by Ada Palmer
Imagine, reader, a castaway, so long on his island prison that even the hunger for human company has waned, who spots white sails at sea. He cannot at first recognize the answer to the prayer he has long stopped chanting, but watches uncomprehending until, like a fever, hope, pain, loneliness, all the old passions make him charge shrieking into the surf. Just so, Tully accepted Sniper’s hand slowly, gingerly, then clung for dear life. “Mojave, not Mardi,” he corrected. “I prefer Tully Mojave.”
In a kinder world, Saladin and I would have awakened trembling, breathless at this moment, sensing in our bones as the doom that we had sacrificed so much to fight became a certainty. But in a kinder world Sniper would have turned right.
“Nice to meet you, Tully Mojave,” Sniper answered. “I’d like to introduce you to some friends of mine.”
CHAPTER THE TWELFTH
Snakes and Ladders
“Member Hiroaki Mitsubishi, please. Tell them it’s the Pontifex Maxima.”
Julia Doria-Pamphili stretched back across her favorite sofa, copied thread by thread from Freud’s. After a moment her office wall flickered to digital life, showing a suite in the distant Mitsubishi capital of Tōgenkyō, elegant Japanese architecture decorated with Ganymedist paintings, where Danaë’s half-set-set brood lounged around their gaming boards and news feeds. The freshly promoted Cousins’ Feedback Bureau Executive Assistant Hiroaki Mitsubishi is the frailest of the ten adopted Mitsubishi ba’sibs, ancestrally Korean if I guess right from her face. She was thin as a wisp within her spring silk Cousin’s wrap as she crouched on the floor with the delicacy of a folded spider, sitting beside a game board, where Toshi Mitsubishi—whom you last saw with myself and Jung Su-Hyeon in the Censor’s office—faced low-crouching Jun Mitsubishi, who took out her frustration at having failed to infiltrate Faust’s Institute by playing an excessively aggressive game of Go.
Hiroaki waved. “Hello, Julia. Thank you for calling back.”
“Of course,” she smiled. “What’s up?”
Frail Hiroaki hesitated, but Masami Mitsubishi spoke up for her, sprawled on the far side of the game board with the calligraphy-covered jacket of a Black Sakura reporter wadded beneath him as a pillow. “We need your help handling Darcy Sok.”
“You’re asking help from an opponent?” The Conclave Head waggled her finger at them, like a chiding aunt. “Are things getting out of hand?”
This is the first time you have seen Masami Mitsubishi in the flesh, the young journalist whose Seven-Ten list sparked so much. The boldness of his smile here is surely false, a mask for the exhaustion of four days dodging the grim slur ‘plagiarist,’ but it is a good mask, the strength of his jaw and the darkness of his face making all his expressions warm and confident. Masami is the darkest of the ten ba’sibs, darker even than Africa-tinted Toshi, and he wears an Ainu strat bracelet, a rare Japanese ethnic sub-strat which stirs much comment when he stands at his adopted father’s side. “Darcy Sok attacked Hiroaki at the CFB last night. Physically attacked.” His frowning glance led Julia to the bulk of a bandage under the cloth that veiled Hiroaki’s fragile shoulder.
“I’m not surprised. Exposing the corruption in the the CFB isn’t some small revenge; you’ve destroyed everything Darcy Sok lived for, the whole Cousins Hive, and you’ve made it seem like Sok’s fault.”
“Sok has no evidence it was us.”
Julia chuckled. “Masami, honey, a flailing, desperate person doesn’t need real evidence, conjecture is enough. You put Darcy Sok on your Seven-Ten list, and Hiroaki was inside the CFB; that’s coincidence enough for an angry imagination to blame it on you, even if you were innocent as babes.”
“Not that a Nurturist bigot like Darcy Sok would’ve called us innocent, even as babies.”
More than a few of the ba’sibs scowled, while others traded glances. Dark glances would have made sense, angry glances, chill, even hurt, but these were nothing so familiar, strange glances with something off about them, timed wrong, shifting wrong, something in the muscles of the cheeks, heads semiturning but not fully following the motion of the eyes. Perhaps you can see it best in tiny Hiroaki, how her arms—as thin as sticks within one of the sleeveless sweaters Danaë hand-knit to let her children boast their ‘unnatural’ Brillist numbers—don’t quite move like arms which have climbed and roughhoused under Nature’s summer sun.
Julia gave a sympathetic smile. “I know it means a lot to you, getting back at the Cousins for ruining your training, but I warned you, revenge is dangerous. Revenge has motive dripping off of it, and when your motive is obvious, people will link things to you even without evidence, and more when there is evidence.”
“There is no evidence!” Masami protested. “Hiroaki didn’t actually leak anything, or break any law! They were just an observer!”
