“We had lost the stars,” said Jeddy Ridvan. His dark gray eyes peered at the children from under a shelf of dark gray eyebrows, like twin musketballs glinting weakly in the firelight.

“The space colonies, Jeddy?” said Locksley with a puff of visible breath. Ridvan’s great-great-grandson. The boy was almost too old for story time. He’d be marched out of the Fort with the men soon, starting his field schooling. A few of those men stood just outside the circle of children, leaning against their long guns, watching. Either on guard or simply out of nostalgia.

“This,” said Ridvan, “is story time. The space colonies are in tales. They were not real.”

Little Holland, ever the rule-keeper, glared at Locksley with gray eyes and nodded from under her fur hood.

Locksley rolled his eyes at his younger cousin. “But, Jeddy, we did go into space.”

“That’s a science time thing,” Holland said. The other children were looking into the fire and playing with their gloves. Any time Jeddy Ridvan was contradicted made the young ones very tense. But, it was always by a child on the verge of moving on to field school. The rebelliousness was a sign, in fact, that they were ready for field school.

The men at the edge of the firelight were grinning at each other, amused by the little girl’s spunk. And, Ridvan could see, they were also taking note of Locksley’s readiness for the field. This would be the boy’s last children’s story time. The men would slap the red spot on Locksley’s shoulder soon, and he would be in the field for ten years, his life a living hell under the tutelage of the men—beating for sign, maintaining his long gun, surviving the elements, scouting the neighboring lands—until he became a man himself and could attend adult story time.

Jeddy Ridvan nodded at Holland and pointed at her heart with a long, wrinkled finger.

“Science time or,” he sing-songed, “history time.” A gentle correction often took the edge off her rule-keeping. She nodded humbly.

“And, Locksley, we did go into space. We sent machines all over the solar system, and we went to the Moon and Mars ourselves. There may still be people on Mars. We don’t know. We cannot talk to them through space. This is technology we have have lost. But, the tales of interstellar colonies, interstellar empires, and interstellar wars are not real. They’re just tales. We never went to the stars.”

The boy settled into it. He shrugged defiantly. The men would beat that out of him in the field but, around the fire that night, the adolescent impetuousness was out of control.

“So, how did we lose the stars?”

Ridvan leaned back in his chair and put his hands on the leather knees of his pants. The men around the children lowered their eyes on the boy. He had not addressed Jeddy Ridvan properly.

Locksley blinked, as if he could feel the eyes on him. As if he could feel the red spot being slapped on his shoulder. As if he could feel himself dragged out of the Fort into the wilderness, at the whim of the men.

“Jeddy, how did we lose the stars?”

Ridvan relaxed at the boy’s correction. Some of the younger boys were giggling and Ridvan glared them into silence. He waved his ungloved hand to sweep in all the children. Then, he pointed toward the sky.

“Look up at them.”

All of the children, Holland and Locksley included, turned their eyes upward. Ridvan gave them a moment for their eyes to adjust from the firelight to the blackness of the night sky. There were clouds moving in from the northwest, but among them and to the southeast, stars twinkled their many colors in the dark. Ridvan had chosen this night to talk about the stars because the moon was new, leaning into the sun and thus gone at night.

“When I was a boy, before the Package was released, we could not see the stars.”

“Why not, Jeddy?” said the girl Justice. She was on the far side of the family from Holland and Locksley. The Albemarle side of the family, with ties to the land to the southwest.

Ridvan spread his arms as if to hug all the children together. They leaned in, looking at him over the fire. A vanguard of early snowflakes drifted into the light.

“Our machines shone so brightly,” he said, “brighter even than this fire, that you couldn’t see the stars. The sky reflecting our own light back to us, like a mirror. The stars became something we only read about, like in tales.”

He winked at Locksley, then at Holland.

“So, we forgot the wisdom we had stored in them. Wisdom we had stored in them from the Stone Times.”

“In the caves, Jeddy?” blurted Holland.

“Yes,” he said. She’d earned the affirmation. “From the cave paintings in the Stone Times. But also in rock carvings and then in stories.”

“And, Jeddy, the stories were misunderstood,” said Justice, echoing Ridvan’s usual refrain. He smiled at her warmly.

