“They dug up some old documents. Really old. We’ve been scraping them off. Getting familiar with them. Looking up old words, fallen from use.”

“What kinds of documents?”

“Technical drawings. Specs. Manuals. Back-of-envelope sketches, even.”

“For what?”

“They won’t just come out and say, and no one is allowed to see the whole picture,” Lio said, “but talking to some of the others, comparing notes in Lucub, taking into account the dates on the documents—just before the Terrible Events—we’re all pretty sure that what we are looking at are the original plans for the Everything Killers.”

I gave a little snort of laughter, simply out of habit. The Everything Killers were only ever mentioned in the same way as we might talk of God or Hell. But everything about Lio’s tone and manner told me that he was being altogether literal. There was a long silence while I tried to absorb this news.

In an attempt to prove that he must be mistaken, I pointed out, “But that goes against everything—everything—that the world is based on!” Meaning the post-Reconstitution world. “If they’re willing to do that, then nothing is real anymore.”

“There are many who agree with you, of course,” Lio said, “and that’s why—” He exhaled, the breath coming out raggedly. “That’s why I wanted to invite you to be part of my Lucub.”

“What’s the purpose of this Lucub?”

“Some people are thinking of going over to the Antarcts.”

“Going over—as in joining forces with? With the Geometers!?”

“The Antarcts,” he insisted. “It’s been established, now, that the dead woman in the probe was from Antarct.”

“Based on the blood samples in the tubes?”

He nodded. “But the projectiles in her body are from the Pangee cosmos.”

“So people are guessing that the Antarcts are on our side—”

He nodded again. “And having some sort of conflict, up there, with the Pangees.”

“So the idea is to forge an alliance between the avout, and the Antarcts?”

“You got it,” Lio said.

“Wow! How exactly would you go about that? How would you even communicate with them? I mean, so that the Sæcular Power wouldn’t know of it.”

“Easy. Already been worked out.” Then, knowing I’d never be satisfied with that, he added, “It’s the guidestar lasers on the big telescopes. We can aim them at the icosahedron. They’ll see the light but it can’t be intercepted by anyone who’s not right on the beam line.”

I thought of the conversation I’d had with Lio months ago, when we had wondered whether it was really true, or just an old folk tale, that the Ita had us under continual surveillance. Idiotically, I looked around just in case any hidden microphones might somehow have popped into view. “Do the Ita—”

“Some of them are in on it,” Lio said.

“What kind of relationship exactly do these people want to forge with the Antarcts?”

“We spend most of our time arguing about that. Too much time. There are some nut jobs, of course, who think we can go up there and live on their ship and it’ll be like ascending to Heaven. Most are more reasonable. We’ll set up our own communications to the Geometers and…conduct our own negotiations.”

“But that is totally at odds with the Reconstitution!”

“Does the Reconstitution say anything about aliens? About multiple cosmi?”

I shut up, knowing when I was planed.

“Anyway,” he went on.

I completed his sentence. “The Reconstitution is a dead letter anyway if they are dusting off the Everything Killers.”

“The term post-mathic is being thrown around,” Lio said. “People are talking about the Second Rebirth.”

“Who’s in on it?”

“Quite a few servitors. Not so many doyns, if you follow me.”

“What orders? What maths?”

“Well…the Ringing Vale avout consider the Everything Killers to be dishonorable, if that helps you.”

“Where does this Lucub meet? It sounds huge.”

“It’s a bunch of Lucubs. A network of cells. We talk to one another.”

“What do you do, Lio?”

“Stand in the back of the room and look tough. Listen.”

“What are you listening for?”

“There are some crazies,” he said. “Well, not crazy, but too rational, if you know what I mean. No awareness of tactics. Of discretion.”

“And what are those people saying?”

“That it’s time for the smart people to be in charge. Time to take the power back from people like the Warden of Heaven.”

“That kind of talk could lead to a Fourth Sack!” I said.

“Some people are way ahead of you,” Lio said. “They are saying, ‘Fine. Bring it on. The Geometers will intervene on our side.’”

“That is just shockingly reckless,” I said.

“That’s why I’m listening to those people,” Lio said, “and reporting back to my Lucub group, which seems reasonable by comparison.”

“Why would the Geometers reach down to stop a Sack?”

“People who believe this tend to be hard-core HTW types, I’m sorry to say. They’ve seen the Adrakhonic proof on Orolo’s phototype. They assume that the Geometers are our brothers. The fact that the Geometers made their first landfall at Orithena just confirms this.”

“Lio, I have a question.”

“Okay.”

“I’ve had zero contact with Ala. Jesry thinks it’s because she’s trying to get her liaisons sorted. But that doesn’t seem like her. Does she know anything about this group?”

“She started it,” Lio said.

Paphlagon’s plate was clean; Lodoghir hadn’t even picked up his fork. Hunger at last succeeded where throat-clearing, glares, exasperated sighs, and the en masse departure of the servitors had failed: Lodoghir fell silent, picked up his glass, and doused his flaming vocal chords.

Paphlagon was eerily calm—almost jolly. “If one were to examine a transcript of that, one would see an extraordinary, and quite lengthy, catalog of every rhetorical trick in the Sphenic book. We’ve seen appeals to mob sentiment: ‘no one believes in the HTW any more,’ ‘everyone thinks Protism is crazy.’ We’ve seen appeals to authority: ‘refuted in the Twenty-ninth Century by no less than Saunt So-and-so.’ Efforts to play on our personal insecurity: ‘how can any person of sound mind take this seriously?’ And many other techniques that I have forgotten the names of, as it has been so long since I studied the Sphenics. So. I must begin by applauding the rhetorical mastery that has given the rest of us an opportunity to enjoy this excellent meal and rest our voices. But I would be remiss if I did not point out that Fraa Lodoghir has yet to offer up a single argument, worthy of the name, against the proposition that there is a Hylaean Theoric World, that it is populated by mathematical entities—cnoöns, as we call them—that are non-spatial and non-temporal in nature, and that our minds have some capability of accessing them.”

“Nor could I—ever!” exclaimed Fraa Lodoghir, whose jaw had been working at an astounding pace during the last few moments to get a bite of food squared away. “You Protists are ever so careful to frame the discussion so that it can’t be touched by rational debate. I can’t prove you’re wrong any more than I can prove the non-existence of God!”