Julia did not feel like feigning patience. “You’re not a Gag-gene, Masami, and anyone with half an eye for body language can spot from how you move that your senses are half remapped. I’m sure the Brillists have guessed for ages, plenty of others too, but everyone held off while Minor’s Law protected you; now that three of you are legal adults, any snoop worth their salt can find the records of your training bash’, and who was behind the attack that broke it up. I wouldn’t be surprised if someone warned Kosala and Lorelei Cook the very day you passed your Adulthood Competency Exam.”
What leaked from Masami’s throat was almost a growl. “It’s Felix Faust, isn’t it? They told Darcy Sok we’re set-sets, told the Big Seven too, and now they’re leaking it to the public.”
Julia shook her head. “Felix Faust is a voyeur, not a player. They don’t have to destroy you, they can sit back on their sofa and watch you bring this down upon yourselves. You should have been subtler. I understand going after Lorelei Cook; as Minister of Education Cook is practically keeping Nurturism alive by themself.”
“And Kosala!” Masami interrupted. “Kosala’s been covering Cook’s part in the raids for years! Kosala’s just as guilty!”
Julia nodded indulgently. “But Darcy Sok wasn’t one of your enemies before this, and by destroying the Hive on their watch you’ve made an unnecessary enemy, one you can’t unmake so easily. If Sok doesn’t kill themself, they’ll devote themself to revenge on the lot of you, with an undying, single-minded fervor, just as you have against Cook and Kosala. That’s not the kind of enemy you want to make at a young age. Never create a personal enemy. Always keep layers of minions between yourself and someone you destroy, it’s safer that way.”
Frail Hiroaki frowned at the Cousins’ wrap around her knees, as at an old cast overdue to be removed. “I never lied to Darcy Sok. I told them I wanted to join the CFB to fight corruption. They were the one stupid enough to assume I meant only other people’s corruption, not their own. Or yours. Frankly, Julia, if Darcy really thinks you’re the lesser of two evils they need to reread Faust.”
Julia smiled at the compliment. “I’ve been too gentle on you kids. We’ve been playing games with no real risk, but bringing down a Hive is deadly dangerous, and I’m not just talking to Hiroaki. The lot of you have been very reckless in this, Toshi especially.”
“Me?” The Censor’s analyst sat forward. “I haven’t done anything. Really I haven’t.”
“That doesn’t matter. You have access to the secrets of the Censor’s office. You could have leaked them to your ba’sibs, and people hunting for conspiracy will assume you have, whether it’s true or not.” Julia played with the long black coil of her hair. “Just because you’re innocent doesn’t mean you don’t need to prepare an alibi. Innocence needs to be proved.”
Self-conscious Toshi tugged at the fluffy twists of her own hair. “Do you really think that’s necessary?”
“Revenge heeds instinct, not evidence. Besides, you did know what your sibs were doing, and you could have stopped it. That’s complicity enough for blame to fix on you.”
Hiroaki gave frowning Toshi a sisterly shoulder-squeeze. “Anyway, Julia, Darcy Sok is your parish
ioner. Can’t you deflect them? Calm them? Redirect their anger someplace else? You could call them for a session right now. It would mean a lot to us. Please?”
Julia frowned. “Why doesn’t your mother take care of Darcy Sok? Or your father? They have means enough.”
Glances not-quite-right passed among the ba’sibs once again.
“You’re ashamed to tell them, aren’t you?” Julia’s chuckle grew smug. “Afraid of a chewing out? This won’t do, children. If you start keeping secrets within your own bash’, things will fall apart faster than you can say Seven-Ten list.” Her eyes narrowed. “Or are you afraid of something more serious than a chewing out? You told me and your mother that you didn’t plan the Seven-Ten list theft. Was that the truth?”
“Yes!” the ba’sibs answered all together in a chorus.
“Do you know who stole it?”
“No.”
“Really?”
“Cross my heart.” Masami made the gesture with dark fingers stained darker by the archaic inks used at Black Sakura. “I wrote the list but didn’t think to pull a stunt like the theft. I wish I did know who it was. I’d congratulate them on a plot well laid, then deck them.”
Julia smiled sympathy. “I hear Papadelias is on the edge of learning to trace the Canner Device. I’m sure there will be sufficient decking when the time comes.”
“Do you know who has it?”
“What?”
“Canner’s prototype.” Again they all said it together: Masami, Hiroaki, Toshi, Jun, Ran, Sora, Michi, Harue, Naō, Setsuna, all one crisp, inhuman chorus. “We have to find it.”
A narrow smile. “Perhaps I do know who has it, but that’s the kind of information you buy from an opponent, you don’t get it out of the kindness of my adversarial heart. As for Darcy Sok, go to your parents. You made this bed, you get chewed out in it.”
