—Christian Book of the Dead, Shiprecords

“BLOW THAT cutter. Give me the particulars later.” Lewis switched off the com-line, and turned to face Oakes across the Command Center. As though this act conveyed some deep communication, they both turned to look up at the big screen.

The bustle of activity around them went on—some fifty people guiding the Redoubt’s defenses under the eyes of the armed Naturals quietly watchful at the edges of the room. But to Legata, who stood near Oakes, it seemed that the noise level went down dramatically. She, too, stared at the screen.

It was early Rega morning out there, and the light showed the massed ring of hylighters, the waiting mobs of demons at the cliffs—all strangely held in check. Something new had been added this morning, however. A naked man sat on a flat rock pinnacle to the southeast, hylighter tentacles brushing against him. Sensor amplification had showed his features in close-up—the poet, Kerro Panille.

On the floor of the plain beneath Panille stood a plasteel-cutter fitted with wheels, E-clones and what appeared to be Naturals grouped around it. The cutter’s deadly nozzle was pointed toward the Redoubt—too far away for that model to do any damage, but unmistakably menacing.

The most menacing thing of all was the fact that no demon moved to molest any of the people waiting beside the cutter. Pandora’s terrible creatures waited with the others in mysterious docility.

“We should know in a blink or two,” Lewis said. He threaded his way through the room’s activities to stand near Oakes and Legata. All of them stared up at the screen.

“Can’t we send some people out there?” Oakes asked. “We could take that thing with a direct attack.”

“Who would we send out?” Lewis asked.

“Clones. We have clones up to here!” He brushed the edge of his right hand across his throat. “And we don’t have enough food. They could get through if we sent enough of them.”

“Why would clones do that?” Legata asked.

“What?” Oakes glared at her audacity.

“Why would clones obey an order to attack? They can see the demons out there. And there’ll be Runners somewhere on that plain. Why would clones take the risk?”

“To save themselves, of course. If they stay here and do nothing . . .” Oakes’ voice trailed off.

“Your fate is their fate,” she said. “Maybe worse. They’ll ask why you aren’t out there with them.”

“Because . . . I’m the Ceepee! I’m worth more than they are to our survival.”

“Worth more to them than they are worth to themselves?”