“Our requirements regarding our citizens have not changed,” Borodin said flatly. “Monitor, we know how convenient it would be, if some fiction of the Architects’ return spread across the Colonies. Convenient for the Hegemonic cult, yes, but also for the Parthenon.”
“Are you accusing us of having any hand in this hoax?”
“No, emphatically no,” Borodin said, dismissing her suggestion. “However, I know full well that I’d be making what hay I could out of it, if it helped me. A wave of panic about the Architects would give you a great deal of leverage at the table. The warrior angels here to protect us all, isn’t that right? We’ll debrief Telemmier back on Berlenhof and share the results with you.”
“Appropriately redacted, of course,” Tact noted.
“Of course.”
Havaer watched the Vulture God crew arguing inaudibly, because they’d turned their mic off again. Seeing the utter certainty on the Int’s face, he felt a worm of worry inside him. Obviously Lucef Borodin was walking the appropriate party line, but…
Tact had leant back to listen to the officer behind her and now she nodded sharply. “Your solution is unacceptable,” she told Borodin. “The stakes have just become too high to simply let this crew vanish into Hugh custody.”
“With all respect to Menheer Telemmier,” Borodin said patiently, “The stakes have not changed at all—”
“Listen to me,” the Intermediary burst in again, now twice as loud because their tech was having fun with the sound system. “Both of you… Why are you still having this conversation?”
“Menheer Telemmier, please,” Borodin said, exasperated. “I am a representative of your government attempting to free you from the hands of a hos—of a foreign power. Will you just—”
“What if we don’t want to go?” Almier put in.
Havaer Mundy was close enough to see Borodin tense in anger, and marvelled at how little of it made its way into his voice. “Mesdam Almier, the legal implications of such a… defection are rather complex. You and your fellows were involved in a series of criminal actions aboard Lung-Crow station, followed by an act of piracy over Tarekuma. You are now in possession of sensitive information and resources at a time of diplomatic crisis. And you are suggesting you might join a military rival—”
“Lung-Crow was under Hegemonic jurisdiction at all relevant times,” Almier continued. “Good luck bringing the Broken Harvest to the dock to give evidence on how we got our ship back from them. And I will fight you in any court you care to name about our right to freedom of association and movement, Menheer Borodin. But we are not defecting to the Parthenon. Nor are we meekly going to accompany you, either. Mostly because Idris thinks you’ll give him to the Liaison Board and he really doesn’t want to have anything to do with ‘those butchers.’”
“I appreciate that courtroom theatrics are your stock in trade,” Borodin crowbarred in, “but you appear to have reasoned yourself into a corner. So you’re not going with us, or them. What’s next?”
“We are placing ourselves in the neutral hands of the Hiver Assembly,” Almier declared brightly. “Specifically, as represented by Delegate Trine. For the time being we’ll sit in our ship. And our ship can sit right here in the bay of the Heaven’s Sword. Unless you’d rather we took the Vulture God to Berlenhof’s Hiver diplomatic orbital? If we remain here, under Trine’s auspices, we all know it’s basically a fiction to keep us out of anyone’s hands. Whereas if we actually go to the Hiver embassy, the Hivers are likely to have questions, don’t you think? So I suggest you allow us to stay here and talk to whoever we want. You can both keep an eye on us that way—to make sure the other party doesn’t just bundle us in a bag and cart us off, see right?”
Havaer was working hard to keep a straight face. Borodin and Tact were just staring. Tact recovered first.
“Well, then. As a temporary measure that will be acceptable.”
There was more but Havaer was distracted by Telemmier, as the man stared across the room at him. At me? Man, this is out of my hands… But Havaer wasn’t the focus of Telemmier’s gaze. Saint Xavienne was sitting beside him, and Havaer saw she was staring right back. Some communication passed between the Intermediaries, some I told you so from one Int to the mother of them all. And she looked ten years older for it, as though she might collapse at any moment. The diplomats were still wrangling, but it was more for form’s sake than anything else now, and at least they had a plan to follow.
