At last they came to a long tunnel that showed starlight in a distant circle. Toby ram-accelerated toward it. The screen suddenly jerked.
“The mainmind’s dead,” Killeen said. “That was an electromag-tag burst from it as it blew.”
—Great!—Besen burst in.
Killeen tensed. Toby tumbled soundlessly in the yawning blackness. Ghostly arms reached out nearby, blue and flickering, searching for something to scorch. Further, Killeen knew, there were other presences called Inductances and Resistors and Capacities which played mysterious but perhaps fatal roles in these electrodynamic corridors. He had learned to use them, but their deep essences eluded the practical programs he had studied.
Toby veered. Three squads followed him in a quick dash for the opening.
Then the screen showed only swirling stars and the harsh yellow-white of the disk plain.
Toby spun and looked behind. From the tower opening came a crumpled form in a shiny suit, drifting with the still-dancing radiance that had almost reached the main party.
Killeen watched as the view approached the coasting body. He recognized the backpatch of Waugh, a woman originally of the Family Knight, now a Bishop. The form did not move.
It spun in stately revolution, as solemn and uncaring as a planet in its gyre. Toby approached carefully. Within the helmet was shadow.
Then Killeen noticed a small dark patch on Waugh’s boot, a flaw perhaps struck by a near miss during the attack. It was a
small hole, hardly deep enough to break the suit’s vacuum seal. But it had allowed a voltage in and was rimmed by a burnished
halo. Killeen saw that Waugh’s helmet was slightly swollen and distended. He understood then why they could not see into it.
Carbon black masked the faceplate. He was grateful for this small fact, because then he could not see inside, where Waugh’s
head had exploded.
TEN
The memory came back to him as he ate the celebratory dinner. Waugh, a good crewwoman he had not known well. She had paid the price for his decisions, and he would never know if somehow the cost could have been less.
Fortunately, her genetic material and eggs were preserved by Argo’s surgery. We must take measures to ensure that all Family can contribute to future generations’ genetic diversity. I advise—
“Shut up!” Killeen muttered. His Arthur Aspect had no sense of time and place and decency and Killeen was not in a mood for his coolly analytical views. He glanced up from his serving of baked savory eggplant and saw that no one had noticed his exclamation, or else were too polite to show it. Ignoring outer manifestations of Aspect conversations was now considered good manners. Argo’s soft life was at least making the Family more refined.
He could not help reliving the battle, a habit he had picked up through the years on the run on Snowglade. The Family always held a Witnessing if a member was wounded or killed in an attack, and this time there had been Waugh and Leveerbrok, both brought down by electric weapons. So the Witnessing summoned up the mourning, and then the Family broke into smaller families and guests for a meal which put the dead behind them and made muted merriment over the victory. Killeen had seen many such, most celebrating nothing more than escaping another mech ambush or pursuit. It was pleasant to greet this meal as a Cap’n fresh from his first engagement, an intense action swiftly won.
“I sure hope next time you saddle somebody else with the scanner,” Toby said, passing an aromatic zucchini casserole.
Killeen allowed himself a slight smile. “Cermo makes minor staffing decisions,” he said curtly.
“Oh, come on, Dad,” Toby said. “You’re frappin’ over.”
“I’m what?”
“Frapping over,” Besen explained, pronouncing the words carefully. “It means dodging.”
“New lingo for young Turks?” Shibo asked.
Toby and Besen looked blank, but the second young guest, Midshipman Loren, said brightly, “Well, guess we sorta have our own way, y’know, talkin’ things out.”
“Turks?” Toby persisted.
“Old expression,” Shibo said. “The Turks were an old Family who lived vibrantly.”
This was news to Killeen, who had never heard the term either, but he did not show this. He was fairly sure that if the Turks had been a Family, it must have been long before humankind came to Snowglade. Perhaps they had inhabited the Chandeliers, or even had come from ancient Earth. Shibo had made good use of the years of voyaging, communing often with her Aspects, learning much. Along with tech help, Aspects and even the lesser Faces prattled about their own lost times and traditions.
“Yeasay,” Killeen said, “the Turks fought hard, ran swift.” He saw Shibo give him a skeptical glance but kept on. “They never had a better day than the one you brought off, though.”
“Yeasay, we blasted ’em,” Loren said, eyes bright.
“Took those mechs clean,” Toby agreed.
Besen nodded. “New kind mechs, too.”
“You noticed,” Shibo said approvingly, passing a platter of mustard-laced ship’s biscuits.
Toby looked insulted. “Why, course we did. Think we can’t remember, can’t tell a navvy from a Snout?”
Besen said mildly, “Those were Snowglade mechs. Why should here have same mechs?”
Toby answered, “Mechs’re ever’where, that’s why.”
Loren was taller than Toby but thinner, and this gave the steep planes of his face a look of studious care. “Who says?”
Toby snorted. “Family lore. Mechs’re all over Galactic Center.”
“Maybe they’re adapted for each star,” Loren said reasonably.
Toby had no answer to this, but Besen pursed her lips and observed, “Mechs could adapt faster on a planet, sure. It’s life that has a hard time.”
“Life?” Toby asked indignantly. “We can zig and zag faster’n any mech ever did.”
“No,” Besen said patiently, “I mean real adapting. Changing the body, stuff like that.”
Killeen gave Shibo a veiled look of approval. For midshipmen they knew a lot more than he had at that age. “How were these mechs here?”
