And with that, he primes the ring—making it clear why he asked me here. He wants me to see Omega Halo fire.

Expenditures rise; local vacuum energy for a thousand kilometers around the ring is sucked down to a practical minimum. I watch the measurements closely; another moment of desperate uncertainty … the star roads may have an effect on what we can pull from local space-time.

But they are not yet close enough. Omega Halo’s reserves rise to maximum and are primed for instant release.

“Sequence input successful,” Offensive Bias announces. “Omega Halo is fully charged.”

“Will you escape with the IsoDidact, Master Builder?” the Examiner asks.

“No. That is my Ark.” He pauses, and moves his gloved finger, as if to outline the huge installation’s image. “And this is my Halo.” We expect another grand gesture, an arrogant sweep of rhetoric, but Faber is in no mood to boast; his gaze is steady, downcast. “Throughout my life, I sought power and profit for myself, for my rate. Now, at long last, I think I understand the meaning of a crime against the Mantle. After this, no need to seek balance. I will await my penance here.”

We stand in silence before this uncharacteristic display of courage and humility.

Examiner’s expression remains doubtful. “We’ll likely none of us study the Domain long,” he says.

The control room removes all but the necessary parts of our command display, then rotates slowly into position and becomes transparent to visible light.

The Master Builder summons up the complex visage of Offensive Bias. The metarch looms over us, a servant greater than its masters, more capable, and, I hope, untainted. Soon we will know. All depends on what we accomplish here, now.

Builders and Warrior-Servants.

Together.

“We seek security in the Domain and the example of the Mantle,” the Master Builder chants. “We who are about to kill seek forgiveness. We treasure the truth of our error, that in future error will pass from us, and from the lives of all who come after.”

The Examiner looks at us with an expression of guilty glee. Warriors do love war. Warriors do hate what it brings. The tension …

I turn away, for the first time in years aware that my own bones are not so ancient, so deeply infused with Warrior traditions. Once, I came of Builder stock, more like Faber than the Didact.

Soon, there will be only one Didact.

“Artifacts within perimeter,” Offensive Bias says. “One million kilometers.

“Too damned close,” Examiner says.

The strange and changing quality of space-time around the star roads is subtle, yet evident in a crawling itch in our nerves and brain.

The spokes are forming, and Faber slowly adjusts the ring’s angle, pulling its firing path.