“Why do the tomb-robbers have a greater claim to your moral protection than the innocent clients here?” Montrose shouted.

Keir drew back fastidiously. “How innocent are any here? In any case, the Blues are a cousin species to the Grays, and we must reestablish our broken communion with them. We were designed for this cause by our creator-parents’ cells.”

Menelaus gritted his teeth. “The cause you serve is long dead. These Blue Men are killers. Your indifference aids and abets their crimes. They killed the three Locusts who tried to help me when I first woke up. I promised to save them, and I failed to do it. The least I can do is make sure blood is paid out for blood spilled.”

“Their names were Crucxit, Axcit, and Litcec of Seven-Twenty-One North Station. They were from a century when the Inquiline and nonjurors were not recognized as independent entities with any right to exist. They overstepped the ethical claim I respect, attempted to suborn the mental environment of the Blue Men, and were murdered in retaliation. Shall you indeed retaliate for that retaliation? If so, be deliberate and cautious: perspectives of differing ages disclose differing aspects of the complex edifice of proper conduct.”

Menelaus said, “The Blue Men are trespassing on the Tombs.”

Keir said, “If the Tomb system were functioning, it would not have brought us forth by accident in a time when the human world is dead. The failure of the Judge of Ages to carry out his obligations must be taken into account. There is no current civilization. Hence the Blue Men must trespass on the Tombs for supplies. They are compelled by necessity, which is your excuse for the deceptions you practice.”

Menelaus spat, “Nothing here has been an accident. There is a current civilization; and your damned Machine you love so much, Exarchel, that ran your age, is still active and no doubt running this one. He just has not shown his hand yet.”

“You speak in ignorance. Exarchel was merely one participant in a complex social and mental organization, treated warily, hemmed in by certain checks and balances and…”

“… And actually running things because he is smarter than you.”

Keirthlin interrupted. “Father, I submit that we are operating on partial information, and should assume the negative information space of the missing data matches the contour in the fashion most favorable to the case leading to the minimal-maximal solution to the conflict of ethical-legal claims here.”

Keir said to her, “You are urging we both act on the principle of absolute trust? But I cannot deduce his motives.”

Keirthlin said, “That is because our minds are complex, whereas his motive is simple. He is, in his own person, what the Blue Men artificially attempt to be: a man with no affectations or ulterior motives. The moral category distortions are caused by circumstances, not by him. The Blue Men are, after all, tomb-looters! That is the crucial trespass that defines and limits the possible legal resolutions.”

Keir said, “Violence is unthinkable!”

She flashed him a pert glance of her odd, metallic-white eyes. “Then don’t think about it.”

He said, “My internal emulation of you is not reaching the same conclusions you are. What additional thing does the real you know that my projection of you does not?”

Menelaus looked back and forth, his face almost blank with wonder, as if too many conflicting emotions, wonder and impatience among them, had canceled each other out on his features.

Keirthlin said, “I know his energy aura contains keys compatible with the coffin mechanisms.” She pointed a finger at Menelaus dramatically, accusingly. “The speculation of Aanwen must be correct. This is one of the Tomb Guardians. That means he is under a moral obligation to protect the revenants, including us, and including the Simplifiers; which means in turn we are under a moral obligation, even at our own expense, to assist him. Did we not take advantage of the Tombs to escape an era of glaciers? Is there no reciprocity for that?”

Father and daughter stared at each other. His eyes were troubled; hers were bright.

Menelaus said mildly, “Is this how your whole society worked? It is amazing anyone ever did anything. How did you decide when to take a coffee break, or when it was OK to filch a cigarette from the pack your brother kept hidden under his bed? Just curious.”

Keirthlin turned toward Menelaus, her eyes flashing. “Will you trust me, completely and absolutely, if only for a short time?”

Menelaus looked taken aback, but spoke in the voice of a man who comes to a quick decision. “If you are servants of the Machine, you would not know how Exarchel has been manipulating your memories or perceptions. But I will trust you now. I am desperate. It’s not like things can get much worse.”

“Then tell me your identity and motives.”

He put out his hand. “Okay, maybe they can get worse. I’ll make you a deal. You trust me first. Your personal infosphere is carried in capsules on your belts. Hand me one, attune it to me, and establish a link to any working Tomb channels. Once I am armed and dangerous, I can tell you who I am and what I mean to do.”

She unclipped one of the little cylinders at her belt and put it in his hand. Immediately he felt an ache in his back teeth as the two semi-incompatible systems worked out mutual formats and eventually—almost four seconds later—shook hands.

He clicked open the little golden tube with his thumb. It was a line of gems, just like the ones the Blues wore on their coats, held together one atop the next, like a finger wearing so many rings it could not bend: sardonyx, carnelian, chrysolite, beryl, topaz, chrysoprase, jacinth.

From his implants, he received two sets of signals. The main and secondary power on the level where he was had been locked out. There was no response except for a simple denial signal. However, from the next level down, he could log on to the secondary and nonlethal weapons. Something or someone was blocking him from reaching the main batteries of the heavier weaponry. He gritted his buzzing teeth in frustration. Something in the Tomb brain was broken, or corrupted, or someone else was active in the system. He knew not which it was.

If he could get the dogs to carry him belowground, he would be within range to give commands to at least some nonlethals and automatics. It was something.

Like a whisper, he then picked up a third signal, a blank carrier wave. He moved his eyes without turning his head. It was coming from Alalloel. His implants, by themselves, had not been able to reach the strange-eyed woman. Whether she had been ignoring him or the Blue Men had been jamming him was still not clear, but these Gray instruments had opened a channel of communication.

He spoke in a low tone. “Your guess falls short. I am no servant. I am Montrose, the Judge of Ages. My men are buried here, and are starting to thaw. As soon as they wake, I will enact a bloody vengeance on those who trespassed in my Tombs. The horror of my retribution must be so great that it will echo through history for thousands of years, that generations yet unborn will fear to trespass again.”

Keir said in a voice hollow with horror, “You are the one who condemned the Noösphere to destruction. You introduced Cliometric variables into the scope of history to preordain its disintegration!”

Menelaus said roughly, “You should be grateful. That world was one big termite hive. It was one creature with infinite bodies and only one head. Well, brother, that one-headed world creature had only one neck, to make it easy for Exarchel to snap a collar on it, and then hand the leash to the Hyades. Whatever ain’t an individual ain’t rightly human.”

The gray twins stared at him with wide and silvery eyes. He could not tell if they were afraid because they thought him mad or speaking lies, or thought him sober and speaking truth.