Now:

Bogdanov shows himself in Port Weiland, shows himself as he truly appears. Without the disguise of his glamour, Bogdanov's faceted faces spread across his enormous head in a mockery of humanity. Children run screeching for home or the purplefans, while adults gather in Ife Square, variously armed and all fearful.

"Where's Ladyman?" Bogdanov demands through one of his mouths. "I come bearing the truth for him. Pray you are ready for it."

"Bogdanov?" someone calls from the crowd. His great-granddaughter Femi-Anne. "Is that you, grandpa?"

"It's a monster from the purplefans!" shouts someone else. "Kill it before it kills us!"

"I am Bogdanov," he bellows. "Ladyman, get out here."

Bearded, tall and fair-skinned with dark hair and bright blue eyes an echo of Captain Schilling's, Ladyman--the mayor of Port Weiland--walks out of the Council Hall carrying an ancient zap rifle, originally salvaged from Ife's small arms stores. The weapon's forked tip sparks and flares with a ready charge.

"I see the past has come to town," Ladyman calls out, playing to the crowd. "And such a face it wears."

"The face of truth," says Bogdanov. "The true face of our lives here on this world."

No one responds. Ladyman stands, rifle cradled in his arms. The crowd shuffles, their staves and hoes drooping with their enthusiasm.

Bogdanov lets the silence build before continuing. "Who stands between you and the powers of this world? First Crew. Ever wonder why you've not seen Captain Schilling in decades? Wouldn't you have heard if he was dead? Look at you, like a pack of mongrel dogs, angry at me because I'm fearsome and frightening. You should see poor Schilling embedded in his cave. Or Karalong up in the mountains, on her way to becoming one of them. At least I can still walk." His laugh is ugly.

"Walking or standing still, you're not one of us anymore," Ladyman says with a mocking smile. "Look at yourself, like something the tide swept up."

"I don't need to call monsters from the vasty deep, eh?" Bogdanov smiles, showing far too many teeth across his faces. He sets the goad into Ladyman. "I am one now. Human is as human does, you witch-burners."

Ladyman doesn't lose his smile, but his voice hardens. "What truth are you selling us, then, old man? What did this to you? Hard radiation on the voyage? Earthly drugs from beforetimes? We're not witch-burners like those fools in Dorytown, but neither are we freaks. And we're not going to become freaks."

"What happened when Thomassen drowned?" Bogdanov points at Louisa-Delphi. "Your mother's sister went walking in the purplefans two days later and never came back. And when Mikhailovna fell off that cliff? Dorytown lost Bertie-Bertie, one of the old mayor's twin boys. Ever find the bodies? Of course not."

"Didn't know you were up to stealing folk from their homes," Ladyman says, his calm returning.

"Isn't me, you sanctimonious bastard. Not me, not First Crew."

"Who then? Who's making freaks out in the purplefans?"

"The truth is a hard bitch, Ladyman."

Ladyman levels his zap rifle at Bogdanov. "Who?"

Then:

"In return for your lives, you will dance attendance on me," said the dark.

"What?" Schilling demanded.

"Who?" asked Thomassen.

"Me. The world."

The bridge echoed with whispers that defined more than destroyed the silence.

Schilling grappled with the notion of speaking to an entire world, not as an infosphere, but as an entity. "What need would a world have of us?" he finally asked.

"It pleases me to host thinking life. Your Colonists will be my folk. But if I have such an infestation of intelligence, I will have need of small gods and smaller errands. Let your cargo breed. Your Crew will be sufficient for my purposes."

Schilling flipped open the shield on the Ife's self-destruct override. He pressed his thumb on the biometric pad, which bleeped an acknowledging tone. One tiny magenta status light winked forest green.

"I think not," the captain said.

"Where else will you go? Your engines are spent. I have learned much from Bogdanov."

"Then learn that human beings cannot be brought to service." Schilling thumbed the button, condemning one hundred fifty two Crew and seven thousand, four hundred Colonists to death by quantum core dump.