Minutes after they had filed out of the room, Havaer was talking to Mordant House about the urgent need for him to go see the new asylum seekers.
*
Getting to visit them involved the usual fun and games, but Havaer had all the right Hugh clearances. Both sets of guards outside the Vulture God still stared at him, though. He expected he cut an odd figure in his scarecrow way, but he reckoned he’d do better than Borodin, in his expensively tailored suit. That would get right up the nose of any spacer, and this lot were punchier than most.
He was met by Kittering, the Hannilambra—because why not bring yet another citizenry into play? The alien’s shield arms bore screens displaying a complex pattern of silver lines on black.
“What’s that?” Havaer couldn’t help but ask.
“Behold the flag of the Hiver Assembly!” the Hanni’s translator declared proudly.
Havaer suspected they were making a fool of him. “When did they get one, exactly?”
“For purpose of entering into contract with my kinsmen. Heraldry is always appreciated.” Kittering made a show of examining Havaer’s unornamented black clothes. “Eyes are wasted on humans sometimes.”
“I consider myself properly told,” Havaer said. “Look, you probably think I’m here to put the screws on for Mordant House? Offer you something that serves Hugh and fucks the Partheni, that kind of thing?”
“All the lights!” Kittering exclaimed. The figure of speech was opaque but the artificial tone suggested agreement. And not friendly agreement.
“I just want to talk to Telemmier,” Havaer said. “I’m actually not part of the official delegation. I’m following a hunch…” It struck him that his own figure of speech might not translate well, to a species without shoulders. “Don’t have to meet him alone. Everyone’s invited. I have one question, really. That’s all it is.”
Soon after, he found himself in the Vulture God’s drone bay, perhaps the only room big enough to contain them all. The actual drones had been moved to the walls to make space, resting near a remarkable mess of disconnected wires and general mechanical gubbins. Someone had printed out a set of the cheapest plastic chairs he’d ever seen. Almier and Telemmier were sitting on two of them, side by side like they were going to give a prepared statement. She was sleekly elegant in a new gold scarf and formal suit. Telemmier still wore his drab spacer’s clothes, looking small and unwell. A man at the fulcrum of events who wasn’t prospering under the attention. Solace stood behind the Int’s chair with her actual accelerator in her hands. She’d left off the armour, but the weapon could shoot someone three rooms away. Once again, Havaer considered himself properly told.
“I’m not an assassin, by the way,” Havaer started. “I appreciate that’s also what an assassin would say… but just to clear the air.”
Timo entered at that point, in a damaged-looking walker frame that still had half its panels off. “You again,” she observed.
“Hi.”
She shook her head. “Just don’t take too long. I need to work in here.” Then she left, apparently not at all interested in whatever he had to say. Kittering had scrambled up onto another chair and was perched there precariously.
Havaer found a smile hard to put off. “You know, I do get to go to embassy functions now and then,” he told them, lowering himself into a seat and hearing the cheap plastic creak. “I know just the sort of well-dressed backs you’re trying to put out, with this sort of carnival. Make do and mend, right? Spacer diplomacy.”
Almier sent a co
mplicit look towards Kittering, face too deadpan. And then the Hiver, Trine, came in with a tray. The aroma of something like biscuits gusted in with them, just off enough to suggest the Vulture’s food printer needed looking at. Trine bent low before Havaer, proffering the tray in a lattice of their chest-mounted arms.
“As I am now apparently some manner of ambassador, my honoured guest, it is only appropriate that I extend what hospitality I may,” the Hiver announced. Their translucent face bore an expression of snooty disdain. “Have a cookie.”
Havaer took one. “Please tell me you’ll put on this same show for Borodin and Tact. Let me have a mediotype of it, in fact. So I can watch them rupture their etiquette.”
“Indubitably,” Trine assured him. “Now, you’ll be wanting some manner of electronic privacy?”
“Actually… this isn’t even gov business, not even spy business,” Havaer said. “This is just me with my police hat on, trying to tie off an investigation. Just me trying to get my report square before I hand it in and go off the case.”
