“Implying Tellus partway insane to start,” the squire said sardonically. “The rest of the calendar heresies can be summed up in a word: astronomers have debated for ten thousand years the meaning of certain X-ray anomalies seen in the direction of Canes Venatici. Either Rania departed immediately or was long delayed. The evidence is thin, and even the Potentates do not agree; but there simply is no energy budget to ignite the beam at both times. One side or the other must prevail. The Guild dare not take sides. Hence the need for discretion, sir. It must look like an accident, or a lawful duel, or an act of the Judge of Ages.”

But Norbert sent, “The window during which we can compensate for a delayed ignition by lighting a brighter starbeam narrows and closes within the century. And what if the Revisionists are wrong?”

“Such is life.”

“Such is death, you mean. If the breaking starbeam is not ignited on schedule, then the Vindicatrix of Man will pass through the Solar System. From our frame of reference her ship is a scintilla shy of lightspeed, which means to us she would seem to be a disk-shaped black hole, flattened in the direction of motion like a pancake, so far red-shifted that her highest-pitched X-ray emissions will be radio too deep to detect, not even with an antenna half a lightyear long. And she will carry near-infinite gravity in her wake. Such an object passing through the system would throw the inner planets from their orbits. You still say the matter means nothing to you?”

“Sir, with respect, I saw ninety worlds die in Sagittarius. What are three more?”

“But you believe she returns?”

The squire sighed and looked upward. “As a man of honor, I can do nothing else but believe. I vowed long ago never to lose faith in the return of Rania or hope in the Vindication of Man.”

“Why such a vow?”

“An annoying upstart oaf, in each way my inferior, with a psittacine nose and an agrestic accent, would gain face and favor over me, if she returned and he held faith while I failed. My honor says she is returning even if Jupiter himself says otherwise.”

Norbert was surprised at the squire’s vehemence. “But Jupiter is wiser than all men and all lesser worlds combined.”

“Even so, he did not exist when she launched, so he does not truly know her.”

Norbert allowed himself to become distracted. This was a question he had often pondered. “Did civilization exist before Jupiter? A time when only Archangels ruled mankind?”

“There was a time when the Hermeticists ruled men, and before that, men ruled themselves.”

“And, before that, monkeys ruled men, I suppose? Absurd. Cliometric calculation is too complex for merely sub-posthuman minds to address—so how could there be any human history before there was control of history?”

“Men lived their history blindly in those days, not knowing what was coming.”

“You can hardly call that history.”

“Well, sir, if I may, the discovery of cliometry must by definition be an historical event cliometry did not make. In such times the strong make of history whatso they will.”

“The Summer Kings teach that cliometry is a survival from an ulterior and previous universe, one where time did not pass, on the grounds that cliometry must have existed before historical events for it to plan. The first event was the plan by the ulterior beings to create created reality.”

“There may be a paradox in that reasoning somewhere,” said the squire blandly.

“They also teach that Jupiter was created by the Salamander, who was created by Hyades, who was created in turn by higher beings created by this cosmic cliometry. Jupiter designed the Tellus at the core of the Earth who designed the Archangels of the surface, who designed the Angels and Ghosts of the Noösphere, who designed the Swans and other posthumans, who designed the lesser forms of Man, who designed the Dog Things, Cetaceans, and other Moreaus.”

The squire’s reply betrayed a restrained note of supercilious amusement. “I must say the theory has a certain hierarchical elegance to it.”

Now they climbed up to the brink of the cliff, and with some effort, calling a tree to bend a branch to help them (which it obligingly did), soon they stood on the edge of the grass-covered table of land. They did not pant and puff, but both restored the oxygen capsules in their bloodstreams with a mental command and a single very long indrawn breath.

They now could walk shoulder to shoulder. Norbert sent, “I have also heard what the Foxes teach. They say the Salamander did not make the Inner Worlds. They say Earth was built by man; although they never say where man stood to do this deed. They also say the Earth was once a horse.” Norbert saw the squire smile at that. He also saw the smile vanish when he continued: “And they also say men should be free.”

“Sir, with respect, you traffic with ideas best left untouched. Heresy clings like tar.”

Onward they passed through pathless wood, their footfalls as silent as those of stags.

4. The Tribulations

The cathedral was not visible, for tall trees blocked the view, but the squire’s internal navigation sense pointed the direction. Norbert hesitated, and the squire said, “Sir? There is a satellite feed. Can you not get a picture?”

“I am under Interdict. The Noösphere of Tellus is closed to me.”

“What? Just sign on under a different identity. Any wretched Fox vixen will aid a human to do this, if he merely commits one felony or three misdemeanors.”

“And do I sign on under a different code of honor? Perhaps one where I disobey lawful orders?”

“You are voluntarily disconnected?” Now the squire ignited his charming smile again. “I did not know being an assassin was so much like being a priest.”

They set off again, this time with the squire in the lead.

“The vow of abstinence is one I did not take, although, thanks to the erratic nature of earthwomen, it is one I suffer.”

“Ah! Women! Women cause difficulties.” The squire gave a shrug of fluid insouciance. “Some men are foolish enough even to fight rivals for mates, never imagining how the struggle will consume their souls and waste long years of time. Perhaps you are better off.”

“Life causes difficulties. Some men are foolish enough to struggle for it. Are the dead better off?” snapped Norbert.

“That deep question is the one I hope never to be in a position to answer. So, then, you have told me two different accounts of history. Between Summer Kings and Fox Queen, whom do you trust?”

“The Summer King version is more plausible. One need only glance at the Firstling forms of man, Nyctalops and Hibernals, and see that they were artificially designed. The Guild keeps alive half-extinct species, Sylphs and Chimerae and Giants, who are useful for the hardships of shipboard work. They are as clearly manmade as the ships themselves.”

“So you think mankind was designed, not evolved?” the squire asked wryly.

“During your horrible daytimes, I think so. How could humanity have evolved on a world whose sun no one could stand to see? At night, I do not doubt that man’s evolution had occurred here—I have suffered too many allergies to doubt that this world has been preying on man longer than any other—but I think to have selected this as the world on which to evolve shows a lapse in judgment.”

“We should lodge a complaint.”

“In any case, the formation of the planets is not natural: it can be no coincidence that Earth and Venus are exactly the right distance from the Sun to support life, and Mars just happens to have a surface crisscrossed with canals and a subsurface with volcanic heat-vents?”

“The Salamander of Hyades reengineered the Inner System. He created nothing.”

“Then you believe the Fox Maidens?”