scraped this place clean.—
—I’m picking up traces of electrical activity. Something still works here.—
Killeen broke in curtly.—Proceed carefully. There may be mechs in there.—
Toby didn’t think it likely that mechs would stay in a human artifact, even a glorious ruin like this. But then, he had less
experience than his father and the other Bishop veterans. He knew the long history of betrayals, of agreements broken, of
ambushes and raids and casual obliteration as just that—history. These men and women had lived through plenty of it; some
were over a hundred years old and still fighting, still vigorous and adamant about giving any margin to mechs.
—God, they fought all through here.—
—Yeah, smashed. Stripped clean.—
—Somebody pulled out all the metals. Looks like mech scavenging. Same typical grappler marks.—
—A graveyard of a city.—
—They clean stripped it. Like Blaine Arcology back on Snowglade, ’member?—
Toby remembered, all right. He had hiked there, taking two days, on his first major outing with Killeen and his grandfather,
Abraham. Blaine Arcology was a reverential place for Bishops, worth a half-day detour from their target, a mech factory that
housed usable foodstuffs. The colossal ruin had awed Toby. They had camped there overnight, even though Abraham grumbled about
the danger of mech ambush. He had wandered the smashed streets, reading hints of former lives among the shadows. The Arcology
had seemed to him a place of privacy, silence, space, and of memories forever lost. Memories of busy avenues and neighbors,
of long afternoons with time to waste, of barefoot fun and whispery elegance—a
city
. He had tried to say as much to Killeen and Abraham, and while Toby talked about the majesty of the place both the men had
looked away, faces pinched and brooding. When Toby had asked why, Abraham had said sadly that an old Aspect of his had just
reminded him that Blaine was really not an example of the High Arcology Era at all. It had served as a kind of refugee camp,
after the truly great places had been smashed. And Killeen had nodded, too.
A refugee camp. Yet Citadel Bishop would have fit in its sports stadium.
That moment long ago came back to Toby. Then it was blown away, the way the wind carries conversations and shreds them.
—There’s everything here. Concert halls, markets, factories, hospitals, huge shafts for elevators.—
—And blasted parks. Musta been pretty once.—
—Wait a sec, there’s an airlock here.—
Killeen sent,—Test it for activity.—
—Nothing electrical I can pick up.—
—Try the seals.—Killeen said.
—They seem okay. Intact.—
Killeen sent,—Leave a robot mechanical at the controls and stand back, far back. Then pop the seal.—
—Yeasay, doing it . . . —
Other reports came in, of more damaged vistas. Toby listened intently, filtering out the repetitious reports. His attention
focused on the team at the airlock. He ached to be in there with them, looking around.
—We opened the lock. It’s cycling.—
Killeen sent,—What’s the gas?—
—Ordinary air. Chem-sensors say it’s okay, not poisoned.—
Cermo scowled next to Toby.—Air’s still good after all this time?—
Toby said—Maybe the air system still works.—
—And maybe other things work, too,—Killeen said uneasily.
From the airlock team came,—Seems all right. Cap’n, can we go in?—
Killeen sent,—Yeasay. But take it slow.—
Cermo said,—Cap’n, there are only three in that team. They can’t help but get spread out.—
—Right.—Killeen hesitated only a second.—But we don’t have any reserves. You go, Cermo. Provide comm to us.—
Toby said,—Dad, I’ll do that. I can monitor just as well while I’m moving.—
Killeen shook his head. To Toby’s surprise, Cermo put in,—He’ll be all right with me. I could use the help.—
Toby realized that Cermo might be trying to defuse the tension between
—I’m picking up traces of electrical activity. Something still works here.—
Killeen broke in curtly.—Proceed carefully. There may be mechs in there.—
Toby didn’t think it likely that mechs would stay in a human artifact, even a glorious ruin like this. But then, he had less
experience than his father and the other Bishop veterans. He knew the long history of betrayals, of agreements broken, of
ambushes and raids and casual obliteration as just that—history. These men and women had lived through plenty of it; some
were over a hundred years old and still fighting, still vigorous and adamant about giving any margin to mechs.
—God, they fought all through here.—
—Yeah, smashed. Stripped clean.—
—Somebody pulled out all the metals. Looks like mech scavenging. Same typical grappler marks.—
—A graveyard of a city.—
—They clean stripped it. Like Blaine Arcology back on Snowglade, ’member?—
Toby remembered, all right. He had hiked there, taking two days, on his first major outing with Killeen and his grandfather,
Abraham. Blaine Arcology was a reverential place for Bishops, worth a half-day detour from their target, a mech factory that
housed usable foodstuffs. The colossal ruin had awed Toby. They had camped there overnight, even though Abraham grumbled about
the danger of mech ambush. He had wandered the smashed streets, reading hints of former lives among the shadows. The Arcology
had seemed to him a place of privacy, silence, space, and of memories forever lost. Memories of busy avenues and neighbors,
of long afternoons with time to waste, of barefoot fun and whispery elegance—a
city
. He had tried to say as much to Killeen and Abraham, and while Toby talked about the majesty of the place both the men had
looked away, faces pinched and brooding. When Toby had asked why, Abraham had said sadly that an old Aspect of his had just
reminded him that Blaine was really not an example of the High Arcology Era at all. It had served as a kind of refugee camp,
after the truly great places had been smashed. And Killeen had nodded, too.
A refugee camp. Yet Citadel Bishop would have fit in its sports stadium.
That moment long ago came back to Toby. Then it was blown away, the way the wind carries conversations and shreds them.
—There’s everything here. Concert halls, markets, factories, hospitals, huge shafts for elevators.—
—And blasted parks. Musta been pretty once.—
—Wait a sec, there’s an airlock here.—
Killeen sent,—Test it for activity.—
—Nothing electrical I can pick up.—
—Try the seals.—Killeen said.
—They seem okay. Intact.—
Killeen sent,—Leave a robot mechanical at the controls and stand back, far back. Then pop the seal.—
—Yeasay, doing it . . . —
Other reports came in, of more damaged vistas. Toby listened intently, filtering out the repetitious reports. His attention
focused on the team at the airlock. He ached to be in there with them, looking around.
—We opened the lock. It’s cycling.—
Killeen sent,—What’s the gas?—
—Ordinary air. Chem-sensors say it’s okay, not poisoned.—
Cermo scowled next to Toby.—Air’s still good after all this time?—
Toby said—Maybe the air system still works.—
—And maybe other things work, too,—Killeen said uneasily.
From the airlock team came,—Seems all right. Cap’n, can we go in?—
Killeen sent,—Yeasay. But take it slow.—
Cermo said,—Cap’n, there are only three in that team. They can’t help but get spread out.—
—Right.—Killeen hesitated only a second.—But we don’t have any reserves. You go, Cermo. Provide comm to us.—
Toby said,—Dad, I’ll do that. I can monitor just as well while I’m moving.—
Killeen shook his head. To Toby’s surprise, Cermo put in,—He’ll be all right with me. I could use the help.—
Toby realized that Cermo might be trying to defuse the tension between
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