That had their attention. They’d only put on this act to put unwelcome visitors’ noses out of joint. It was only Telemmier who wasn’t enjoying their five minutes of fame.
“Go ahead…” Almier said cautiously.
“Why’d you come to Berlenhof?” he asked, flat out.
“When we met, you said we should come here and—” Almier began. Havaer was only looking at Telemmier but he answered her anyway.
“I know I said you should come here. But even when I did, I thought why the hell would you? With a whole universe at your fingertips, why would you suddenly get a dose of the law-abiding and hand yourselves in? Since when did you people do anything anyone told you to without a contract?”
“You’re excluding simple patriotism?” the lawyer suggested.
“You know what? I absolutely am,” he agreed. “Menheer Telemmier, was it your decision?”
“Yes.” The Int was staring at his own toes.
“So tell me why. Did you decide you wanted to do the right thing? Or was it chance, even, that you ended up here?” Havaer pressed. “I want to understand.”
“Berlenhof was like a beacon,” came Telemmier’s quiet, worn voice. “Could see it from across the universe. The grave marker of the Architect we killed here.” Solace put a hand on his shoulder, and he unconsciously covered it with his own. “And we were lost, by then. Too many jumps, too far out. But that marker I could follow— What?”
Havaer had jumped to his feet. They were all staring at him, these ragged diplomats, as though he was the strange one.
“What is it?” Almier pressed. “Agent Mundy?”
In his mind he heard the Int’s voice at the hearing, telling of the storm coming from the deeps, the great fleet of the Architects returning from the unthinkable vast places they had retreated to.
It was like a beacon…
“You’ve been very helpful,” he managed, dry-throated. Then, from sheer force of habit, he added, “We’ll be in touch.”
*
He did not, in fact, return to Borodin and Stoel to help them plan their negotiation. Instead it was time to call home. Chief Laery didn’t make him wait, which suggested either it was a slow day for spying or she was also having some worried thoughts about the whole business herself.
“So the Int believes his story?” she asked him.
“For what it’s worth, yes. I mean we both know they do burn out, go scatty. And this one’s been around as long as any, aside from Saint Xav herself. But it’s not some scam they’re running, that’s for certain. Despite how the Oumaru turned out, he’s absolutely convinced.”
“And?”
“And Saint Xav looked like she was taking him very seriously.”
“The Saint dodged her handlers recently,” Laery said sourly. “But our data suggests she met with the Harbinger.” She rolled her eyes. “Saints, Harbingers… Our predecessors could have been less fucking messianic with their naming conventions.” At his raised eyebrows, her image waved an emaciated hand. “Forgive me, not been sleeping well since forever. It’s just that Ash has been poking around, making his own enquiries into this business. I have never liked or trusted that creature.” Ash had been an established appendage of the Colonial government since long before Laery was born. Mordant House’s successive directors had never appreciated the ancient alien’s meddling. “We don’t know how it knows what it knows,” she complained. “And I do not believe in magic or seeing the future.”
“Nobody believed in unspace once,” Havaer said. Unwisely, to judge from her expression. “Chief, I don’t know the truth of it, but I don’t think Telemmier’s fooling around here, is all. Unscientific as it is, my gut feeling says we’re in trouble.” He swallowed. “How unhappy would I be if I asked about the evacuation protocols for Berlenhof?”
Laery stared at him, stony-faced. “I am glad,” she said, “that this is a heavily encrypted channel. Because we couldn’t have realistically evacuated ten per cent of the planet even during the war. Since which time the population has increased fourfold and nobody has their go-bag and a map to their closest evac centre. So let’s not say things like that in earshot of anyone prone to panic, shall we?”
He wanted to say, “But what if…?” but she’d told him the What If. Simply put, there was no What If—any more than there had been with Earth. And, just as with Ash’s warning to Earth, nobody was going to completely dismantle the heart of the Human Sphere just because of a crazy prophet. Except…
“He said Berlenhof was a beacon.”
“Telemmier?”
“He said he could see it from right across unspace.”