“Yes, the stories were misunderstood. The stars taught us how the seasons moved, and how the skies moved over time. We saw animals in the stars and used the animals as symbols of the months. You all know these. Where is the sun now?”

The boy Rao raised a gloved hand and blew a snowflake off his nose. Ridvan saw women, wrapped in furs, walking up behind the men, from the Fort’s houses. They’d noticed the snow and were concerned about the children.

“Rao,” Ridvan said. “Where are we now?”

“Jeddy, we’re in the Rattlesnake.”

“Yes,” he said loudly, both to Rao’s answer and to the concern of the women. They had paired off with their husbands, arms over shoulders.

“And, children, this was also known as the Scorpion, which is like a spider with a sting like a wasp. But, there are no scorpions here in Orange so we call it the Rattlesnake. Next month is…”

Rao raised his hand. “The Gunner, Jeddy?”

The children all nodded in agreement. They knew their months.

“And who does the Gunner aim at?”

Rao started to raise his hand, but Ridvan pointed at him with lowered eyebrows. The boy settled and stayed quiet.

“Someone other than Rao?”

“The Rattlesnake, Jeddy,” Locksley said. “And, he was once an archer, not a gunner.”

Ridvan nodded at him. He glanced back at the men, as if recognizing the trials in the boy’s future. “The Rattlesnake is death, threatening winter. And threatening the warriors, Orion and Harun, also seen in the stars. By targeting the Rattlesnake, the Gunner is protecting them.”

He pointed up at the two warrior constellations of Orion and Harun. The children followed his gestures. He then lowered his eyes on Locksley.

“The Gunner has no name, Locksley.”

The boy sat back on his block of wood, snow falling around his face in the firelight. It was a thought that had never occurred to him. And, he was clearly struggling to understand why Jeddy Ridvan had pointed it out.

“There is the lesson in the stars,” the old man said, “which we lost when we lost sight of the stars. The Gunner has no name, yet he is stored in the sky, killing the Rattlesnake who threatens Orion of Rangers and Harun of Lions.”

Ridvan growled that final word, his eyes scanning the distance beyond the palisade of the Fort, as if to remind the children that lions roamed the woods of Orange. Another legacy of the Package. The old man leaned forward with fingers like claws, and roared.

The children squealed and giggled. Ridvan leaned back with a grin. The men and women at the edge of the firelight were smiling. The old man nodded, gray-black mane wobbling like a hood, and lowered his eyes on Locksley.

“What does this story teach us, Locksley?”

The boy sniffed, straightened his shoulders, and blinked. He was digging down, trying to prove himself more than a child.

“Jeddy, that autumn is a time of selflessness, in preparation for winter, where we do the right thing even if it doesn’t give us glory.”

Ridvan nodded. This was the better realization, of the two he had expected. The boy had been listening to his father and uncles.

“And what else,” he said, “about the name.”

Locksley sighed and rocked in his seat. He was confused, but he was thinking, which was a good sign. The men around the firelight tilted their heads in anticipation, judging the boy.

“The Gunner has no name, Jeddy, because his purpose in his what he does. He guns.” Locksley looked up into Jeddy Ridvan’s eyes with a precocious certainty. “He aims at the autumn threat of winter to protect Orion and Harun because that’s what he’s meant to do. Just protect the heroes.”

Ridvan saw the men gathered around the children nod. The women leaned into their husbands.

“Yet, the Gunner has a month, Locksley.”

The girl Holland squinted victoriously at Locksley. He scowled at her in defiance. They might make a good match, Ridvan noted, once they were adults. They were, after all, second cousins.

The snow began to fall in thick flakes, the clouded sky above nearly rid of its stars.

“We should get back to the houses,” one of the women spoke up. “Before the blizzard comes.”

Ridvan nodded at her. But, he repeated: “The Gunner has a month. Locksley?”

The boy glanced at Holland. She was pointedly ignoring him, playing with her gloves.

The boy then looked up at Ridvan. “But, Jeddy, Orion and Harun don’t.”

Ridvan snapped his fingers and nodded.

