Sathiel lifted his beaker. ‘Caffenado,’ he breathed, as though the drink was rare and precious. ‘Serendipitous child of humans trying to adapt coffee to the soil of an alien world. Now one of the most widely partaken-of beverages known. A major import into the Colonies, as doubtless you’re aware. And war-caste and breeder-caste Castigar can’t get enough of it – which is an unlooked-for benefit. Goes to show what can arise, when humanity travels to the stars and welcomes the alien with open hands.’
Havaer tried his smile again and made notes on his slate. ‘Well, Your Wisdom, you’ll understand that I’m not really here as a potential convert.’
The cultist nodded understandingly. ‘My point, Menheer Mundy, is that there are those, even here, who don’t drink Caffenado because of what it represents. Especially here. There are those who would do everything in their power to throw up hard barriers between humanity and its neighbours. Even if they have to murder their own to do it.’
Havaer blinked, nodded, noted, the whole act. ‘Alleged proof that the Architects have returned has been taken from us – by unknown persons for unknown reasons. But are you . . . making specific accusations here, Your Wisdom?’
Sathiel’s pleasant smile broadened and he looked down into the dark liquid before sipping. ‘I’d risk giving you, a mediotypist from the inner Colonies, something you cannot use . . . Your audience being less pro-alien than some?’
‘My audience is cosmopolitan,’ Havaer assured him. ‘I mean, I’m no fool, I can see this could be controversial. If we hinted that humans tried to hide evidence of Architects, for selfish reasons. No doubt we’d get lots of angry responses, but that won’t be the majority. I cater to an open-minded base.’
‘Well then, let me be frank. There would be nothing more fatal to the Nativist, pro-human bloc than proof that the Architects have returned. Not only because the Divine Essiel have within their power the ability to protect entire worlds from their depredations, but simply because when the Architects were a present threat, that was when humanity existed hand in hand with our neighbours. Right now there are those in power who would rather push them all away. How would that be perceived, if there was a new Architect war on the horizon?’ Sathiel fixed Havaer with a gaze that abruptly had all the grandfather sucked out of it, nothing but steel remaining. ‘My point, Menheer Mundy, is just that, and if you do pass this shocking news on to your audience, you’d be acting in their interests. I appreciate that people within the Colonies find all this . . .’ he picked at his richly embroidered sleeve, ‘unsettling. Our ritual relationship to the Divine Essiel looks like idolatry, perhaps even brainwashing. But I’ll let you into a secret, Menheer. I’m not religious, not in the way you probably believe. However, the Essiel have the power to accomplish things that, try as we might, humanity cannot replicate. Humanity cannot proof our worlds against the Architects, using Originator regalia. We might happen upon a planet with Originator ruins, allowing us to keep the monsters away from only that world. But the Hegemony can ward their worlds at will. And if the Architects come back, as I believe they have; if the Architects keep coming back, what is best for humanity? To ignore the rest of the galaxy and sing stories of our greatness, until our last world is just some monstrous sculpture commemorating our end? Or should we accept that we are not self-sufficient, and take the help offered – at what is a very reasonable price?’
Havaer recorded it all, thanked Sathiel profusely, and made his retreat. The Caffenado had been very good, he agreed. Hard not to develop a taste for it. Out of the cultist’s presence, even he found himself a little shaken. Not a madman, Sathiel, but a persuasive one. It would be profoundly unfortunate should he turn out to be right. Like most Colonials, Havaer had no wish to be ruled by alien overlords. But better than dying.
After that, it was time to find the Vulture God’s disinherited crew. When he set out, he’d assumed the whole Architect business was a hoax and the Vulture crew was at the heart of it. Now, with two of them dead and their ship taken, he wasn’t sure what to think.
Havaer’s contacts eventually tracked them to a maintenance bay by the freight docks. It was a cavernous space with the stripped shells of two shuttles hanging overhead like whale carcasses. A Hannilambra Envoy-class craft sat below these on uneven legs, as half a dozen crablike aliens and eight station engineers tried to scavenge sufficient parts to fix her gravitic drive. At the back of the bay, sitting on dented crates, were three of the Vulture God’s survivors.