‘He has a business proposition for you. Perhaps you and he—’
‘Oh no, my friend, it’s all of us or nothing at this point. This orbital has a case of the frothing fits on it. So make sure your table has something fit for a Hanni.’
*
‘Help me out.’ Rollo bent towards Kris as they followed the cultists through the orbital’s quieter passageways. ‘Why wine and dine us when they run the place now? We’ve got nothing they need, surely?’
‘The cult isn’t unified. Right now various cells will be jockeying to see who gets to be the mouthpiece for their masters,’ she speculated. ‘The clams—’ She bit off the slur. ‘The Essiel are very hands-off when it comes to how they rule, so long as they get what they want. Winning divine favour can get underhand and sneaky fast.’
Solace had shuffled closer to Idris. ‘You all right?’
He looked at her warily. ‘For now. Except Barney was shooting his mouth off about deep void work to what turned out to be a knot of Betrayed.’
And deep void work meant Ints. ‘You get that reaction a lot?’
‘You’re going to tell me it’d never happen in the Parthenon, right?’
She opened her mouth to say: Well, it wouldn’t. Closed it again. Still not the right time, but what would it take? ‘Just give me a chance, Idris. Let me spiel and then I’ll be out of your hair.’
‘“Give your spiel”，’ he corrected, smiling a little. ‘Your Colvul’s slipping.’
‘Also, you’re changing the subject,’ she pointed out.
He shrugged. ‘Probably. I do that.’ And then they had arrived, apparently. They’d gone some way into the domestic areas of the orbital, amongst nests of rooms occupied by station staff and permanent residents. These cabins were stacked three or four high and separated every now and then by high atria and claustrophobic light wells. The latter had probably been intended as public squares, so long as your public was happy to gather in groups of no more than a dozen. Here, though, three units had been converted into some kind of eatery, decked out in Hegemonic colours. Plainly this neighbourhood was well ahead of the curve in adapting to the system’s new masters.
There was a large table ready for them, half a dozen richly robed cultists already standing by their chairs. Staff bustled past, setting places. They’d even left spaces for Olli’s walker and Medvig’s frame and put in a high, narrow stool for Kittering. All in all, not a bad show.
‘Please,’ the lead cultist invited them, and the crew sat cautiously. Solace saw Kris adjust the sit of her knife within her sleeve and Rollo squared his shoulders. Nobody really trusted this development not to go sour at the first opportunity.
Then their benefactor arrived – the hierograve from the way the other cultists reacted – and Solace burst out, ‘I know you!’
For a moment she couldn’t quite place him. He was balding with a fringe of white hair about the ears and a well-groomed beard. She found herself wanting to stroke it: it was a novelty to Partheni eyes and looked soft and woolly as a blanket. Colonial men tended to misinterpret that kind of thing, though, so she kept her hands to herself. His high-collared robe was eloquent evidence of his cult standing but his eyes had a good-natured twinkle to them – suggesting he was as harmless as everyone’s favourite grandfather. Solace, who had no male relatives of any kind, didn’t trust him an inch, and she reckoned the rest of the Vulture’s crew were just as leery.
‘His Wisdom the Bearer Sathiel,’ the cultist woman announced, and Solace abruptly recalled seeing the man in the news mediotypes. He’d been talking about Huei-Cavor entering a bold new age, and how his sect had been instrumental in converting the populace to Hegemonism.
‘Well this is a grand honour and no mistake,’ Rollo said without enthusiasm. The restaurant staff began bringing out food, a mix of bland-but-nutritious Colonial staples and weird-looking dishes from Hegemonic worlds. Kittering received a bowl of something that looked like coarse-grained coloured sand that his mandibles picked at with gusto. Nobody seemed to know what to do with Medvig, but in the end the Hiver just co-opted whatever was going. When they had a pile of assorted foodstuffs in front of them, their insect-form selves swarmed out of their frame and attacked everything omnivorously, breaking it all down into proteins and energy.
Sathiel twinkled at Rollo, who smiled right back. For a moment Solace thought the pair were going to have an avuncle-off right there at the table. Then one of the hierograve’s people bustled forward to remove his high collar and peel back his robe, revealing a thin mauve tunic underneath.