When Ledroff came to Killeen in the embracing, he said easily, “Could be you’re right. Let’s get clear this ’plex.”

Killeen nodded, grinned, slapped the man hard on the back, and for the first time honestly thought of Ledroff as his Cap’n.

Killeen found it easier to talk to Ledroff, once they were on the move.

—You think that fact’ry means the mech’re using the Splashes now?— Ledroff asked as they puffed along, skip-walking with a low line of hills between them.

Toby was on Killeen’s right, holding one space in from the edge of the moving triangle. They were crossing a brown plain of dried mud. Giant flakes of it reared up, curled by the searing glare of the Eater overhead. The great clay-red fans were thinner than a man’s wrist, yet reared taller than a building. Killeen had the sensation of walking over a brown, storm-shredded lake, somehow frozen as it tossed. He came down on one huge mud sheet and it crumbled around him like a rotten leaf. He spilled through the dissolving cloud and landed with a thump, boot-deep in cloying dust.

He sneezed violently and called, “Arthur says everything we saw in that ’plex was made from plants.” He leaped out of the dust-hollow into clear, thin, dry air.

—And I found some navvys loading seeds,— Toby broke in. —’Member that.—

Ledroff’s voice sounded troubled. —So maybe mechs’re moving into the Splashes, too?—

“Looks like.”

—Damnall! Why can’t they stay in their fart-fat cities?—

“Arthur thinks they plan take over all Snowglade.”

Ledroff said, —Yeasay, one my Aspects been sayin’ that, too. Damn Aspects worry ’n’ talk, worry ’n’ talk, that’s all they got time for.—

Killeen sent an agreeing grunt. “Mechs may be just gettin’ ready for when the Eater gets closer.”

Toby asked, —Closer? Will it stay in the sky?—

“Remember the orbits I drew?” Killeen reminded him.

—Some.— The boy was not used to his interior world of projected images, lines and curves hanging in air, cascades of once-intelligible data bequeathed by forefathers who had never imagined that their descendants would see it as nonsense. Toby preferred the grip of the real.

“Arthur says things’re changing. Eater’ll get bigger.”

—So?—

“The mechs’re changin’, too.”

Toby laughed derisively. —Aw, that Arthur’s an old fart.—

Killeen chuckled. Let the boy stay that way for a while. No harm.

Since leaving the looted factory he had been telling his son Arthur’s information. Better to put it in simple terms than to have Toby get it in the stilted talk of the Aspects. That would come soon enough.

Killeen did not want Toby to carry an Aspect yet, though he was of an age when the Family would permit it. Aspects rode a young mind harder. In the old Citadel days, the Family would have waited until Toby was full-grown. Now every adult carried the maximum Aspect load. These living presences kept their covenant with the past, made them the heirs of a grand race, and not merely a ravaged, fleeing band. This now loomed as the practical opening to past lore and crafts. Continuity with humanity’s prouder days meant more, since few Family had time to learn from their Aspects and Faces while on the run.

Ledroff panted as he kept up their long-leaping, trotting pace, —If we knew what they’re doin’, why… aghhh!—

The wordless grating sound that came from Ledroff needed no interpretation for Killeen. The Family had never known why the mechs suddenly destroyed the Citadel, just as in earlier ages the Clan had never suspected what the mechs planned for Snowglade.

All attempts to reach the higher levels of mechs, to talk, to negotiate, had failed. Few humans knew how to communicate with mechs in even crude fashion. Moase, an old woman now riding on the transporter mech, had done some translating while a girl. The Family had not had opportunity to use her craft for a long time; they were too occupied with the simple task of running and eating and running again.

Killeen had an older presence, a Face named Bud, who had been a master translator long ago. But Killeen had never used Bud that way, relying on the ancient engineer only for simple tasks. He called up the Face and asked, “You know anything ’bout weather changes?”

The Bud Face’s reply came in stubby units, since Faces had only limited chunks of the original personality.

In my day air warmer.

I translate once for Crafter.

Crafter say Snowglade get cooler.

Need me translate again?

“Naysay, sorry,” Killeen answered the Face gently, touched by the plaintive small voice as it volunteered. He had not called on Bud for a long time. It was hard to release even a simple Face and remain alert, while on the move.

He pondered Bud’s question. He called up Arthur and got a rapid summary of ancient methods of talking to mechs. Much of it was incomprehensible.

When humanity had been forced from the sprawling Arcologies, it had tried shrewdly to market its scavenging skills among the mech cities. Teams would raid far cities, then leave the best loot outside a nearby mech enclave. Done regularly, such peace offerings enticed the neighbor enclave to stop assaulting the human Citadels. This policy worked for a while. Humans thought their Citadels, smaller and less conspicuous than the large Arcologies, were safe.

Some Family Citadels built upon this, specializing in talking to mech envoys and arranging trades. Family King had been best at it, but even their expert translators had been betrayed and killed at times. It was a risky life.

I would do again though.

Let me work.

Killeen noted wryly that it would be his skin risked this time. Bud caught this and retreated, cowed. Aspects and Faces had a curious isolation from the consequences of their advice, since they did not feel Killeen’s pain or hardship. But they would die if he did.

Undaunted, a biting, acerbic Aspect piped up. Killeen gritted his teeth.

The unholy trafficking with mechs met the fate it deserved. Compromise with the unliving is impossible. Surely history has taught you that!

The Aspect named Nialdi forked through Killeen’s sensorium like yellow storm lightning, releasing its years of pent-up frustration. Nialdi was truly ancient, from the days when humanity had spread effortlessly over the temperate zones of Snowglade. He had been a famous priest of that era’s religion.

“I’m tryin’ think of ways savin’ our ass, you old bastard!” Killeen blurted out loud. He mentally grasped at the Aspect but it slipped away, fanning out like a flock of angry orange birds.

You reject the Word? Has not the savage mech fury taught you at last that there can be no staying of our hand? The Grail speaks through me!

“Get back in!” Killeen shouted. He snatched after flapping threads of Nialdi. The Aspect kept hurling religious jargon at him, fluttering through his sensorium. Killeen was so intent on snaring the Aspect that he himself stumbled. Fell. His curved helmet plate was thrown back and he got a mouthful of sand. He came up swearing.

—Can’t keep your Aspects down?— Ledroff sent derisively.

—Man’s got feet like rocks,— Jocelyn jibed.

Irked, Killeen forced Nialdi back into a far cranny of his mind and slammed the hornet’s buzz into a silencing, encapsulating crack. Aspects were getting harder and harder to control for everyone in the Family. Another reason not to burden Toby with one, he thought sourly.

They left the mud plain and mounted an eroded ridge-line. Denix and the Eater cast their stark, separate glares on the land. Bushes dotted the shadows. They were pushing farther into the Splash. Creekbeds were damp, as though rain had come within the last few days. Occasional puffball clouds skated high up, pushed by fast winds. Great fans of smoothed pebbles and sand spoke of torrents which had once rushed down from the slumping clay hills.