An excerpt from the journal of Addax Dawn, member of the Rapid Evening, Archangel of Counterweight:
I have lost a dozen agents in the last two days, and tomorrow I’ll lose a dozen more. Our work here has failed, yet I am joyous. It made a mistake! It doesn't see it yet, but it made a mistake.
In the eons since the first Divine was tricked into slumber, the galaxy learned that with enough variables in play even gods make miscalculations. Now, Rigour will learn that lesson too. That machine breathes power. It compiles its psychographics, it leverages all of post-humanity’s post-industrial acumen, but with the voice of the Evening in its ear it has learned too much. It sees the pieces and their movements and the board with a truly blinding clarity, and so it misses the character of these things. It collects its pawns, one and then another, but fails to consider the weight of their number. It predicts the long arc of the Bishop, but discounts her loyalty. It depends on the strength of the Rook but underestimates the allure of her ochre skin. It obsesses over the Regent's authority but misses her brilliance.
This is how I know the Golden Branch will survive. Because for all its attention to detail, all it’s efficient algebra, Rigour can never imagine the impossible, necessary future of these beautiful radicals.