“Yes, Orion and Harun don’t. They’re important, they have glory on their names, but they do not have months. The Gunner has a the honor of a month.”

Locksley straightened. Ridvan had freed him of children’s story time and prepared him for the field. The men around the fire were nodding, kissing their wives on the cheek, and whispering assurances that story time was coming to an end. The adults knew well their Jeddy’s rhythms.

“The Orange,” Ridvan said, “relies on the Gunner to mark our cycles, our seasons, our rhythms. Planting and hunting and diplomacy. Orion and Harun are bright in the sky, used to guide us across the landscape and, for our neighbors to the east, sailing across the seas. But the Gunner, even without a name, plays an important role.”

“Sometimes, Jeddy,” Locksley said, “it’s not about making your name known? It’s about doing right by people. Honor over glory.”

Ridvan let that hang in the snow-spangled air and raised his hands. The children stood obediently, Locksley and Holland last. Ridvan pushed himself out of his antique chair and reached around to grab its back.

“To the houses?” he said over the childrens’ heads, to the women.

They separated from their husbands and waved the children back into the night, toward the houses.

“Come,” one of the women said, “before the snow grows heavy.”

“Go, go,” Ridvan said. “Remember the lesson. Come back next Thursday.”

Locksley shared a look with Ridvan that said he knew he would not be back on Thursday. The other children moved away from the fire, brushing snow from their clothes. Some of them turned to wave gloves at Ridvan.

“Good night, Jeddy,” Holland said, and Rao said, then Justice said, then several others said.

“Good night, children,” he said. The women retreated into the darkness, to the houses, with the children. The men moved forward to stand next to the fire. Locksley was still there, his shoulders struggling to stay square.

“Jeddy Ridvan,” a man named Harun said. Harun like the constellation. Ridvan didn’t miss the irony. The man was a good scout, a captain, Ridvan’s great-grandson, married to a well-placed lady of Fredericksburg. And, Locksley’s uncle.

“Yes?” the old man said.

“Jeddy, the boy is ready for the field.”

Ridvan nodded at Locksley, whose eyes were on the snow-gathering ground.

“Yes, Jeddy,” Harun said. “He has the two spirits.”

The two spirits of the warrior. The spirit of conflict and the spirit of restraint. Most initiate boys had only the spirit of conflict. The rebelliousness of youth. No sense of restraint. That had to be taught them, usually in the field. Locksley had restraint. This was itself remarkable.

“Well?” Ridvan said. Harun shook his head, not understanding. The old man waved at the boy. “Slap his shoulder with the spot.”

Harun looked at the other men. They shrugged at him.

“Jeddy, we have no blood.”

Ridvan took a step forward toward Harun. “The boy gave you the blood of the Rattlesnake.”

Locksley glanced at Harun. The man blinked at Jeddy Ridvan, then nodded at the boy and slapped his shoulder. Locksley grinned nervously at his uncle. His receipt of the red spot had been a victory, of a sort.

One of the other men, Lieutenant Severide, shoved Locksley’s shoulder. “Don’t think you’re getting off, boy. We’re going to slap real blood on your shoulder for a year once you’re in the field.”

Everyone laughed at that. The sound of doors closing echoed through the snowy darkness, reminding them all that the women and children had retreated.

“You will take him to the field this winter,” Ridvan said.

“We will, Jeddy.” Harun glanced over his shoulder, past the barrel of the musket on his shoulder, toward the snow-hidden palisade and the woods beyond. “We will teach him the skills of the Orange Company, which you passed down to us from the old times.”

Ridvan stared into the flames. Those were older times, indeed. The time soon after the Package was released. When the world was cleaned and everything descended into chaos. Old things became new and new things became meaningless. When principles were confirmed and delusions were tossed aside. When things fell apart and the center did not hold, then fell together again around new centers. Blood and hunger and virtue were in play.

Ridvan nodded. The occasion called for a moment of adult story time. He looked into the eyes of the men. Gathering them with his presence. When he had their full attention, Jeddy Ridvan spoke.

“The Orange Company built all that we know. After the Package was released and the old world fell with all of its machines and pollution, we won battles over neighboring counties— neighboring lands,” he corrected himself, remembering that these youngsters never knew a world with counties.

