Porrig Connell remained in his cave, having discovered that there were sufficient interlinking chambers to accommodate his entire extended family and their livestock. In addition to stabling for his mares and foals, he had also constructed a stallion box in which Cricket had been made very comfortable. Magnanimously, he allowed the survivors of some other families to remain in his cavesite until they found their own.

Because they had been the colony’s leaders, Paul Benden and Emily Boll—as well as Jim Tillek, Ezra Keroon, and Ongola—found that many decisions were being referred to them, despite the fact that they had stepped down from their previous administrative duties.

“I’d far rather they came to me than to Ted Tubberman,” Paul remarked wearily to Ongola when the former communications officer brought him the latest urgent queries from outlying stakes. He turned to the psychologist Tom Patrick, who had come to report on the latest round of gripes and rumors. “Tom?”

“I don’t think you can stall a showdown much longer,” he said, “or you and Emily will lose all credibility. That would be a big error. You two may not want to take command, but someone will have to. Tubberman’s constantly undermining community effort and spirit. He’s so totally negative that you ought to be thankful that most of the time he’s out trying singlehandedly to clear the continent of rotting Threadshell. Grief has totally distorted his perceptions and judgment.”

“Surely no one believes his ranting?” Emily asked.

“There’re just enough long-buried gripes and resentments, and good honest gut-fear, right now that some people do listen to him. Especially in the absence of authorized versions,” Tom replied. “Tubberman’s complaints have a certain factual basis. Warped, to be sure.” The psychologist shrugged, raising both hands, palms up. “In time he’ll work against himself—I hope. Meanwhile he’s roused a substantial undercurrent of resentment which had better be countered soon. Preferably by you gentlemen and Emily and the other captains. They still trust you, you know, in spite of Tubberman’s accusations.”

“So the Rubicon must be crossed again,” Paul said whimsically, and exhaled. He caught himself rubbing his left thumb against the insensitive skin of his replacement fingers and stopped. Leaning wearily back in his chair, he put both hands behind his head as if supporting an extra weight.

“I can lead a meeting, Paul,” Cabot said when Paul contacted him on a secured comm channel, “but they subconsciously consider you and Emily their leaders. Force of habit.”

“Any decision to reinstate us must be spontaneous,” Paul replied after a long and thoughtful pause. Slowly Emily nodded. The last days had aged both admiral and governor. “The matter must be handled strictly on the charter protocol, though by all that’s holy, I never anticipated having to invoke those contingency clauses.”