“Bonum. Fortasse Eo curabis. (Good. Maybe you’ll listen to Them.)” Robots and monsters traded electric hisses as Caesar advanced. “Egomet iam te admonui. Omnes te admonuerunt. Dimidium gentis humanis mortem tuam petit. In Sancto mane! (I already warned you myself. Everyone warned you. Half the human race wants you dead. Stay in the Sanctum!)”

“In sancto sum. (I am in a sanctum.)” Jehovah gestured at the marble walls, guarded by inviolable, iron-girded tradition, and nothing else.

I could not see Caesar’s face, but could imagine exasperation’s red flush deepening its bronze. “Take the Porphyrogene to the car.”

The English command obviously aimed to part the Utopian wall so the Masonic guards could reach their stubborn Quarry, but the battlements of seas and stars stood firm.

“In volantem, fili. Nunc. (In the car, son. Now.)”

The Visitor lingered. “Mother Gerber.” He knew well the names of all His Peer’s high priests. “Were you actively aware of Your Creator asking or commanding you to kill Me? Or did it seem to be your own initiative?” His voice is ever soft. “Please answer.”

We all needed to know.

“It was my initiative,” Gerber replied, clean words, clear. “The world can’t stabilize with you in it. You must see that. Now get out of here. MASON can carry me off and destroy me if they must, but leave the Conclave alone.”

“Thank you. I go.”

Now with the Alien’s consent, Utopia parted.

“Nobiscum si libet, Porphyrogene. (With us, please, Porphyrogene.)” Caesar chose his guards carefully, smaller than himself but larger than his Son, large enough to sweep Him with them as a flood sweeps timber toward the whirlpool’s mouth, or, here, the car’s. As MASON saw his Son settled into the waiting seats, with guards on either side to keep Him there, the human pillar that is Caesar eased at last from quaking fury to his customary stone.

“Wait, Cornel!” Julia’s rich alto called out as the Emperor turned to climb in beside his Son. “Are we all agreed that this incident should be hidden from the public?” She said ‘all,’ but it was MASON’s nod she waited for.

He gave it.

“Good. Valor, pull the fire alarm to give us a cover story. Andalusia, go outside to make sure no one’s out there spreading rumors. Utopians, am I right in guessing you’ve been blocking satellites and cameras and whatever else might record us since this started?”

Vizors exchanged quick glances. “Yes.”

“Good, then keep it up, and see if you can doctor some images to make things plausible, then you and your beasts vanish to wherever you came from, quickly as you can. As for you, MASON, it’s obvious you’re going to carry off Gilliard and whomever else you like, so just carry them off and go. The longer you stay, the more people will notice. Go! Get! Shoo!”