Asach nodded. “Fair enough. Why isn’t your claim respected?”

Laurel slumped to the couch, downcast again. “When the True Church came from Maxroy’s Purchase, early on they claimed jurisdiction over land rights administration. The first thing they did was disallow all prior claims, pending ‘review of standing.’ That didn’t mean much for a very long time, because for all their bold claims, they were only a tiny outpost colony, and Sixers still held the majority. It got worse when the True Church took over on Maxroy’s Purchase, because then they claimed control of the New Utah tithe to MP. Even so, there was nobody much out here. But when the TCM started enforcing tithe collection,” Laurel shrugged, “that’s when it got really bad. If I claim my rights, they’ll claim back tithe. Then they’ll own it all. That’s how they bankrupted Uncle Collie. ”

“But if you could enforce your claim?”

“I wouldn’t. Well, I would—enforce the rights—but I wouldn’t farm.”

“Why?

“Because that’s what Great-Whatever-Grandpa wanted. It’s written in his old Book. He said they‘d made a big mistake trying to farm this. He said that if we just left it alone, the angels would return.” She looked up beseechingly at Asach. “And he was right. They did. Just like he said.”

Asach nodded firmly. “Absolutely. Angels and manna.”

Mind reeling, Asach headed to the washbasin, but was spared disrobing decisions by Sargon’s arrival.

Once again, the Master filled the doorway. “I am informed that you are most certainly a Master.”

Dumbfounded, Asach dropped the soap but did not reply.

“Explain to me,” boomed Sargon’s voice, “the meaning of ‘Second Jackson Commission Representative of the Empire of Man.’”

Calmly, carefully, Asach crossed to the couch and donned the cloak; switched on the translator. “Excuse me, your Excellency. Could you please say that again?”

“Perhaps I was unclear? I was correctly speaking Anglic, yes?”

Asach bowed. “Certainly, your Excellency.”

“In that case, explain. Also explain the meaning of ‘Seer and Defender of the Church of Him in New Utah.’’’

Against all reason, Asach felt compelled to comply. It was, after all, their planet. But Laurel leapt into the breech before Asach could work through what that meant in terms of non-interference.

 “I am a Keeper of the Eye on Swenson’s Mountain that heralds your return.”

Sargon turned slowly from the waist. “Swenson?’

“Yes.”

“Eye?”

“His Eye, on the mountain.”

Sargon turned back to Asach, without comment.

Asach sought to clarify the untranslatable. “The light. The green light that shines every twenty-one years, from the top of the mountain. Where your Warriors, uh, found us.”

Behind Sargon, hissing erupted out of sight down the corridor.

Sargon’s voice was level, in a chanting pitch that combined a benediction with machine translation. “Ah. The light. On Beacon Hill. How amusing. It does not beckon our return. It beckons Swenson’s.”

“Swenson’s?”

“Swenson befriended our lines. Swenson was an ally against the vermin.” At this, Sargon descended the steps with two strides, jerked Laurel close with the gripping hand, pulled her head forward, and stared directly into her startlingly aquamarine eyes. “And you, vermin, claim to be of Swenson?”

Asach froze, startled by Sargon’s sudden fury; afraid to move; afraid not to, expecting Laurel to dissolve into depression. Surprisingly, she did not. “Yes,” she said firmly, “I am. The Defenders kept the mountain and this valley free of settlement. He said ‘keep this covenant, and you will be fed manna at the hands of angels.’ So we did. And you’ve come back, and today you fed me manna. As Seer, it is my duty to proclaim your return, and beg sustenance for the faithful.”

Sargon released her. She did not move. Now it was Laurel who stared into Sargon’s inscrutable eyes. Sargon’s third eyelid closed; opened. “You lie. Even now, your vermin destroy my ar.”

“Ar?” queried Asach, hoping to break the tension.

The cloak answered. Ar. Noun, all-gender. Productivity, fertility, capacity, capability, duty, responsibility, land, land-value, allotment, profit, rate of production, production value, production unit, amount of produce, unit of land measurement approximately equivalent to—

“Stop!”

Sargon swiveled to ponder this odd Master that stood conversing with itself. Asach spluttered for words, but once again Laurel was the faster.

“No!” she shouted, shaking her head emphatically. “Not us! You mean the sand miners, right? The poachers? The sand miners operating out of Watson Station?”

Sargon snapped back before she’d even finished, in the same disgusted tone used to say vermin. “Miners! No! No Miner would behave so! They waste labor! They use huge constructions to gouge out pits bigger than a hundred Houses! They fill the air with vile smoke and flood the valley with poisoned water! They are vermin! They destroy the ar. It costs me a bloody fortune to restore it! At least three additional Miners and a dedicated Farmer.”

Rather than showing any upset at this reply, Laurel was nodding agreement. “That’s them. They came in after the First Jackson delegation—” she looked daggers at Asach— “and drove us out. I had to reroute the Gathering to work around them. That’s when I ran into your—Farmer?”

Well, thought Asach. There’s my job simplified. Let’s just let all the locals go sort this out among themselves, shall we? Asach interrupted before Sargon could reply. “Perhaps, Your Excellency, I should explain about the Jackson commission?”

“By all means,” responded Sargon dryly.

“Before I began, milord, might I ask you a question?. You mentioned a beacon? To recall Swenson?”

“Yes,” said Sargon. “Swenson’s line.”

“And where is it that—Swenson’s line—are to return from?”

Sargon spread all three arms wide, in a stance that even the humans could read as incredulous. “Well, like you, of course. From the stars.”

“Ah,” said Asach, head pounding. Clearly, the first commission should have gotten out more. “Then perhaps I should explain about the Empire of Man.”

“Yes,” said Sargon, with growing impatience. “John David Swenson, of the Empire of Man. He pledged that, one day, his allies would follow.”

Ah, thought Asach, and, against all probability, here we are. Well, now I’m violating nothing by telling them we exist. Always a treat when colonials make promises on behalf of Empire. “Jackson is the name of the Governor of Swenson’s home world now. The Jackson Commission will arrive soon to offer New Utah membership in the Empire. If New Utah decides to join, the Commission will decide its status. My duty is to make preparations for the Commission’s arrival.”

Sargon grasped immediately many possible implications of that statement. “Offer? Offer to whom?”

“The planetary government.”

“Explain government.”

“Legitimate authority.”

“Legitimate how? Authority for what?”

And there’s the rub, thought Asach, becauselegally I can’t tell them what the classification standards are, lest they change to meet them. Asach found a neutral reply. “To make agreements. To decide. To keep the peace.”

“The Meeting decides. The Masters police their Houses.”

Asach did not respond.

“The Protector, the Masters of the six cities, with their Accountants and advisors. Keepers and Defenders of ar.”

Still, Asach made no reply. Sargon resumed the offensive.

“What status. What preparations?”

“Regarding status, that is not for me to say. I serve only as advisor. Regarding preparations, I arrange—things—for the Commissioners.”