Great Sky River (40 page)

The Mantis had come with them. It had necked itself down to a tight assembly of rods and oval compartments in order to fit
inside the Duster. Now it wanted to stay beyond the range of hills ringing Metropolis until the right time to appear.

The magnetic being had said no more after delivering its strange last message. Killeen did not think about that or anything
else. He was tired. He carried Toby piggyback for the last part because the boy had finally given out. The aftereffects of
Toby’s injury and the mech treatment came home and he could barely stay awake.

The Kings had gotten everybody fancied up for their arrival. Evidently Hatchet had always made an event out of his return
from a raid. So as soon as people in Metropolis picked up the party’s scent in their sensoria, Kings and Rooks and Bishops
flocked to greet them.

As the party trickled in, not talking and not carrying much booty, the cheering died away. After they saw that Hatchet was
not in the party, none of the Kings had much to say. Killeen just kept walking, carrying Toby through the dusty dawn light.
Jocelyn and some of the Bishops came out and tried to talk but he carried Toby into his small hut and put the boy to bed.

By that time Ledroff and Fornax were speaking with the rest of the party but Killeen did not go out to them. He sat for a
moment on his own bed, his thinking going like gravel sliding downhill. Then he was blinking awake hours later with blades
of yellow Denixlight striking him in the face.

He judged the time by where Denix hung against a distant backdrop of dark stardust. Though he had not slept more than a few
hours, he felt rested. What was left of the fatigue became a mildness that he could feel giving him
a sure sense of purpose. He checked on Toby, who slept sprawled open and easy.

Seeing his son, he remembered when the spectacle of Toby’s breathing had transfixed him in this room. It had been so long
ago. Seeing Toby again, but this time knowing his son would come bounding up as soon as he awoke, was worth every bit of what
had happened. And worth what would come next.

Then he went outside.

It went with Ledroff much the way Killeen had expected it. He listened, nodding every once in a while to show he was paying
attention, but thinking ahead. There would have to be a Witnessing, yes, he saw that. No, he didn’t want to say that he had
shot Hatchet by mistake while he was trying to hit the other thing. Yes, he was sure of that. Of course he understood that
this was a serious matter. Yes, the others were right, the Mantis was staying out of Metropolis. There was no threat from
it right away No, Killeen did not want to see the woman Hatchet lived with and explain to her how it had happened. That would
come out in the Witnessing. He would speak for himself and didn’t need Ledroff to say anything much or make a plea to the
assembled Families. Of course he saw that this was a serious matter. Of course.

Ledroff had Killeen’s hut searched. Just a precaution, Ledroff said. He confiscated the small flask of alcohol in Killeen’s
carrypack. Killeen chuckled quietly when Ledroff stalked out with the flask held contemptuously at arm’s length. He understood
that the Cap’n meant it to be both a humiliation and a way to undercut Killeen’s status with others. What Ledroff did not
know was that such things did not matter to Killeen anymore.

He went back inside but Toby wasn’t awake yet.
Killeen watched his boy for a while, thinking. His Aspects sent tinny voices lacing through his sensorium, plucking at his
attention. He could feel their anxiety building.

Shibo came by. They rounded up some food for their carrypacks and checked out their equipment. This habit came from the years
of running; you got ready to move again, first thing after you stopped.

Toby woke up and wanted to go out. Reluctantly Killeen went along, but guided them away from Metropolis. He did not want to
meet people and talk about what had happened.

They strolled into the nearby hills, saying little. Shibo confirmed Killeen’s guess. While they had slept, she said, the Mantis
had spoken to Ledroff and Fornax. It had offered to shelter them in Metropolis.

The Mantis knew something of human psychology. It framed its arguments as an even bargain.

The Mantis said it would protect Metropolis, using artful deception of its superiors. It would deflect Marauders away. It
would only “harvest” old people, when they were near death anyway.

In return—and here the Mantis revealed its understanding of human pride—the Families would undertake raids on selected mech
cities. What they stole would provide the Mantis with barter goods. These it could use to amass wealth in mech society. Finally,
neatly tying the loop, this added power of the Mantis would enable it to in turn cover the presence of the vermin humans.

