‘Mother, I am,’ Solace confirmed.
Tact nodded. ‘When I sent you to turn Telemmier, nobody could have known just what was about to erupt. I don’t doubt you did absolutely everything in your power to recruit him peaceably.’ She brought up a virtual board and dispatched a brief communiqué. The display showed it as arrowing off to the Lady of the Night. ‘Of course, recent events show us as even more in need of an Intermediary Program. We are looking at the other two first-class Ints who yet live, though neither of them appears as disaffected as Telemmier. I understand he’s not a joiner, though. Not them, not us, not anyone.’
Solace took a deep breath. ‘Mother, he will join us.’
Tact went very still. ‘Clarify, daughter. Are you stating a fact or merely your belief in some future change of heart?’
‘He has agreed to come with us and help us with our Intermediary Program. With conditions.’
‘Well of course with conditions. He’s a Colonial spacer, and they never did anything for free if they could avoid it,’ but there was a jag of excitement in Tact’s crisp voice. ‘How did you possibly manage it, Solace?’ Tact had turned away from the display entirely, now, the Partheni fleet circling unregarded behind her head. Her face crinkled abruptly into an oddly fond smile, which looked utterly alien on her face. ‘Don’t tell me the mediotypes are true and the Colonials are hopeless romantics after all?’
Solace felt herself colouring. ‘No, Mother. Idris . . . Menheer Telemmier knows that we will need Intermediaries – that is, all humanity, all intelligent life will need them. And he doesn’t trust the Liaison Board to help. What’s more . . . the Colonial method of developing Intermediaries is flawed, wasteful. Telemmier said only a rare few have the right sorts of brains, and they can’t know before the procedures whether a brain’s right or not. But . . .’
‘Yes?’
Solace looked at the ships, at their captains, seeing in them Tact’s own features and knowing her own were just like them. A genetic legacy of Doctor Parsefer’s genius and hubris. ‘We vary less than Colonials, Mother. If we can train one Partheni Intermediary, we should be able to train many, with far less failure, far less loss. If. That’s what Idris is betting upon. That our more limited genetic range has that potential. That we can raise a class of Ints without killing most of them – because we’re alike. More alike than any two Colonials who aren’t close family.’
Tact digested that for a moment, then glanced up with a sly expression. Perhaps she was wondering if Idris and Solace’s shared history hadn’t played some part, after all. Solace wondered that too, she really did . . . And these were odd thoughts to have about someone who was the wrong gender and whose chest she’d been wrist-deep in not so long ago. In those Sách vê’ faim mediotypes, the Colonials were always fighting for people’s hearts. But that probably wasn’t what they meant.
‘They had conditions, you said,’ Tact reminded her.
‘Idris wants to bring along the Vulture God and its crew.’
‘I’m sure we can throw sufficient Largesse their way.’
‘They don’t just want credits, they want a contract with the Parthenon,’ Solace clarified. ‘They want to work for us, legally. They think that will at least give them some protection against Hugh interference. Of course they’ll do their best to outwit us on contract terms and so on. The usual. But they’re good people and good at what they do. And who knows when we might need a . . .’
‘Shabbily maintained salvage vessel,’ Tact finished for her. ‘Yet strange times, strange tools, yes. Do we get the Hiver academic in the bargain? I couldn’t work out whether they were crew or not.’
‘Delegate Trine will go wherever they can learn most about the Architects. Which means not yoking themselves to us or anyone else. But if we have an appropriate research opportunity they’ll come running. If we want them.’
‘We do,’ Tact agreed. ‘Which brings us to you, Myrmidon Executor Solace. Where do you see yourself, in all of this?’
Solace straightened, feeling her future fall out of her own hands after this brief. ‘I’m at your disposal, Mother. As always. Although . . . I did wonder if the newly contracted Vulture God would need a formal Parthenon liaison? To smooth over our new working relationship.’
‘And you’re volunteering yourself, I take it.’
‘Yes, Mother.’