Borodin directed a sideways look at Tact, who just stood watching. Seeing no help there, he sat so he was on a level with Idris. ‘Of course, Menheer. And I imagine you and your crew would like that recognition made into something . . . more concrete?’
‘It’s not over,’ Idris said. ‘They’ll come back. Maybe here, maybe elsewhere . . . and soon too. Not in years, not in decades. Soon.’
Borodin’s face closed up. ‘With all respect, Menheer, how can you know such a thing?’
‘I was in its mind,’ Idris explained tiredly. ‘It did its level best to show me exactly that. To make me understand what was going on. The Architects aren’t doing this for fun. Something is making them come. They’re under duress, just something else’s servants. Something that wants us gone, all of us.’
‘All humans?’
‘All thinking life. Look at Ash’s people. Look at the Naeromathi. And it’ll be the Hanni and the Castigar in time. We’re just the current project. They want us gone, or at least not concentrated on planets. And don’t ask me why. I don’t know why. I don’t think the Architects know either. If “why” is a concept they even have. But it’s like this: the Architects recognize humanity as life, as thinking life. They recognize themselves as thinking life too. That’s a kinship. The Architects went away when we made them face up to that. And now their masters have caught up with them and set them on us again. Because their masters don’t give a damn.’
‘Masters. Or creators?’ Tact asked, with admirable sangfroid.
Idris shrugged painfully. ‘No idea.’
‘Well . . .’ Borodin swallowed. And doubtless panicky communications were already radiating out from the orbital, sent by the clerks listening in on this conference. ‘Menheer Telemmier, I do hope that you’re wrong . . .’
‘Menheer Borodin, I have been inside the Architect’s head. If you have someone who is in a better position to know than me, wheel them out. Have them state their case. What has Andecka Tal Mar told you?’
‘That you went further than she could,’ Borodin admitted.
‘Well then. The war’s on, Menheer, Monitor. Maybe I’ve bought Berlenhof a period of grace, but that’s all. Now, I’ve said my piece –’ Kris saw him looking around to check on the crew – ‘let’s go.’
‘You must have more to say,’ Borodin said quickly. ‘Whatever you learned, what you experienced . . . We need to know everything.’
‘I’ll send you a report.’
‘Menheer Telemmier, we really do need you. I thought we needed you before. But now . . . if the Architects are still coming for us, we need you more than ever.’ Borodin had stood again, pushing his chair back. ‘The Liaison Board wants—’
‘Over my dead body.’
‘Menheer—’
‘My client,’ Kris broke in, as the diplomat glowered at her, ‘is exercising his rights of free travel and association as a Colonial citizen. There is currently no special order restricting his movement. He is also travelling within the aegis of Ambassador Delegate Trine – here at my left hand right now. My client will regard any attempt to prevent him from leaving this room, or this orbital, as an attack on his liberties. It could also be an act of aggression against the Hiver Assembly In Aggregate. In addition, we are in the presence of Parthenon representatives. Should any hostile acts be committed by Hugh, they may take diplomatic action of their own.’ It was all just word salad, really. It hardly gave Idris any ironclad protection against Hugh. However, if Borodin felt that the Parthenon – or even the Hivers – might take her words seriously, that could be enough. That uncertainty left a gap that they might just be able to squirrel through.
Borodin looked sick, almost desperate, that smooth veneer of etiquette peeling away. ‘Menheer Telemmier,’ he said softly, ‘do not turn your back on your people, please. We are in dire need of Intermediaries, a new class to protect our worlds against the Architects or their masters. Saint Xavienne is dead. We’ve lost the Intermediaries’ chief teacher and inspiration, the one rock they had. We need you to take Xavienne’s place. You wouldn’t ever have to face an Architect again, even. Just help us with the Intermediary Program. And believe me, you won’t want for anything. The Colonies would make you their hero.’
‘Stop.’ A barely audible plea. ‘I can’t. I’m not strong like Xavienne. I can’t do it.’