Killeen was numbed by Shibo’s clear explanation. The proposition was clever. It let humanity retain some of its dignity. To
a Metropolis still shocked by the loss of Hatchet, it would seem a godsend.

And Killeen could see no way to counter it.

They walked through low canyons between steep hills. Toby showed no fatigue and even dashed about, chasing the vagrant small
animals who lived beneath scrub bushes.

Shibo said little, just reported what people were saying. Ledroff and Fornax had told several of the Mantis’s presence beyond
Metropolis, and rumors spread everywhere.

The Witnessing to come would first take up Hatchet’s death. Then it would move to the discussion of the Mantis’s proposal.

Killeen said sourly, “I think I can predict what they’ll decide.”

“Yeasay,” Shibo said forlornly.

From up a nearby arroyo came a woman’s shout. “Hail! Killeen, Shibo—is that you?”

From behind a knot of bushes came a mech. Killeen automatically reached for a weapon and then saw that it was the manmech,
last seen back at the mechplex.

“I have journeyed far, pursuing you,” the womanly voice called.

The mech was dusty, dented, and marred. Broken links hung from its treads.

Shibo gaped. “How… ?”

“I attached a tracer to Toby’s ankle. See?”

The mech gestured with an extruded arm at Toby’s boots. A tiny patch no larger than a fingernail was stuck there. “I know
the ways of mech transport. I followed your trail until I saw that you had returned to your Duster. It took a while to find
an air-hauler I could assume command of. But I did, and have followed you. Ruff!”

Toby laughed. “The dog mech.”

Killeen shook his head wonderingly “I’m afraid things’ve changed since we saw you.”

The woman’s voice was incongruous, coming from the mech’s speaker. “I sighted a large mech as I approached. I believe it could
be quite dangerous. It moves among these hills. You should alert the human community here—”

“We know,” Toby said. “It’s the Mantis.”

The manmech went on enthusiastically, “Very well then. Still, I must follow my time-honored injunction. I remind you, humans,
that I need only the correct key to deliver to you information.”

Killeen shook his head tiredly. “Don’t think old lore’s much use now. See, we—”

“No, wait,” Toby said. “Dad, ’member what that thing in the sky said?”

“What—the magnetic mind? Listen, I didn’t understand much what it said either, and—”

“We figured it said somethin” ’bout old things,” Toby said earnestly. “A city or somethin’, right?”

Killeen frowned. “I doubt it, but… let’s see, what’d it say…?”

Shibo said precisely, “Do not build a Citadel.”

Killeen smiled without humor. “Good advice, but too late. Citadels draw Marauders. Metropolis isn’t any Citadel, but it’s
already built.”

Toby added, “There was somethin’ else. Right—it said. ’AskfortheArgo.’”

Suddenly the manmech cried, “Ruff! The sanctioned key! Thank you! Thank you!”

They all stared at the mech as it spun with joy on its treads, barking.

“Argo! Argo! This word is my key. It licenses me to deliver my message at last.”

Killeen asked, “Argo? Some old human city?”

“Oh no! Argo is a
ship.
Long ago my brothers and I concealed it. I know the place. I know where the Argo lies!”

Toby said wonderingly, “A ship…”

Killeen consulted his Face, Bud, and asked, “For oceans?” He shrugged. “No big water left on Snowglade.”

“No! It navigates between stars. The craft was completed long ago. I helped bury it. It can sail toward the Mandikini.”

“In the sky?” Shibo asked doubtfully.

“Yes! Humanity made the Argo especially to accept only human-tinged commands. I and a hundred of my brothers were charged
with carrying information of its location. If humanity ever needed a long-voyager, and could not fashion one themselves, we
were to speak. But only to the descendants of those who made the Argo—such as are you, since you know the key word, the ship
itself!” The manmech finished with a resounding bark.

The three humans stared at one another, startled.

The manmech spun again, rattling and churning. “Ruff! I stand ready! Ruff. Message ends! Ruff!”

He had no warning. The attack came as he walked back into Metropolis with Shibo and Toby. They were talking to the manmech,
which ground along on noisy, grating treads.

Toby chattered at his side, eyes alive with bright visions.

In a distracted moment, Killeen’s own Aspects struck at him.

