Eyes of the Void (The Final Architecture, #2)

by Adrian Tchaikovsky

She wanted to tell him, Look, they’re clams. You’re kneeling before an altar that’s mostly all-you-can-worship seafood buffet. But, because she was a respectable businesswoman, she said none of it. Tokay

skulking about in the ruins of a long-dead race, praising the star-gods who could no longer save them.

Modern times were not, he reflected, a poster child for interstellar diplomacy.