or calculators or classroom exercises of Architect-Gods. No drive, no rudder, no heart, no brain, no lungs, no throatneckpass, no tongue, no will,

enormousintenseunbelievable above her, enormousintenseunbelievable below her, bound in orbit behind the Deep Wheel, the Havenharbour always growing in grandeur and shrinkdying in sense.

Astrid gangs tae kirk

“Thoo’ll come?” asks Øyvind, aesy enogh,

so Astrid sayed her “Yass” afore

myndan sheu wis faithless noo.

Sheu cam an fund sheu kent the wirds

tae ivry sang, an hoo tae speir

this god fer saefty an yin fer maet,

anither fer wittans an feck. Awey,

sheu telt Orcadia’s past tae the grunders:

the curn o fock fae a curn o ships

at cam to big a curn o a staetion

an raffled thir myndeen o some histry

intae a kinno culture, parteeclar.

Here, sheu didno think o the differ

atween tael an true. Awey,

sheu lairned tae be a aafil cynic.

Here, sheu coonts the ruives i’the reuf

trou the lang an weel-kent sermon.

An Higgie’s soprano cracks the sam

notts ahint her, an wi this truth

Astrid finds forgieness: a caald

waarmth at’s notheen tae deu wi belief

an aatheen tae deu wi haird pews,

thin yarns, gray beuks,

an so is a myndeen tae her fae the gods.

Astrid goes to church

“Will you come?” asked Øyvind, casually enough, so Astrid said her “Yes” before rememberknowreflectwilling she was faithless now. She came and found she knew the words

to every song, and how to ask this god for safety and that for foodmeat and another for wisdomknowledgenews and powerworthattention. Awaydeaddistracted, she told Orcadia’s past to the planet-dwelling people:

the fewsmallgrain people from a fewsmallgrain ships that came to build a fewsmallgrain station, and tanglemuddled their giftremembrancememory of strangespecial history into a sort of culture, specificstrange.

Here, she didn’t think of the difference between tale and true. Awaydeaddistracted, she learned to be an awful cynic. Here, she counts the rivets in the roof

through the long and familiar sermon. And Higgie’s soprano cracks the same notes behind her, and in this truth Astrid finds forgiveness: a cold

warmth that has nothing to do with belief and everything to do with hard pews, thin stories, grey books, and as such is a giftremembrancememory to her from the gods.

Darling gangs tae view the wracks

Sheu thowt thir’d be somtheen more,

but this teum shapes is jeust

the waant o starns. Thay glup

the orange lowe o the yotun

at colors aa Orcadia.

Thay glup her geyran face.

Noor sets the skiff tae drift

an leans back in her seat,

een clossed. The wracks sloom by.

“What are they?” speirs Darling,

an the arkaeolojist bairks

a laagh. “Exactly,” says Noor.

“Exactly.” Darling is grabbid.

“But surely—I mean—they must—”

“Look,” says Noor, no appenan

her een. “There’s no known substance

which can form constructions

this vast or regular, and no

sign of a life that made them.