“And we secured this homeland in Orange. We partnered with the Old School and rebuilt our commerce. We chose this house and named it Beyt Jaliyl, Beauty House. And we built the Fort around her to protect our family. We created a working society of farmers and craftsmen and traders.”

Harun leaned into the firelight. “This is Montpelier,” he half-whispered.

The men repeated solemnly: “This is Montpelier.”

It was an Orange Company rallying cry for Beauty House. Beauty House was Montpelier, home to James Madison, who had championed the Constitution in the United Times. One of the Founders. The Orange Charter was strongly derived from Madison’s writings, as were most of the charters of the neighboring lands. Fredericksburg, the land of Harun’s wife, had a similar charter, drawing more on George Washington. Albemarle to the southwest, of the girl Justice, had a similar charter, drawing more on Thomas Jefferson. Old things became new.

Ridvan gathered himself and spoke.

“My parents had taken Montpelier and made it the home of their movement. The Orange County Company, establishing order in central Virginia after the Package was released.”

He could see the spirit of the men was being brought low by the history. They were nodding, but frowning, staring at the ground. He needed to lighten the mood. He snapped his fingers to bring their eyes up.

“My daddy,” he drawled with a grin. “Taylor Truslow, a failed real estate agent, all the more ironic for his later acquisitions. And his wife, Fayruz, a charity organizer and a casual Muslim who imposed her faith on her husband’s conservative American values. He let her name me Ridvan. My oldest brother wasn’t Taylor Jr. He was Humayun.”

The men chuckled at Jeddy Ridvan’s candid description of his ancestors. It was well-known in Orange that Jeddy Taylor had so often given way to Teta Fayruz. She was a strong woman, and had imposed her simplified, inexpert understanding of Islam on the Orange, even as Taylor had insisted on Madison’s politics. Thus, the banner of Orange bore the Muslim crescent and star, as well as a “T” for Truslow modified with two dots to signify the Arabic letter Tau.

Ridvan waited for Harun’s section to calm themselves.

“Their movement, the Orange Company in alliance with the Old School economists, expanded Orange, confirmed Montpelier as the capitol, and secured our land in fair commerce with our neighbors.”

“The neighbors we hadn’t conquered,” one of Harun’s men muttered to his mate. The men laughed. Ridvan grinned.

“This is Montpelier,” Ridvan repeated, glancing back at Beauty House. He had a room there, waiting for him. A soft bed his weary, cold bones were calling for.

“You are a good generation of the Company,” the old man said, leading to his point. He stared into the warriors’ eyes. “As good as the first generation. But, what we have not done? We have pacified our hostile neighbors. We have allied with our friendly neighbors in Fredericksburg and Albemarle and the Tidewater. We have rebuilt our economy, with the Old School.  But, we have not regained the power to talk through the air.”

The men looked back and forth among themselves. They were hunters, scouts, warriors. They were not scientists. There were so few scientists in Orange, but Ridvan knew from his childhood how important they could be.

“This was the greatest power we lost when the Package was released. It is a great power that could connect us to our cousins on Mars.”

He nodded at Locksley.

“It is a great power that could elevate Orange above all of the lands on the continent. Perhaps the world.”

Locksley stepped forward.

“Jeddy,” the boy said, “should we hunt out this knowledge?”

Ridvan nodded at the boy.

“Those we call nerds,” the old man said, “advisors who lead science time and read a lot of old books? They know bits and pieces of the lost knowledge of the machines we need to talk through space. And, knowledge of how the Package attacked these machines. Maybe it’s like a puzzle, one nerd in Fredericksburg has a piece, and one nerd in Albemarle has a piece, and another nerd in Tidewater, and another in Columbia.”

Harun resettled his long gun on his shoulder.

“Jeddy,” the warrior said, “are you giving us a new Overmission?”

“I am.” The old man pointed at the boy. “This is the first Overmission in fifty years. I appoint you as the Reminder. Do you accept?”

Locksley shrugged, glanced at the men, then nodded.

“Then,” Ridvan said, “Locksley son of Mario, I appoint you as the Reminder of this Overmission to uncover the power to speak through the air.”