“And nobody else has noticed this?” Laery demanded.
“There aren’t that many Ints. Almost none left who were at that final battle. And maybe it’s like city lights obscuring the stars… you need to get further out into the countryside before you can see them clearly. Or some damn thing.” Havaer grimaced. “I have bad feelings, Chief,” and she nodded soberly.
*
He slept on it, or tried to. The Partheni had given over a whole student dorm to Hugh’s negotiating team. There were forty beds and just a handful of occupants, but the sparse Partheni design robbed the space of any sense of luxury. Spartan was the appropriate term, on a variety of levels. Havaer reflected gloomily that it was the Colonies who were supposed to be poor, but Colonial spaces were never plain. If you were rich you showed it through having stuff that people could see. If you were poor, everything was patched and home-made and botched together.
Being taller than the average Partheni, he ended up sleeping folded up in a weird position, so that something hidden down the side of the plastic mattress jabbed at his side. It turned out to be a mediotype nib, just a thumb-sized datastore. Filled with hopes of discovering Partheni secrets, he cracked it open, only to find it was crammed with episodes of some mediotype. It was prose and animation and voice drama, all about some girl from the Colonies during the war. She was living on a ship, learning to be a pilot. But mostly she was arguing with rivals and having unrequited crushes on classmates of both genders. It was possibly the least historically accurate thing Havaer had ever seen. He ended up watching it for three hours solid, feeling a weird connection to whatever Partheni naval student’s life he’d just invaded by finding her stash of cod-Colonial drama. And then he heard the alarms; his comms alerts lit up like fireworks and he knew it had happened.
Architects over Berlenhof? He wouldn’t have been at all surprised, but what had actually happened was the first ships had come in from Far Lux.
Far Lux?
The small packet runners had fled the system first, bringing urgent requests for emergency refugee facilities. And there were many more ships on the way—every ship the mining colony could get into space, and several that shouldn’t have tried it. And Far Lux had quite the population these days.
An Architect had come out of unspace in the Far Lux system and begun cruising to
wards the defenceless colony planet. People had crammed every ship they could find. Far more had been left behind to watch that vast crystal moon approach, then witness the end of it all.
But why Far Lux? Despite Telemmier’s dire warnings about Berlenhof being a beacon, it was some far-flung colony making history. It was insignificant, except for one thing. Far Lux was where the peace had happened, where humanity’s Intermediaries had finally reached out and touched the universe’s destructive gods. Three Intermediaries—and one had been Idris Telemmier.
Idris
They had spread the Ints wide, after Berlenhof, to try and protect the Human Sphere. The battle had at least proved that Intermediaries could affect the Architects’ movements. Even slowing an attack would mean thousands more evacuated. And the Intermediary Program itself was constantly brainstorming, thinking up strategies, welcoming new ideas… Saint Xavienne, her Ints and the Program’s researchers were working from first principles, assembling a patchwork science of suppositions and second guesses. Xavienne was even discussing the unthinkable—making contact with their enemy. Idris had no idea if this was a Colonial initiative or if she was off on her own. It wasn’t as if anyone was qualified to oversee her. And her Ints would have done anything for her. After all, they had been born from pain and madness with her as their midwife.
And Idris had gone to Far Lux along with Olumu Garrison and Tess Mangolign. And if their Partheni captain had rankled a little at letting these three Colonials take turns in the pilot’s chair, dragging her vessel hither and yon across the Human Sphere, well, that was tinted with the superstitious awe people had back then for the Ints.
One thing Xavienne had wanted was an early warning system. Ints were sensitive to the impending arrival of an Architect. Idris remembered that from Berlenhof. He believed you could tell where they were going to arrive, plenty of Ints did, although the actual hit rate of their predictions was too low to be useful. Still, his instincts had brought the three of them to the small mining colony in the little Partheni runner Yennenga. They’d found it peaceful, going about its business. Idris had half felt that the appearance of the Yennenga in their skies should have been like a comet in the olden times, chaos and panic and portents of the end of days.
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