In that moment he felt the weight of the Cap’ncy lift from him, cutting through the shock and sorrow of loss. He could be just another Bishop again. He could pay more attention to Toby and Shibo and perhaps escape the catastrophe he felt closer and closer now, a dark presence lying in wait in this blighted place.

The cold-handed boy was finished. With genuine relief Killeen got up and walked away.

Shibo and Toby cooked the green stuff over a crackling fire. It tasted far better than it had any right to, a sign of how tired and hungry they all were. Killeen let his feet soak in a warm, briny bath, hoping to drain his blisters. The pleasure of it alone was worth the trouble. This water-rich world had its compensations. His years aboard Argo had softened more than merely his feet. He thought wistfully of the comforts of the ship, the rich and exotic foods, the simple but crucial matters of warmth and light. He studied the haggard faces around the fire. How quickly they all had been cast down from the skies, forced back to the desperate existence they had known on Snowglade. Shibo had kept them together, but their dreams were shattered forever.

There was no way to avoid discussing the battle and at first they kept their tones almost dispassionate. Their voices were low, somber, carrying the accumulated gravity of memories too fresh to be digested.

First they analyzed the Cyber defense, a relatively neutral subject. Besen said, “If they know where main attack’s comin’ from, they can block shots.”

Toby said, “Then let’s fire from different directions at the same time.”

“Hard,” Shibo said. “Their screens move fast.”

“Still, we can try it,” Besen said.

Killeen was glad to see that Toby and Besen had figured their way through the lessons to be learned without prompting. They were growing up fast. Besen particularly would make a good lieutenant in a while. She was decisive. And Toby was improving under her influence. Killeen remembered how a boy was first entranced with sex, and then somehow started to learn from it. He felt a quiet satisfaction that Toby was coming out of the awkward teenage muddle. Both he and Besen had shrugged off the horror of the battle well.

But then Toby said quietly, “Who started the runnin’?” and Shibo looked at Killeen.

“Like most times, panic started in the rear,” he said evenly.

“Howcome?” Besen asked.

“People back there got a better view, can see what’s happenin’.”

She said pensively, “You’d think it’d come in the front.”

Shibo said, “The rear units think nobody’s watching them.”

“Nobody at the front broke,” Killeen said.

Toby blinked. “You mean Loren wasn’t turnin’ tail?”

“Naysay,” Killeen said softly. “He was cuttin’ left, tryin’ for a better angle on a Cyber.”

Relief washed over Toby’s face. “Good. Rumor was he’d dropped his beam-shooter, cut, and run.”

“Naysay. Cyber killed him outright while he was in what looked like good cover.”

Besen and Toby both sighed, their faces losing some of their pinched sorrow. Killeen understood then that the seemingly small issue of Loren’s behavior in the moments before he died had loomed as large for them as his death itself. The curious and yet utterly human morality of the battlefield shielded them from the full brunt of their grief; they clung to the hope that good conduct meant a good death. He envied them that common defense of the young. It would not last long.

Killeen sat immersed in his own gray thoughts until Toby abruptly said, “Fudd gud.”

Killeen glanced at him, thinking that the boy had his mouth full.

“Mauf fills rung.”

Killeen gave him a quizzical glance, suspecting a joke. Shibo and Besen seemed more concerned.

“Fir hiss gud.” Spasms flitted across Toby’s face like storm clouds scudding.

Toby got up unsteadily, eyes veering around. “Ah donut fill so gud.”

On ramrod-straight legs the boy took awkward steps away from the fire. Killeen called, “You better lie down. This chow—”

Toby fished forth his belt knife. It was a prized possession, the blade of worn but flexible blue steel, fully as long as the boy’s foot. Toby’s mouth worked as he peered down at the blade as though he was studying his reflection. Then he took two stiff steps to a thick tree with rough bark that slanted out from the ravine wall. Without a pause Toby drew back the knife with his right hand and placed his left hand on the tree, palm down.

Killeen saw what was going to happen a long, slow-motion instant before it did. He leaped forward, a shout beginning in his throat.

Toby slammed the blade down into his hand, pinning it to the hilt in the tree.

By the time Killeen reached him Toby was screaming with all the force of his lungs. When the air ran out the boy gasped and then started screaming again. Blood flecked his checks and hair. A thin red trickle began running down the tree, following the crevices in the crusty bark.

Toby’s right hand now yanked back on the handle of the knife but without effect. He screamed hoarsely and gasped, gulping in air, and screamed again—forlornly, this time, hopelessly.

“Let go!” Killeen shouted. He grabbed Toby’s right hand, which was trying to wrench the knife out. The blade was driven halfway into the bark.

“Let me take it, son. I’ll get it.”

Through a glazed, crazy sheen in his eyes Toby seemed to recognize his father. He opened his mouth to gasp and began screaming again.

“You’re twisting it!” Killeen shouted. Toby’s yanking at the handle had rotated it, cutting the hand more.

The trickle of crimson thickened. It reached the ground and began to spread into a pool.

Killeen cried to Shibo, “Hold him.”

She and Besen quickly slipped arms around Toby, who had started to rock back and forth on his feet, screaming and gasping. The wail roughened and Killeen could hear his son rasping his throat raw.

He carefully pried Toby’s fingers from the handle.

“Grief! Grief!” Shibo cried, an ancient mournful curse.

“Toby—how, what—” Besen began, then burst into frightened tears.

Sobs escaped from Toby’s strained throat. His mouth contorted but he could not speak.

Killeen braced himself. He concentrated and with one movement pulled the knife cleanly from the tree.

Toby collapsed. The women lowered him to the dusty gravel nearby, avoiding the puddle of brown-crusted blood.

Killeen threw the knife aside and found his carrypack a short distance away. He found some organiform cloth tucked in a pocket and cut it into slices with his own knife. Toby was thrashing under the women’s hands, moaning, gulping, shouting incoherently. Other Bishops came running.

Killeen made a tourniquet and bound up the hand while the women continued to hold Toby down. Then Shibo untied it and did the job again, better.

Toby gasped fast and shallowly, face ashen.

“Son—son,” Killeen said. The boy stared up at the night, where ruddy light seeped from distant molecular clouds between the stars. “Son, what…?”

Besen had stopped crying while the three of them worked on the hand and now she started again, sobbing softly. Killeen’s mouth was dry and he could not get the coppery tang of blood out of his nostrils.

“I… Somethin’… Had an idea. Do that.” Toby got the words out between chapped, white lips.

“Your idea?” Shibo asked.

“I… dunno.”

“What was it like?”

“A big… Slick. Shiny, almost.”

“What did it look like?” Besen asked, choking back her tears.

“I… Big, pressin’ in on me. Look…?” Toby frowned, staring into space.

“Oh, why, why—” Besen began.

Killeen held up a hand to cut her off. He nodded to Toby. “Yeasay, son. What did it look like?”

“Looked so… so shiny. And… no face. No face at all.”