Smoke rose in my lenses, news networks’ images of thread-fine black smoke columns rising over city after city, like so many signal fires.

“We are coordinating proclamations, so the public won’t think this is another Brussels.”

A twitch from Spain.

“And how exactly is this not another Brussels?” Dominic tested, leaning forward, smiling. “How is this not a hundred Brusselses?”

The Delian remained recital-cold. “There are several more items on your tablets.”

MASON rose, and took a limping half step forward. “Why did you do this?” His voice trembled. “Why didn’t you talk to me first?”

“This is an act of war.” Dominic said it first. No, that can’t have been the first time. It must have been said a hundred times by then, by angry voices in Kolkata, Utarutu campus, Bogotá, Copenhagen, and Tongcheng. So many fires.

I saw no doubt in the Utopians’ digital eyes as they watched us, but there were glances, one nowhere to another, and those who had delivered the tablets backed away toward one side of the chamber, farther from the leaders, farther from the leaders’ bodyguards.

As the other Utopians retreated, the lion’s dark partner joined the leaders’ circle, standing between two empty seats opposite where MASON stood, with Achilles by his side. “This will be seen as an act of war by many. But I think not by you?” Lightning crackled through the coat’s storm-world as the Delian turned to Jehovah. “Not in the sense that would fail your Great Test?”

The Addressee too held a tablet in His Hand, Hiveless properties to be handled by the Tribune as their representative. “Your motive?” He asked.

“We held a vote.” My Delian hesitated before answering this time. Your Delian, Mycroft? Yes, reader, I began to realize then how many times—in Romanova, Hobbestown, Crete—I had been touched and guarded by this same stormy nowhere. A dozen Delians to guard Micromegas, and one for me. “Utopia is unwilling to let this war begin with harbingers in play. We struck before the Games, since it seemed likely someone would try to use a harbinger before or at the Opening or Closing Ceremony.”

A vote. Did I recall Utopia ever voting before? Not some vague consult of constellations, intricate as neural networks, but a plain vote?

“You do not trust humans to preserve themselves,” the God pronounced.

Utopia faced Him. “Not enough to gamble with the Earth. We decided, as a Hive, not to let the feuding parties start this war with arms capable of ending life on this world.”