“No,” Diamond says. “The math works out. Empirically, we can explain a lot of things we’ve observed about the Heretic siege using KD ratios. He’s closed the circuit for us.”

The brains on the station take the shabby mumblings of a Heretic and spin them to gold. The Schroedinger shield cuts information from inside and out, but the ships themselves make an information network, crucial for keeping them in formation. Should the six or so ships that comprise the net pillars be taken out, the shield would be shattered, ending the siege, and leaving the other thirty ships floating in discombobulation, easy pickings for the banquet of Angelsteeth.

Tank gets to present the engineers’ findings to the higher brass. “Based on the models and our simulations, and what we know of the architecture of Monkglass, we’ve picked out these ships as the likely net pillars.”

They’re in the command nerve center again. An outsize graphic of the siege lords over the central display with its suffocating wrap of Heretics. Purple overlays specific nodes in the nets, and as the graphic cycles under Tank’s guidance, a constellation of potential attack strategies waxes and wanes around them, written in chunky military shorthand. Tank explains the strategies they could employ for the external assaults, the success and failure rates, the backup strategies should the pillars be instead one of the other three possibilities—

“Stop,” says the General, interrupting her stream of technobabble. “How sure are you that these six are the pillar-carriers?”

“About eighty percent. There’s a bunch of higher math behind it, but—”

“It’s closer to ninety-five percent,” Diamond says, cutting in. “Based on context, we’re pretty sure these are the ones.”

“That’s a five percent chance we’re wrong. Those odds are too big for me.” They pinch their chin. “We only have one shot at disabling this shield and taking out the Heretic lead ship. If we fail, the banquet could be destroyed.”

There has to be some way for them to know for sure. Misery fixes her gaze upon the angel who scouts the room like a curious hawk. Are they on the right track? If there was a time for divine guidance, that time would be now.

“Guidance has already been given to you,” Ruin says. “The Heretic did not mention jumping within the siege net idly.”

Emotion punches her in the stomach. She hates being reminded of Jericho, hates thinking that something out of his cursed mouth might be of use. She has tried to forget everything about that last encounter: the evil that he tried to enact, the dark feelings he drew out of her. She is not proud. Curse that Heretic, the void take him, let his marrow rot and his mind be torn asunder.

And yet—can she argue with Ruin? Her mission has to be more important than her ego. The Larex Forge was born of the nullvoid. Blessings can come from corruption.