The antennae of the three small men at his side flicked in unison.

The implants in Montrose’s chest, neck, and skull were made of organic material, not metal, similar to organs in birds, sharks, and eels that manipulated electromagnetic waves. The artificial nerve fiber leading from the medulla oblongata controlled their activity level, and the auditory centers in his cortex in his brain controlled their sending and receiving of radio data.

The broadcast from the short, dark dwarf was in the code elements based on a simplified version of the Monument math, which Montrose had no trouble decoding.

We are of the Noösphere, isolated elements. There is no signal on the airwaves, neither any carrier waves, no navigation beacons, anywhere within range. The world outside is dead and shows no radio traffic.

This artificial race had been designed somewhere in the seventy-fifth century by the science of the Iatrocracy, were hunted almost to extermination, but eventually prevailed, rising to world dominion in the eightieth century.

As the other helped him to his feet, the two were close enough that Montrose could detect the unique double pulse pattern of the two-hearted Locusts. The grace and control of a finely responsive nervous system were evident in the little man’s posture and poise.

Montrose tried to send back a simple set of signals. “There may be some—” He did not know how to form the word for mainframe in this code. “—big-sized thinking machines in cities far from here. When the clouds clear up, seek signals on the shortwave band. You are not to commit suicide. Resources are scarce!”

We are isolated and unable to assist the Noösphere. If biosuspension is not available, self-demotion is indicated to preserve scarce resources. The Noösphere is offline. Our mind-fragments are very alone.

“I have resources to sustain you, and I will, as soon as circumstances permit. Listen! The Noösphere requires your continued functioning for now, attached to my entourage, economic unit, and military unit. See? I’m adopting you. I will help you. Self-demotion is strictly forbidden.”

We must form unity with all. Unity to assist least-self-capable elements.

Montrose sent, “Yes. We are all supposed to help the weak and wounded. Come on. Let’s start getting some of these people on their feet.”

Montrose cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted left and right, “Ahoy! Any man jack of y’all savvy English? Do you know what these little men are saying? Se habla español?” He tried several other languages from different historical periods, as “Correct thought! Good speak! Silence ungood!” or “Whoso of ye knowst the Wise Tongue?” or “Attention! Do you read me? Report!” or “Who can ease the ache of my ear-loneliness with delight of the mouth?” or “Comprehend your ear-organ these words, here-now?”

3. Prissy Pskov

A woman, who had been squatting on the ground, arms wrapped about her knees, head bowed, rocking slowly back and forth, now uncurled and stood and stepped near.

She was big-nosed and high-cheeked with stern, striking features, and lips so thick and full that they gave her otherwise harsh face a crude sensuality. Her hair had been biomodified so that quills like the spines of a porcupine cascaded from her scalp. Seeing his gaze, she raised a hand to cover her face and lowered another to cover her crotch, leaving her breasts free. Evidently her face was taboo but not her bosom.

She spoke in a harsh, glottal, clicking tongue. It was a version of Iatric, the language of the Therapeutae used in Central Asia and Siberia, which he had learned during his short thaw in A.D. 7234.

She said, “I will aid you if you will protect me. The danger is much.”

Montrose said, “It’s a deal. I’ll do what I can.”

“Then be still!” she said.

“Eh?”

“Silent! You know too many speech forms. You do not want to be taken off by the culls.”

The word was a curse in her language, meaning a person so worthless that not even his organs could serve as transplants—someone whose only contribution to life was castration, and the infanticide of his children.

Without moving his head, Montrose moved his eyes left and right. He saw no Blue Men in evidence, and the dog things were paying no attention.

But it made sense that the Blue Men, wherever they were, would be watching to see, first, if any of the prisoners showed initiative or courage—it was important to remove troublemakers from the outset—and, second, to see if any scholars mingled among the thaws knew any of the dead languages from still earlier periods, otherwise forgotten.

The stern-faced woman gestured with her thumb. Her thumb had been biomodified, so that something like the stinger of a wasp slid out from beneath her thumbnail when she pointed.

“These three are Locusts, enemies of all law. These three urge you to health, and wish your aid in helping others, wounded or dazed, to the showers. It is altruism.” This last was spoken with a word-ending that indicated disgust.

She crooked her thumb, and the stinger retracted.

Montrose said, “Who is in charge of the world in this era? I don’t see how a place like this could exist. I would have thought it would be more advanced, with no room for large-scale crimes like this. Can satellites see us?” He interrupted himself. “Showers? I’m not sure I like the sound of that.”

Only now did he consciously notice that people in the trench were moving, if slowly. The giant and the albino he had glimpsed, for example, were out of sight around the turn, and others from the pit slowly filed in behind. The only reason why it was not obvious that everyone in the rain-chilled pit was inching toward the entrance was that various groups from various periods were trying to keep as far from one another as possible. He could see two Hormagaunts, for example, lumpish or dark-furred figures of monstrous form only remotely human, at opposite sides of the pit, as far from each other as they could get. One had his claws unsheathed; the other had deployed his elbow spikes.

“Come on. Let’s start getting some of these people on their feet. You too, uh, lady, what’s your name?”

“I am of Pskov, specific name Prissy. I am of three-layer defense, and cannot approach or be approached. You, after-lingerer, register neutral on the biotic scale. You I can approach.”

“Pleased to meetcha. Wished it’d been under better circumstances. Come on. Help me get this lug to his feet. Get him out of the rain.”

This was the closest stricken man. He was a gangling figure with coal black skin and a pattern of delicate white scars on his face and forearms and inner thighs. The man’s eyes were rolled up in his head, so only dull slits of white showed between his unclosed eyelids. The fellow looked human, and if the scars were from luminous implants, he might even have been from as far back as the Cryonarchy. Too bad he was stunned: if he were from that era, he might have been the only one in the whole pit who did not mind being nude.

Prissy Pskov stepped back distastefully. “It is violation of quarantine.”

4. Other Mankinds from Other Ages

Montrose grunted and heaved the man over his shoulder, and took a step or two toward the opening into the trenches. Prissy Pskov followed. She looked left and right at the nude crowd. With a rustle, the black quills stood up like the feathers of a Sioux war-bonnet. It was an alarming sight.

People stepped back, making room for her.

Montrose stepped past two effete and sad-eyed and slant-eyed yellow-skinned men from the seventieth century, each as handsome as Adonis. He pointed at them with his free hand, and barked in a language called Natural, “You, there! And you! It is your pleasure to help with the carrying of the dazed and weakened. Stoop! These here on the ground are closer to your heart than incestuous-homosexual-love-partner.” This last was a one syllable word in their speech, which did not have a separate term for “brothers.”