Borodin let out a long breath to absorb that and was about to speak when Tact’s raised hand stopped him.
‘Our possession of mobile but functional regalia has provided an opportunity, Menheer Borodin. The Parthenon is shipbound, with no worlds to protect. But now we have a ship warded against the Architects. This situation may not occur again.’
‘Menheer Borodin,’ Sathiel broke in. ‘Please listen to me. There are other regalia that can be brought here—’
‘Shut up,’ Borodin told him, almost without venom. His eyes never left Tact. ‘Monitor, there is an Architect here, now. Are you telling me that, for the chance of some future encounter, you will abandon our millions?’
‘No,’ Tact said. ‘However, I will take from you your Intermediary team, all of them. I’ll take them aboard this ship and we’ll go out and meet the Architect, armed thus with both sword and shield.’ And now the faintest ghost of emotion limned the severe lines of her face. ‘We will fight, Menheer Borodin. We will carry the Intermediaries to battle, as we did before. We will not abandon our sis– our siblings. Hugh may have forgotten what it is to be Partheni, but we have not.’
Solace heard a hiss of pain, and realized she’d been gripping Idris’s shoulder so hard that he was twisting to escape her clasp. She wanted to whoop, to jump in the air and cheer. She wanted to run over to Tact and embrace the woman. She was a good soldier, and she did none of those things, but a great tide of joy swept through her nonetheless.
Borodin’s face remained blank, because he was a diplomat. ‘I do not have authority to place our Intermediary team on your ship. I’m still supposed to be repatriating Telemmier,’ he said hoarsely. ‘However, I can anticipate my orders, when I convey your offer. I don’t think we have a lot of choice, after all.’
Tact nodded. ‘Correct, Menheer.’ Then Idris stepped forward and said, ‘I’ll go.’ He had to say it twice, because the mics were off the first time. Then everyone was staring at him. He backed up, squinting into their scrutiny as though it was too bright a light.
‘I’ll go. I did it before. You don’t have time to get anyone else. Just me.’
Tact regarded him as though trying to work out if his ageless decades had matured him or made him vinegar in the bottle. ‘That would be appreciated, Menheer Telemmier,’ she said at last. ‘Myrmidon Executor Solace, he’s in your care.’
Just like old times.
*
‘I thought we’d go to Borutheda,’ Olli said, as Idris hovered nearby. She was out on the deck by the Vulture’s open hatch, rebuilding the Scorpion’s arm.
‘You know,’ the specialist said, not looking at Idris, ‘when you don’t come back, and all. I reckon the shipyards at Borutheda will be busy as fuck from now on, and the Vulture’s a good hauler. We won’t be doing deep void work after this, what with not having a navigator.’
Idris just stood there, letting her talk, shoulders slumped.
‘I mean I’ll be glad,’ Olli went on. ‘Frankly, ship was getting crowded. And you’re a weird little sod, Idris. Hard to get on with, you know. Isn’t that right?’
‘Always having to bail you out,’ Kris chipped in. ‘More trouble than you’re worth. I could have had a thriving practice, big desk, clients begging.’
‘Individual of incomprehensible motivation,’ Kittering added. ‘Not even safe hands.’
‘You said it, Kit,’ Olli agreed. ‘I mean, you were a decent one-trick pony. But more trouble than you were worth. Look at the mess you got us in. Go run off with your Partheni girlfriend, why don’t you?’
Solace opened her mouth to object to that, but the slightest look from Olli silenced her. This was between them. And while Solace knew that their jibes weren’t serious, she was slow in understanding the real context. This was the crew’s funeral for Idris, the same dressing down they’d given Barney and Medvig and then Rollo. The Colonial way to process grief.
‘I’ll be back,’ Idris told them all, his voice very soft.
‘Like we’d have you,’ Olli tried, but Solace heard the tremor in her voice. ‘We’d have to discuss it, me and the crew. Have to decide if we even wanted you back.’
‘I know,’ Idris agreed solemnly.
‘I mean . . . running off with a Partheni.’
‘A transaction lacking all consideration!’ Kit threw in.
‘I’ll be fine. I’ll be back. I have to—’