Page 51 of She Who Devours the Stars
“We’re here because the Nullarch presents an unprecedented threat vector,” Pril recited. “Containment is unfeasible. Neutralization—”
“Is a euphemism,” I said. “Try again.”
She glared. “We’ve run seven models, all suggest catastrophic recursion within three cycles if the Nullarch is allowed to propagate uncontrolled. The meme event is already past threshold in nine jurisdictions. Accord response protocol mandates—”
“Kill it,” I said, relishing the silence that followed. “You want to kill it. Her.”
Pril took a measured breath. “With respect, Director, no one in this room wants to kill anyone. But precedent—”
“Precedent is obsolete,” I said. I let the words roll out, then leaned in just enough to catch the whole table’s reflection in the blackglass. “Let’s not waste time. You’ve all read the Vaelith brief. You’ve all seen the incident footage. She’s not a weapon. She’s the canary in your containment mine. And if you push her, she’ll break the shaft and bury you with it.”
Serevin made a noise that was supposed to be a laugh but came out like a power fluctuation. “So you’re suggesting what, exactly? Release her? Let the recursion run until it wipes out the last of the posthuman genome?”
At the far end, Legal muttered something about “liability,” but no one cared.
I kept my eyes on Serevin. “I’m suggesting,” I said, “that if you make an enemy of her, you’ll get a war. If you make her an asset—”
“You think she can be managed,” Pril sneered.
“I know she can’t be erased,” I countered.
The room paused. In that pause, a thousand years of mythic bureaucracy tried to rewrite itself and failed. Someone, probably one of the underlings, shifted in their chair and set off a chain reaction of micro-fidgets.
I let the silence breathe. Let them stew. Then, just loud enough to cut through their manufactured calm, I added, “Clearly, none of you have ever stood in the shadow of Vireleth the Closure.”
It landed like an atomic bomb. The name alone made the lights dim, and the black table manifested, for a fraction of a moment, the observing eye of the mythship. It had heard me—and was listening.
Audible gulps echoed in the dark room.
“Vireleth does not tolerate amateurs, does not give second chances, and her loyalty to Fern Meldin is absolute. Make an enemy of Fern, and the Accord dies with a whimper.”
Serevin didn’t speak. He looked at me, really looked, and then gave the slightest nod. Not deference, not approval, just recognition. The kind of nod a man would give to the storm he can’t stop but just might survive, if he moves quickly enough.
He turned to the Vaelith proxy. “Your House created this mess. What does Kaela propose?”
The proxy smiled, slow and wide. “We trust the Former-Director’s judgment.”
Pril bristled. “So, you’re abdicating?”
“Delegating,” the proxy corrected, her voice so serene it could have doubled as a poison gas. “The Nullarch will undergo supervised Resonance Attunement at the Eventide Athenaeum. Six months. Instructors of Accord’s choosing, but oversight by House Vaelith. No remote weapons, no direct surveillance. She learns to control herself, or you get your war.”
Pril almost choked on her espresso. “That’s not protocol—”
“It’s precedent,” I said. “Trivane’s mythic charter. Section Four, clause one-six. In cases where a mythic recursion exceeds three-sigma containment, protocol yields to House arbitration.” I let the memory of every pain-in-the-ass brief I’d ever read fuel the following words. “Your admin signed it.”
Serevin checked with Legal. The lawyer nodded, pale and sweating.
For a minute, I could almost see the machinery of the Accord grinding to a halt, then reversing, then rerouting power. No one had expected us to invoke mythic charter. No one had everneeded to. But Kaela had left the loophole open, waiting, for centuries. All I had to do was drive the conversation into it.
Serevin folded his hands. “If the Nullarch refuses?”
“She won’t,” I said.
“And if she does?” Pril asked, barely able to disguise the eagerness.
“Then you have your precedent for dissolution,” I replied. “But you’d better be ready to pay the premium.”
Silence again. The kind that buries things.
