The Powerman smiled an unkind smile, saying, “Irregular! I ask the Chamber scribe and memory officer to erase the interruption both from electronic and living memory herewith, since the person speaking them is not recognized to speak, nor may Commensals address the Table without being recognized!”

The Archivist, a man with the sharp, smiling features, red hair, and eerie beauty of a Meanderer, signaled with his finger lamp and said, “I will raise the same point of order. If the right of the presentment to be seated is in question, a prayer to the archives to confirm the record and memory of the world is not lawful.”

The Powerman said to the Aedile, “First Speaker, I move that, rather than trifling with records whose veracity cannot be determined, we appoint a legate to travel to the Bitter Waters Parish in the Northwestern Hemisphere and inspect the body and mind-relics of Waiting Starmanson, our beloved friend and boon companion, and that examination commission of theosophists and physicians be empaneled to make a formal report to this body of the status of Waiting Starmanson and his fitness to serve. And I further move that this legate receive his commission with dispatch, at the end of this fiscal quarter, one-fourth of an Edenyear from now by the Sacerdotal calendar, or by the Vulgate Calendar two and a half Torment-years about Wormwood, which is two degrees of the great year about Eldsich, in the Forty-First Lesser Spring of the Great Autumn.”

Before anyone else reacted, the Theosophist Orison focused his finger lamp, quick as a darting ray, at the Aedile and said with unctuous serenity, “I second the motion.”

Vigil shouted, “Absurdity! The Emancipation will be pastfallen and unrecoverable by such time!”

The Aedile said, “The matter has been moved and seconded, and persons not yet recognized by this Chamber may not speak. We must decide by poll whether the challenge of your honor guard is met and defeated.” And this twinkle in his eyes, the ripple in the scaly cheeks of gold, told Vigil this was a meaningless formality. The decision to exclude Vigil had been discussed and made privately, long before the meeting had been called to order.

4. Canvassing

Vigil opened other channels of perception through cameras in his robes and the antique amulet on his wrist (which was surprisingly responsive and tense, considering from which remote millennium the design originated) and examined the Speakers of the Stability.

The Theosophist in white and the dark-eyed Lighthousekeeper in blue and silver were of one mind with the Aedile and would vote against seating Vigil.

That left three others:

The Chrematist was so thickly dressed in his richly patterned hood and stole of crimson velvet that Vigil did not realize until then that the man was dead, his face white with the icy paleness of an unrecoverable hibernation failure: a slumberer who would never thaw. He was, in fact, a death-manikin. Servomotors at each joint beneath the robes and fibers in his gloves had permitted him to stand and hail the anthem or do whatever polite gesture ritual required: but the Board of Stockholders who sold of the speakership to their wealthiest member would never meet to replace him, not until he was declared legally incompetent. Vigil wondered darkly who had been empaneled years ago or decades ago to make that determination, suspecting it was the Theosophists.

His name in life had been Aruji, but, swearing fealty to the Pilgrims, he joined himself to one of their families under the Festal name Eosphoros.

The Fifth Speaker was the Portreeve. He wore a hair shirt under his glittering robes of office, for he was an Errant whose traditions hailed from the planet Penance. About his neck was his key of office handed him when he was appointed by the College of Emeritus Portreeves. His face had the unnatural beauty the Optimates inherited from their Swan forefathers, but, as ever, no Firstling human could read such features.

The Second Speaker was the Chronometrician in saffron robes, hood, and stole, a Lorentz chronometer of gold sitting on the table before him. Two of the countless many leaves of the chronometer were open just then, one dial showing local time, the other tuned to the frame of reference of the Emancipation. He was as ancient as a mummy. His ancestors were Joys from of Beta Canum Venaticorum, and therefore even in decrepitude, his features were graceful, dignified. There was a sly tilt to the features, and a wry slant to the mouth, that argued against the senility he showed on the surface. He had earned his position by sheer seniority and seemed to be paying no attention to his surroundings. Since his race never closed their eyes in sleep, it was not clear he was awake. Flickers and indications on the medical channel showed that he was not as dead as the Chrematist.

This meant the vote was lost before even any ballot was cast. Vigil would never take his father’s place, nor be allowed to wield the vengeance needed to bring the Great Ship Emancipation to rest. It was a dizzying sensation, to have come so far, reached so near, and be thwarted by a mere technicality.

5. A Legal Nicety

The ugly man next to Vigil prodded him with an elbow and pointed at Vigil’s black gauntlet lying on the black Table surface before the siege of the Lighthousekeeper. “All these damn rules are leftovers from the Starfarer’s Guild. You know who all founded the Guild, right?”

Vigil knew. The Judge of Ages and the Master of the Empyrean together had founded it as part of their gentleman’s agreement.

As sharply and suddenly as if struck by lightning from a static-pregnant sandstorm cloud, Vigil understood the dark meaning of certain of the ancient ornaments in the chamber. Some of the formalities were older than spaceflight and were known only on Eden, the Mother of Man, and the planet with the bloodiest history imaginable.

Vigil raised both hands, brought them to his throat, and emitted nine shrieks of white noise on a radio channel, three long, three short, and three long again. Attention! Life-or-Death Situation!

The Powerman in anger rose to his feet. “The unrecognized may not intrude unwanted signals during due processes! I ask that the bailiff remove the interloper!”

The Portreeve had no finger lamp, but signaled with his key of office. “Order. The interloper is not an interloper yet. We have counted no ballot.”

Vigil stepped over to the siege of the Powerman and took the small, white ceremonial gavel from its hook. With a great swung of his arm, he struck the shield that hung over the back of the siege, saying in the ancient language, “I pray the original form of the challenge be observed. I am the Lord Starfarer, Chief Hermeticist, and Senior of the Landing Party! I defy and traduce whoso says otherwise, and will defend my right to the same with my body!”

The discipline of the Chamber was broken as everyone at once spoke or signaled or cast his mind into deep archives.

Finally, the Aedile quieted the murmuring with a great flash from his finger lamp, tuned to an eye-dazzling brightness. “The Chamber asks the advice and counsel of the Chronometrician for an interpretation of these things.”

The Chronometrician seemed to have fallen asleep, but two of his Companions, garbed in saffron, signaled for recognition and were recognized. The Archaeomnemonicist said, “Casting my memory to the earliest strata of the Stability mind-records shows that these gavels or hammers have always been retained for the function of registering a defiance. As a party at interest, the gavel was correct to allow itself to be handled, and as the siege seating him who picked up the gauntlet, the shield of the Powerhouse Officer was correct to allow itself to ring. The objects are behaving as designed, all according to protocol. The duel must be fought, until satisfaction or death, and without mudras, mandala, or nerve-indications, with macroscopic weapons alone.”