Grabbing pikes and clubs and bows, the men ran at Abel, howling. With a cry of pleasure Abel joined with them. He brushed aside their clubs as if they were twigs wielded by children. He got two of the Zealots by the neck, lifted them clean off the ground, and slammed their heads together, making a sound like eggs cracking.

But now the bowmen had raised their weapons and let fly. Emma, despising herself, huddled behind Abel’s broad back. She heard the grisly impact of arrows in Abel’s chest. He fell to his knees, and blood spewed from his mouth.

The archers were struggling to reload. Mary hurled herself at them, fists flailing.

Emma grabbed Joshua’s arm. “Malenfant! Quickly, Joshua. Malenfant — where?”

For answer he ran towards the chapel-like central building. Emma touched Abel’s back apologetically, and ran after Joshua towards the chapel. She seethed with rage and adrenaline and fear. This had better be worth the price we’re paying, Malenfant.

Manekatopokanemahedo:

Manekato stood quickly. Nemoto hurried behind her, sheltering behind her bulk. Babo came running to join them, his legs and arms levering him rapidly over the floor of Adjusted Space. Other people gathered in a loose circle around this central confrontation, watching nervously. Workers scuttled back and forth, seeking tasks, trying to discern the needs of the people, ignored.

For the first time it struck Manekato just how physically big Without-Name was towering over a lesser hominid like Nemoto, but larger than Manekato too, larger than any of the other people on this expedition. Physical size did not matter at home, on civilized Earth. But on this savage Moon, strength and brute cunning were key survival factors; and Without-Name seemed to relish her unrestrained power.

And now Manekato noticed a new hominid following in Without-Name’s wake. It was a male, taller than Nemoto, rake-thin, and he was dressed in a tight robe of animal skin stained black, perhaps by charcoal. He drew a Ham boy after him. The boy was dressed in elaborate clothing, and he had a collar around his neck, connected to a lead in the tall hominid’s hand.

Babo said tightly, “And is this your Praisegod Michael, Renemenagota of Rano?”

Without-Name raised one hand.

Crossbow bolts thudded into Babo’s belly and chest and upper arms. He cried out softly, dull surprise on his face. He crumpled forward and fell on the bolts, making them twist, and his cries deepened. A Worker rushed to tend Babo’s wounds, but Without-Name kicked it away.

Manekato, stunned, saw that the circular platform was surrounded by hominids Zealots, in their sewn skins. Some of them, bizarrely, were riding on the shoulders of Running-folk. They seemed afraid, but they held up their crossbows and spears with defiance.

Praisegod Michael passed his hands over Babo’s shuddering form, making a cross in the air. “Behold, Esau my brother is a hairy man, and I am a smooth man…”

Manekato found words. “Renemenagota — what are you doing?”

“Providing you with a purpose.”

“Your army of hominids would be no match for the power we could deploy,” Manekato whispered.

“Of course not — if you choose to deploy it,” Without-Name said mockingly. “But you won’t, will you? Meanwhile these hominids believe they are soldiers of God. They have only their simple handmade weapons, but their heads are on fire. And so their crossbow bolts will best all your learning and technology. And under my guidance, they will sweep the world.”

Now Nemoto stepped out from behind Manekato. Without-Name eyed the little hominid with undisguised loathing.

But Praisegod Michael faced her, apparently unsurprised to find her here. “You are the one called Nemoto. Malenfant told me I would find you here.”

“I know your kind,” Nemoto said. She turned to Manekato. “You must stop this, here and now. You have not seen such things before, Manekato. With Renemenagota’s organizational skill, Michael and his fellows will march on, overwhelming others with their savagery and determination, armed with an unwavering faith that will lead them to their deaths if necessary. Those they do not destroy will be forcibly converted to the creed. By the second generation the conquered will regard themselves as soldiers of the conquering army. We are limited creatures, Manekato, and we do not have the strength of mind to fight off a contagion of seductive but lethal ideas. You must stop this for the slaughter that will follow if you don’t.”

Babo twisted on the ground, his hands clamped to his stomach, his face a rictus of pain. “Yes,” he hissed. “Exponential growth, Mane. They will conquer, acquire resources to fuel further expansion, thus acquiring still more, and all driven by a dazzling-virus of the mind.”

Manekato said, “It is — unbelievable.” Nemoto faced her. “Manekato, you must save us from ourselves — and save this machine-world from the deadly manipulation of Renemenagota.”

Without-Name stood before her, her immense biceps bunched, gazing into her eyes, so close Manekato could smell blood on her breath. “Perhaps this ape-thing is right, Manekato. Will you take its advice? — Ah, but then you would have to become like me, wouldn’t you, and how you dread that! You must destroy me — but you cannot, can you, Mane?”

Babo, on the floor, groaned and raised one bloody arm. “But I can, Renemenagota of Rano.”

A sudden wind, hot and dense, billowed before Manekato’s face.

People staggered back, crying out. Nemoto took hold of Babo’s arm, anchoring herself against the gusts.

A tube of whirling air formed over the platform. It was the end of a winding column that stretched down from the sky, silvery-grey, suddenly tightly defined. It was a controlled whirlwind, like that which had stormed around the Market for two hundred thousand years.

And in the heart of the column of tortured air was Renemenagota. She raised her fists, briefly bipedal like those whom she had sought to lead. But she could land no blows on the twisting air, and it paid no heed to her screamed defiance.

In a brief blur of brown and black, she was gone.

The whirlwind shrivelled, shrinking back up into the lid of cloud that had covered the sky. A cloud of crimson dust came drifting down on the platform.

Mane, stunned, bewildered, looked around. Nemoto still clung to the fallen Babo. Of the ring of armed Zealots there was no sign.

Praisegod had been bowled over. He lay on his back on the platform, his black clothing scattered around him. His eyes flickered, cunning, calculating, the eyes of a trapped animal seeking a way out.

But his pet Ham boy stood over him.

Praisegod lifted his hand to the boy, asking for help, forcing a smile.

The boy bunched his fist and rammed it into Praisegod’s chest, through clothing, skin, an arch of ribs.

Praisegod shuddered and flopped like a landed fish. The Ham’s squat — face was expressionless as he rummaged in that bloody cavern. Then the Ham boy grimaced, and the muscles of his arms contracted.

Praisegod’s head arched back, and his voice was a rasp. “Why have you forsaken me?…”

Then, his heart crushed, he was still.

Emma Stoney:

There was a lot of shouting going on. Mary was running around the compound, busily engaging her foe. Though Abel had fallen, Mary was moving too quickly for the archers to get an accurate sight on her, and every time she got close enough she was slamming heads, breaking arms and generally kicking ass with a joyous vigour.

The chapel, built of mud brick around a sturdy wooden frame, was as substantial as it looked. Emma ducked into the building and slammed the door, and ran a heavy wooden bolt into a notch.

Within seconds fists were hammering on the door.

“Quickly,” she said to Joshua. “Malenfant. Where?”