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had not been surprised that their thickly accented speech was in his language;
it had never occurred to him that humans spoke more than one way.
They had led him through rambling encampments of tattered tents and lean-tos
of scrap and brush, past more people than he had ever seen assembled. Even the
Citadel had held fewer Bishops than this. Flapping pennants with unfamiliar
symbols suggested that this was a full Tribe. No such grand meeting had
occurred on Snowglade within living memory.
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A woman in gray coverails pulled back a tent flap and someone poked Killeen in
the buttocks. He walked in, taking long quick strides to avoid another poke,
and to maintain some shred of dignity.
The tent seemed larger from inside, with a high peak lit by a phosphorescent
ivory ball. Oil lamps glowed along the tent's four oblique diagonals, casting
blades of yellow down onto the heads of dozens of people. They were gathered
at an orderly, respectful distance from the man at the very center of the
tent.
A black desk of polybind ceramic dominated the room. Killeen wondered if these
people had carried that heavy mass around with them. It looked mechmade,
smoothly curved and sculpted so that its sharp arc focused the eye on the
small man behind it, lounging in a light metal chair.
The figure did not seem impressive enough to merit the fixed, hushed attention
of everyone else in the tent. He was short, stocky, with hair as black as the
ebony desk. A long gash of sullen red ran from above his right temple down
across the swarthy skin
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to the hinge of his jaw. Something had nearly struck his eye, for the mark
burrowed into his heavy eyebrows.
About a dozen men and women flanked the desk like guards.
No one said anything. They were all watching the man eat a large piece of
green fruit. Juice ran down his chin and dripped onto a white cloth set on his
chest. The man's uniform was made of a cool-blue, light, comfortable-looking
fabric unlike any Killeen had seen before. He smacked his lips. He was giving
all his attention to his eating and everyone else seemed to be, too.
The long silence continued. Killeen wondered if this show was for his benefit
and dismissed the thought when he saw the rapt look on the faces around him.
This was some sort of privileged, special audience, unlike any meeting of a
Cap'n and his Family that Killeen knew. The man eating wore no signifying
patch. The people nearby had makeshift uniforms of rough cloth, with insignia
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xt vaguely similar to the house emblems of Snowglade. Their faces, though
seeming dazed, bore a certain intense look of authority. Some wore small
medals of tarnished, ropelike silver.
Could these be the Cap'ns of the legions he had seen outside?
Finally the small man sucked on his snaggly teeth, smacked his lips, and
tossed the remnant core of the fruit over his shoulder.
As someone moved to pick it up the man leaned back and stretched, yawning,
still not looking at anyone in particular. Then he seemed to notice Killeen
and regarded him with unreadable blank eyes. "Well?" the man said.
"I, my name is--"
"Knees!" the man shouted.
Killeen blinked. "What? I--"
Someone hit Killeen hard yet neatly across the backs of his knees, knocking
his support away so he dropped forward and hit the floor, barely managing to
stay on his knees.
"Signify!" a voice whispered near him.
"I come from Family Bishop. I honor these lands of, of..."
Killeen had begun the old greeting in hopes that some idea would come to him,
but now he needed to insert the name of this Family.
"Treys!" the whisper said.
·
. . Treys, seeking help in a time of dire need, against the depredations and
torments inflicted by our mutual--"
"Bindings!" the man behind the desk shouted.
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Instantly hands grabbed Killeen's arms and swiftly tied them behind him. He
let them without protest, because of something he glimpsed in the man's eyes
as the orders were given. The
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Gregory Benford empty eyes had suddenly jerked with animated fire, a spasm of
wrenching pleasure.
The man stood up. Honorific pendants swayed from a broad scarlet belt that
neatly bisected his blue suit. "He is disarmed?"
A whisper answered, "Aye, Your Supremacy."
"He understands his position in our cause?"
The whisperer near Killeen hesitated, then said, "He is a
Cap'n, Your Supremacy, so we did not feel qualified to instruct him."
Evidently this transparent attempt to shift responsibility worked, for the
swarthy man nodded calmly and spread his hands toward
Killeen, as if addressing a problem. "I must attend to this myself, then."
Abruptly he frowned at Killeen. "Your Family?"
"Bishop."
"No such."
"We're not from this planet."
"Never heard such."
"We came here searching for refuge from the mechs."
"Ha! You chose well. Here we have vanquished them."
"So I see."
"You see only that which I determine," the short man said reasonably. "You
will understand that."
"I, ah---"
"It is the devil Cybers we fight now. They too shall yield to our bravery and
ardor and spirits of fire."
"Cybers?"
His Supremacy nodded, eyes empty again. Lips pursed, expression expectant, he
seemed to be listening to some distant voice. Then his attention returned and
the muscles of his face stretched his olive skin so that it gleamed beneath
the cone of phosphorescent radiance that cascaded around him. The brilliant
ball directly above cast a pearly circle on the floor, with the swarthy man as
its center. The crowd kept its distance, venturing only as far as the softer
glow of the oil lamps intruded into the hard, white circle.
He continued abruptly, as though there had been no pause.
"They cut the lands with their great sword. Just as victory came to us, as the
mechs fled before our assaults, these giant things fell upon us from the sky.
Our triumph was denied. But we shall conquer!"
This provoked loud shouts of agreement from everyone in the tent.
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The man looked expectantly at Killeen. "This action is, of course, a tribute
to my immortal nature. They send against me the very worst that the
evil-hinged skies can muster."
His eyes left Killeen and shot around the room, moving intently from face to
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face beneath the oily yellow glow. His lips bulged out as if barely containing
a vast pressure. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]