Yet it saw him and understood him. Perhaps it unfolded the page of his mind to its fullest extent, ironing flat the crenulations of his brain until he was spread so thin and wide that he finally became visible to it. His past and present and all the complexities of his being, all exposed for study as never before – and still the most insignificant thing the Architect had ever been called upon to recognize.
He’d stopped screaming then. He stared sightlessly towards the ceiling of the Yennenga’s bridge as the medics restarted his heart and used machines to keep his lungs working.
There was a moment he recognized as regret. He was never sure if he’d felt the being’s regret over all its kind had done. Or if this was some perverse personal response to the Architects departing, now they wouldn’t be continuing their work. For they would not, he understood. For now, at least, and who knew what ‘now’ meant to beings so vast. Perhaps they would go and think about what they’d done for a hundred million years, before coming back to pick up where they’d left off. Perhaps they’d wait until the suns had all gone out and the universe was cold.
The Architect had fallen back into unspace and not returned. And that was the last anyone saw of them. That day was the last day of the war, although it was months before anyone dared suggest it was so.
*
Decades later, in diplomatic isolation aboard the Vulture God, Idris caught the news out of Far Lux and felt as though someone had taken his guts out. It was all for nothing, he thought, but of course that wasn’t true. Humanity had been given fifty years to consolidate and grow; people who would have died had been given decades to live. It had been his achievement – him and Tess and Olumu, and he the only survivor of the three. He had ended the war, there at Far Lux, and on the back of that, he tried to become irrelevant. Just be Idris Telemmier on a succession of crappy ships towards the outskirts of the Human Sphere. He’d had his fill of making history.
Now, sections of the Hugh administration on Berlenhof were being yanked out of decades-old mothballs. The next unspace shipment from Far Lux would be a wave of refugees. Everyone was scrambling to set up camps, kitchens, shelter, medical supplies. And at the same time, less savoury engines were turning their wheels.
‘There’s Sathiel, the fucker,’ Olli said, jabbing a finger at the screen. They’d all crammed into Command, where the Vulture was displaying rolling news. ‘We should’ve had a sweepstake on it.’
They could see the cult hierograve’s benevolent white-bearded face. It was as if he’d never committed the biggest fraud of the last forty years. Instead, he was talking animatedly about the protection the Essiel would be only too happy to extend – and for such a small price. Idris waited for the interviewer to mention the Oumaru, but somehow it never came up. Suddenly the cult had gone from clowns in costumes to everyone’s new best friend, someone who might be called upon for an urgent favour sometime soon.
Two Colonial warships had turned up at Berlenhof, ostensibly to defend against any Architect incursion. Idris knew full well they’d have set off before the news broke, and had come to lean on the Partheni.
‘They want the regalia, of course,’ Trine announced mournfully, having lost his chance to work on the things. ‘Which are here, on this very ship, a mere hundred metres away. And suddenly they are of a far more than academic interest to the authorities on Berlenhof.’
‘They could, what, just take them down there and make the whole planet Architect-proof?’ Olli asked him.
‘I’d be willing to wager my ambassadorial status that Hugh is digging up absolutely everything it knows about the process, my old comrade-in-adversity,’ Trine agreed. ‘And maybe it isn’t anything more significant than just having the things there. We’re all aware that the Hegemony loves ritual for ritual’s sake.’
‘But Hugh don’t have the regalia,’ Kris pointed out.
‘No, they don’t,’ Trine agreed. ‘But – what coincidence! – suddenly they have warships here. How fortuitous.’
‘They can’t just start shooting. How will that end?’ demanded Kris.
‘They think they’ll be able to threaten, and we’ll cave,’ Solace said hollowly. ‘But we won’t. It’s not what we do. Also, top-of-the-line Colonial does not beat top-of-the-line us. They can’t stop us just leaving if we want to go.’
‘Then why haven’t you?’ Olli needled. ‘Just leg it. Everything’s simpler for you if Berlenhof gets hit, right?’