‘The Architect . . .?’
‘Still coming,’ Kris confirmed.
‘The Thunderchild put out to meet it,’ Solace said tonelessly. ‘Also the Blake and the Perihelion, those two Hugh warships that turned up. “Buying time with steel.”’
Idris felt his legs start to go, and Solace slid a crate behind him so he could collapse in safety.
‘The Heaven’s Sword barely survived the first direct hit,’ he said hollowly. ‘The ships out there, they won’t buy Berlenhof more than a cupful of time. It won’t help.’
‘I’ll book you another big diplomatic meeting, you can discuss it with them,’ Olli said. ‘In the meantime, you coming with us or not? Because if you’re out, we can fit in another couple people when we go.’ But she was watching Idris with a sharpness that belied her air of unconcern.
I failed. But it wasn’t too late. He pictured the Architect riding the skies of doomed Berlenhof, visible even during the daytime, crystals catching the sunlight. They’d have every trainee Int at the Liaison Board working to stop it . . . maybe that would be enough. But he didn’t believe it. He could stay behind on the orbital and try one last time. But by the time the Architect was that close, its mass dragging at the planet below, it would be too late.
‘I need a ship,’ he said.
The others were all staring at him. ‘Ships are kind of busy,’ Olli pointed out.
‘Any ship with a gravitic drive – a packet runner, a shuttle, some rich kid’s speedster, anything,’ Idris said desperately. ‘I need a second chance. I have to get out there and do it again. I can save everyone. I know I can . . .’
‘Idris, you were on the way to dying when you broke off,’ Solace told him.
‘Then it’s my right to die trying!’ he shouted at her, then put his hands over his mouth, horrified at the great gout of anger and frustration that had come out of him.
Solace nodded, then nodded again, convulsively. ‘Come on. We’ll go see Tact.’
The orbital’s corridors were cluttered with people and it was hard to push through. Some were plainly evacuating – clutching bags, cases and treasured possessions that were mostly going to end up on the dock floor. We forgot, Idris thought numbly. We forgot what it was like to be hunted. And I’ve lived to see it again. He wondered if it had been his destiny to see events travel full circle, the reason for his unnatural longevity. So he should now wither to bones and dust, curse suddenly lifted.
Then they found themselves facing a wall of purple, red and gold, a hurrying band of men and women in high-collared robes. They were led by a man who had finally lost his geniality somewhere along the way.
‘Hierograve Sathiel,’ Solace addressed him coldly. ‘Get out of the way.’
He gave her a wide-eyed stare, but there was neither fight nor authority in him at that moment. He shrank aside and his people flowed past, giving Solace plenty of clearance.
‘You wanted people to worry about the Architects? Happy now?’ she shouted after him, with venom worthy of Olli. Sathiel made no reply as he fled.
Monitor Superior Tact was closeted with Lucef Borodin when they arrived, but Solace made sufficient noise that they were allowed in. Idris suspected that the two diplomats didn’t have much to discuss anyway, at this stage. Borodin hadn’t shaved that morning and there were bags under Tact’s eyes.
‘I need a ship,’ Idris insisted, because he was all out of pleasantries.
‘Menheer Telemmier.’ He couldn’t tell if Tact’s cold manner was just her, or if she was judging his failure. And why shouldn’t she? He certainly did.
‘A ship,’ he repeated. ‘Get me out there again, on a ship.’
‘The military force going to face the Architect has already left,’ she said.
‘Bring one back.’
‘Menheer Telemmier, there’s no time. They will be engaging shortly.’
‘They . . .’ He had a sudden sense of disjointed time. The drugs had upset all his internal clocks. ‘I need another chance.’
Tact regarded him, her expression ambiguous. ‘That’s it, is it?’
‘Please. Get me out there.’
She glanced at Borodin. ‘I’ll see what I can—’
‘No,’ the other diplomat said. He didn’t seem very happy about it, but the word was out there.
Tact raised an eyebrow. Idris felt time cascading like sand falling from a broken hourglass into the void. There would be no chance to turn it over again, no more when it was spent.