“Marvelous reaction.” Faust stepped in at once, with a light, stimulating slap to Dominic’s ear, and a dark stimulating whiff of brandy. “Breathe, my boy. In-one-two, out-one-two. Don’t raise your head too fast.”

Dominic did not try to raise his head, but shivered on the stones, groping toward Jehovah’s soft steps like a blind man.

On the screen, a Cousin’s nursing instincts made Kosala frown, but could not make her wait. “Jed, I need you here ASAP. Our new constitution’s due in Romanova in just over a week. You know the Transitional Congress had meetings scheduled this morning, and suddenly Cookie and their faction are openly calling themselves a Nurturist Party and have a rival draft. I’ve put them off as long as I can, but I need you here.”

“You still want Me there?” He asked.

“Of course.”

“Then you surrender?”

“What?”

“The Cousins surrender?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I declared war on you. Do you surrender?”

“No, Jed, we’re not involved in the war, remember?” Kosala answered, with a strange mix of forced sweetness and impatience. “The Cousins are neutral in this: hospitals, aid, peacemakers.”

Jehovah stopped before Dominic’s prone figure. “In the Masons’ war on those who pierced their sanctum, in the Mitsubishi war for land, in the Humanists’ for Hive-survival, you may be neutral. Not in My war. I will reorder this world, including you.”

Kosala took a bracing breath. “That’s what I’m asking you to do, Jed. That’s why you’re on the draft committee. Heloïse is right that residual gendered concepts are still a big part of how the Cousins understand ourselves. To make a workable new constitution the committee needs people who understand that, and how it affects the way the other Hives perceive us. That’s why we need you.”

“No committee. I am sole Author of this intervention. I will have your unconditional surrender.”

Kosala attempted a motherly smile. “Jed, everyone likes your ideas. You’re a voice of sense against Cookie’s fearmongering. I’m sure the committee will take most of your suggestions, and you’ll like the compromises they suggest.”

Jehovah bent and placed His—should I say gentle or lifeless?—hand on Dominic’s head. «I am content with what I have become.»

His touch dispelled the paralysis, granting Dominic energy enough to throw his arms around his Master’s knees, and sob. Dominic’s are not grief tears like mine, reader, not mourning in advance the battle-deaths Jehovah’s war clothes promise. Neither are they joy tears. I would call them tears of raw catharsis, as Dominic’s mind reorders itself around the all-transforming fact that his God can change.

Jehovah’s eyes turned to Kosala’s screen again. “And if I order the Cousins dissolved?”

Now the hard Amazon appeared in Kosala’s face, that had made Achilles think of queens and goddesses. “You want to dissolve the Hive?”