‘Well I hope to fuck so,’ Olli said. And either the Parthenon had locked her out, or she’d flicked the speakers off herself. ‘Because I don’t want any government caring this much about where the fuck I end up.’
‘So, what do you want?’ Kris asked him.
‘What? Me?’ Idris looked at her, at Kittering’s array of amber eyes and Olli’s exasperated face. Past them, he could see Solace’s unhappy expression and the benevolent beam of Trine’s projected visage.
‘You want to go to Berlenhof planetside, or stay with the angels? Or get on the Vulture – see if we can just take off and leave them bickering?’ Kris shrugged. ‘I’m your lawyer. Tell me what you want and I’ll see what I can throw together.’
‘This is insane,’ Idris whispered. ‘Why is this even happening?’
‘Seriously, Idris,’ Kris pressed. ‘Just make the call.’
‘No, look.’ Idris tried to stand up, felt a wave of nausea and sat back down. ‘Olli, give me a voice, please.’ That last word rang out across the room, and suddenly everyone was looking at him.
‘Look—’ he started, as Borodin shook his head urgently.
‘I am sure we all appreciate, niceties of diplomatic language aside, just what Menheer Telemmier represents,’ the man spoke over him. ‘I’ll be frank, shall I?’
‘No, look—’ Idris tried again.
‘Perhaps you should,’ Tact agreed, seamlessly squeezing him out of the conversation. Idris wondered wildly whether the Parthenon actually had a Monitor Frank somewhere in its ranks.
‘The Council cannot contemplate one of its Intermediaries, a veteran of the original Board, being in the Parthenon’s hands,’ Borodin set out. ‘I’m sure you’ll deny that you’ve taken samples of Menheer Telemmier’s genetic material – and we can play the usual games over just what has and hasn’t been done. But our Intermediary has to be repatriated immediately.’
‘Wow,’ Olli remarked. ‘Guess it’s just as well it’s her who’s called Tact, right?’
All these years, Idris thought numbly, thinking I was out from under. But now he was here, over Berlenhof, in the spotlight. He was here because of the damned Oumaru and suddenly everyone cared what he did. In the worst way possible.
He could see that a quiet life was no longer an option, not anymore, perhaps not ever. Events had made him a commodity for governments to wrestle over. And abruptly he couldn’t handle it, couldn’t listen to it.
‘You’re both crazy!’ he shouted, his voice battering about the room from the speakers. ‘You know what happened to the Oumaru! The damn Architects are back, and this is what you’re arguing about?’
There was a profoundly awkward silence. But he didn’t see the shame he’d hoped to provoke. If anything, he sensed they were embarrassed for him. For his outburst.
‘What?’ he asked awkwardly.
‘Er . . . Trine did their thing,’ Olli put in, her own voice starting too loud then dropping as she fought the Partheni electronics. ‘They said the Oumaru wasn’t, ah . . . wasn’t Architects. That old boy, the cultist, he faked it. He wanted to scare people into joining the Hegemony . . . right?’
Idris looked to Trine, wide-eyed. ‘Say what now?’ he managed, very aware that a roomful of diplomats were impatient to get on with their agenda.
‘This is the startling truth of the matter, my old friend and co-credulator,’ Trine confirmed, with appallingly inappropriate cheer. ‘A hoax all along! Who, as they say, would have thunk?’
Idris looked across the room until he met Xavienne’s curious gaze. He felt sick, physically sick. Something to tell me, she said, and he’d thought she must already know. Of course Xavienne knew all about the Architect threat. Everyone knew. The evidence had been mediotyped across the whole Human Sphere and beyond.
Except it had been faked. But that fakery didn’t change the truth.
‘But, no, listen,’ he said hoarsely. ‘Listen to me. That’s not it, not at all. They really are back. The Architects are moving out there. I felt them, in unspace, like it was the war. It’s all happening again.’
27.
Havaer
Panic. Screaming. Entreaties to a divinity or imprecations against an uncaring universe. Was that what Telemmier had been expecting? If so, he was going to be disappointed. Although if he’d been hoping for dumbfounded silence, at least he had that.