should have died at his father’s side. His sensorium had inadvertently called up the scent association.

Why… do you persist… in thinking that he died?

Killeen’s head snapped up, partly in surprise that his Grey Aspect would rise up, unsummoned, to make a personal observation. He blinked.

… The magnetic entity said…

He shook his head. “I believe what I saw. I saw a bolt take away what was left of the Citadel. A flash, an’ it was gone. Abraham is dead. An’ soon so will we be.”

Killeen realized he had muttered aloud. He glanced around and saw Toby looking at him across the way. For his son’s sake he made an effort to straighten his posture. He tried to wear an expression more serene than he felt, and had partly succeeded by the time a skinny boy with instruments and cold hands came to take away his command chips. He sat still, making no motion as the tech snapped open the back of his neck and removed bits of sensoria that had become as familiar as the nerves of his hands. A numbness settled in where each had been.

He was in a good position to watch when Jocelyn came up the hill with a punishment detail and a Bishop man, Ahmed. They bound the man’s hands and Jocelyn flogged him. From the techtype Killeen learned that Ahmed had made some disparaging remark to a member of the Sebens and His Supremacy had overheard.

Normally such a thing would be passed over. Matters were not going to go easily for Bishops, that was clear.

Killeen watched silently as Jocelyn whipped Ahmed. He recalled how agonizing he had found such matters on Argo. It was no easier to watch now, but at least he did not have to feel responsible.

He had been vaguely planning to strike some deal with Jocelyn, since he knew she would have trouble leading a Family which had already suffered so much. Changing Cap’ns was unwise amid disaster, and their situation transcended any difficulty he could remember, even the worst days on Snowglade.

He now saw in her glinting eyes and set mouth a woman who had waited for just such a moment, and would not be talked into sharing the smallest speck of authority. He wondered for an instant whether he would have done the same if their situations were reversed. It didn’t matter.