He wavered, stumbled, and fell in what felt to him to be a pinwheel dive forward into a thin patch of aromatic grass.

A tide rushed in him. All his Aspects and Faces yammered at once. Quick hot spikes of protest shot up from an undercurrent
of low moaning fear.

It was a chorus that swelled into a lifting, surging wave. Each voice lapped over others. They invaded his arms, legs, and
chest with icy rivulets. His muscles jerked. The hammering shouts coursed through his veins and struck coldly into his tightening
gut. He opened his mouth to cry out and they jammed that, too, lockjawing his aching hinge joints.

They had seen what he was thinking.

Aspects and Faces were old, conservative, wedded to Snowglade.

A wave of shrill fear broke through him. His heels drummed against the grass. Milky white flooded his eyes, blotting out Toby
and Shibo, who were reaching for him, their mouths moving soundlessly like fish behind glass. Killeen fought against the swelling
ancestral yammering.

He tried to slip away from them, escape down into his sensorium. They followed everywhere, striking chilly spikes into the
crevices where he fled.

Don’t risk us!
a dozen voices cried.
Never leave the homeworld!

He writhed. He felt his body only distantly, through a narrow gray tunnel. His feet and hands scrabbled at the
soil. These came as slow percussions, as though he was numbed by creeping cold.

And still the high-pitched babble washed through him. Burnt-yellow anxiety spurted, yowling. Below it groaned a mad bass undercurrent
of foreboding.

Coward! Do not flee!

The shouts came to him through watery light.

Rebuild the sacred Citadels. The Holy Clauses demand it!

Killeen struggled against a downsucking wave of anger. He was drowning in a sea of insects.

They splashed against him and crawled into his nostrils. Tiny shouts plucked at his skin. Pincers stung his flesh. He tried
to breathe and inhaled a tickling, tinkling chorus.

Fool! Ingrate!

Traitor you are!

Centuries labored we here. Dare flee it now? Think not of us?

We belong here. Snowglade is humanity’s true home.

Run now you would with tail between legs? Coward!

He felt himself weakening.

Tiny feelers plunged through his sinuses. Antennae choked him.

His lungs filled with a black army.

Then his furiously kicking heels nicked something solid.

The waters were a living mass of tiny scrabbling legs.

He rolled in a crashing insect wave. He struggled for air and his legs sought the firm rock beneath.

Caught it again.

Pushed down. Stood.

Wriggling masses lapped at him.

Plucked at his skin.

Swarmed and cried and splashed.

He was standing in the wash of a pounding storm that blew in from far offshore. The waves of tiny voracious minds came steadily,
shouting at him, licking mouths in every droplet. Moist tongues lashed at him. But he dug in his heels and the next wave did
not overpower him. He fought against the swirling currents. Then the riptide tried to draw him away, tugging at his feet.

If he had been standing on sand, the rushing insect waters could have undermined him, cut away his footing.

But it was rock. Hard and solemn stone.

And it carried the stiff, brittle feel of the Mantis.

He backed toward the shore, always keeping his eye on the incoming toppling combers of mad mouths. They sucked at him with
bloody lips. He stepped carefully, always gripping the rock with his toes, feeling his way, the stone his true anchor.

The currents lashed and fought and then finally ebbed. He struggled ashore against a strong tide. Then he puffed and coughed,
spitting out the motes, blowing his nose clear of sticky mucus. As the slimy stuff struck the rocks it cried out sharply in
vain tenor despair.

Cool droplets of tiny biting pincers oozed down his legs and puddled on the crisp warm sand. He shook the
screaming insect minds from his hair, cricked them forth from the corners of his eyes. Their wails dwindled.

He looked at a yellow glow high up the sky. It dried him.

Then he was staring faceup into slanting blades of pale pure Denixlight.

Shibo said, “He’s blinking. Are you… ?”

“Yeasay. I’m here.”

“Aspect storm?”

“Yeasay. I… something…”

He felt the solid stone still pressing against his heels. He glanced at the circle of anxious faces peering down at him.

“It was… the Mantis,” discovering this and saying it in the same instant. “It came, gave me a standing place. Leverage. So
I could fight them down.”