“In all likelihood, these are lies broadcast by Lagan to humiliate us.”
“But you do not know this for sure?” said the Primo. “You cannot prove to me that she is dead.”
Godel wanted to object that Omn knew the truth, and that Carious could surely find out from him, but she held her tongue. The Primo was testing her. Or was Omn testing her? Omn had to know the whereabouts of Lagan, too, but had so far refused to reveal it.
“We will know soon,” she said. “We will capture Lagan and learn the truth.”
“I have your word on that? Or should I consider which other amongst the First Augurs would be a better Secundus?”
“I will find Lagan and uncover the truth of this girl. I have it in hand.”
Carious considered her for a moment, scrutinizing her, then nodded his head. “Very good. Do so. Then, when that is resolved, we can think about the next shroud. But only then.”
She could only assent to his direct order. “Yes, Primo.”
“You may return to your work, Secundus Godel.” He emphasised her title very slightly as he dismissed her.
Godel spoke no more and began to back away from him, head bowed in submission.
As she went, she ran through a familiar set of thoughts in her mind. Did he truly give voice to the desires of Omn? He would say he was merely the channel, the conduit, of course, but who would know the truth of it? He had the divine machines that he used to receive Omn's instructions, machines only he had the right to use, but what if he simply relayed to the galaxy the words that he, Carious, wished to speak? And what was written in the books and records that only he was allowed to read?
There were others ways of communicating with Omn. The whispers in her head had troubled her, at first; she thought she was suffering some malady of the mind, or that her many journeys through the void were finally taking their toll. Now, she understood what they really were: the voice of Omn, telling her what it was that he wanted her to do, his instructions unfiltered by the intercession of Primo Carious. Whispers of his true design. Concordance had left the path, and it was up to her to set it right again.
It had also troubled her to act without the approval of the Primo. But Omn knew everything, and if Omn chose not to tell the Primo all that she had done, then that was simply proof she was in the right.
She would bide her time, follow the way shown to her, and one day, when the great scheme unfolded, it would be her sitting on the throne, and not him. Primo Godel would rule the galaxy. Under the direction of Omn.
She stepped out through the doors, closed them behind her and only then allowed herself a smile.
6. Leavings
Selene's twenty-third and final death came a week after her decision to leave the Refuge.
The sharp pains tearing at her tissues, subsiding for a time, returned with fresh cruelty one night, sending her writhing and whimpering upon her mattress, the sheets knotting themselves around her burning limbs. She refused to call Ondo to beg for pain relief or sympathy. Eventually she found sleep, unconsciousness at least, but instead of release she fell into confused fever-dreams that left her sweating and panting, unclear about what was real and what was in her head.
She lay on a bed of bones, their shattered fragments digging into her flesh. She was back on Maes Far, the version of it she'd glimpsed from Ondo's captured images, a world of dust and grey-brown ruin. A black sun shone overhead, sucking in the light rather than giving it out.
She wandered the shattered streets of her home. A short distance away, a man knelt in the dust, digging desperately with his bare hands. As fast as he could pull the dirt away, it fell back into the hole. His eyes were wide with horror as he glanced up at her.
“Help me,” her father said. “Help me dig.”
They worked together, burrowing, until she saw the glint of something metallic in the ground. With a gasp of triumph, her father reached in to grab it: the fleck he'd given her as she entered the lander. He handed it to her, enclosing his fist about hers. His voice was pleading, full of sorrow. “Take this. You must take this.”
Then, somehow, her father was gone, and she was scraping away at the ash and soil alone. She found the rest of them there: her mother, her family, Falden, all the others she'd known, buried beneath the weight of the soil. Their eyes were open and they scrabbled at her, clutching her ankles and wrists, pleading for release, begging her to save them.
Selene, filled with horror, kicked herself free, tearing the iron grasp of her mother from her arm, falling backwards to the ground where more hands clutched at her, tried to pull her down beneath the surface.
She screamed a muffled scream, struggling to rise. The hands held her down. When she opened her eyes, they were Ondo's, standing over her in the operating theatre, pinning her to the bed by her shoulders while she fought him. His mouth moved, but she couldn't hear his words over the thundering in her ears. He seemed uncomfortably near to her face and at the same time very distant, glimpsed through the wrong end of a telescope. The light from the machines gleamed in his eyes, and she knew he was trying to kill her. Nausea twisted through her. She was burning up; he had done something to her metabolism, amped it up until her organs gave out.
She struggled against his monstrous strength, but her muscles were limp tissue and she couldn't fight. He brought a vial of some sickly yellow liquid into view, attaching it to one of the tubes feeding into her body. Some toxic concoction. She