“Please, Julia.” Hiroaki huddled adorably within her Cousin’s wrap. “You could do it so easily, and so quickly!”
“We aren’t asking this for nothing,” Masami added. “We’ll owe you, help for help.”
“Mmm? Anything concrete to offer? Or do I get an open-ended boon?”
“We can help with a certain enemy you’ve made in the last days.”
Julia half rose from her sofa, her oil-black hair unwinding down her back like a waking serpent. “An enemy? Intriguing. Who?”
“Carlyle Foster.”
Julia stared for a frozen moment. “Have you been spying on my little Carlyle?” Her voice grew sweet and ominous at once, a teasing disapproval.
“Not more than normal,” Toshi answered. “But nobody can fly that far out of pattern and not be conspicuous.”
Julia stretched her shoulders. “Good spotting, bad interpreting. I’ve given Carlyle to Dominic as a present.”
The ba’sibs exchanged looks, which a stranger might have read as nervous or questioning, but Julia knows that one who reads too much into the curve of a dog’s inhuman brows gets bit.
“How long ago was it visible?” she asked. “Carlyle going out of pattern.”
“I didn’t spot it first,” Toshi answered. “Jun, you did, right?”
Jun Mitsubishi only now looked up from the Go board. The would-be Brillist member of the brood is always quiet, with little smiles and little shrugs, as if constantly apologizing to the others for being the only one who looks classically Japanese, and drawing an unfair portion of great Andō’s affection. “Who are we talking about?”
“Cousin Carlyle Foster.”
“Who?”
“C-CF-003035.”
“Oh, yes!” Jun cried. “Spectacular acceleration. There was some erratic behavior Monday, but it didn’t get acute until two days ago, full swan dive yesterday.”
Julia’s fingers twitched as she mapped out the calendar in her mind. “Yes, that’s about right.”
Jun looked up. “Is 3035 not there yet?” she leaned back, eyelids sagging as she lost herself in the flicker of her lenses.
Julia perked. “Oh, is Carlyle coming to see me? Good. Perhaps I can ease the swan dive.”
“They want to destroy you.”
“Carlyle?” Julia laughed.
“I know what kind of dive I’m seeing.”
Julia gave … patronizing isn’t the right word, a matronizing smile. “Jun, I know what’s happening to Carlyle, it’s a case quite without precedent in your experience. There’s no shame in an imperfect prediction.”
“I know what I’m looking at. I can pull them up again, they’re…” Jun clutched suddenly at the nearest warm arm, which happened to be Toshi’s. “They’re there now.”
“What?”
“3035, C-CF-003035, Carlyle Foster. They’re there now. Their location signal, there, in your office.”
“Arriving?” Julia turned toward the door.
“No. There. Now. They’ve been there for almost an hour.”
Julia frowned, gazed about her room, her seats, her desk. Her closet. “Carlyle?”
Carlyle:
Julia Doria-Pamphili savored a long, smiling breath. “Time to end the call, kids. I’ll handle this myself.”
“They’re there?” Hiroaki voiced it with the most fear. “3035! They heard! We talked about the Cousins!”
“Do not worry,” Julia pronounced with a clear, commanding calm. “I’ll handle it, then call you back. Give my best to your mother.”
“Juli—”
Earth’s Chief Sensayer killed the call, then watched, still smiling, as the screen cycled around to a slide show of her favorite Sniper posters. “They have a thrillingly original reincarnation theory, those kids; I’ll send you the notes.”
“Set-sets.” With those black syllables, Carlyle Foster stepped forth from the closet. “Pythagorean set-sets.”
“Yes, their notion of reincarnation is more Pythagorean than Buddhist, well done. How did you know?”
Carlyle is priest enough to tread with reverence in the Chief Sensayer’s office, even now. “Jehovah Mason. When they first met Eureka Weeksbooth, their first question was ‘Are both your set-sets Pythagorean?’”
“Ah,” Julia smiled, “the infallible Jehovah Epicurus Mason.”
Every inch of Carlyle was tense: pale hands clenched in fists, golden brows knit, a parody of threat from a creature too delicate to make it feel real. “Would those kids have been Cartesian set-sets too, like Eureka and Sidney, if their training hadn’t been interrupted?”
“No, no.” Julia flexed her shoulders. “A new kind. I’ve heard them say Oniwaban set-set, but I think they’re just being dramatic. They claim they would have made Cartesians obsolete.”
“Set-sets, Julia, on both sides of this: attacking the Cousins, and in the Saneer-Weeksbooth bash’. They are the poison after all, and you’ve been treating it like a game.”
Her smile did not change. “Why are you here, Carlyle? Is there a problem in the Saneer-Weeksbooth bash’?”
“You taught me to be a spy, Julia. Don’t think I haven’t used it on you, too.”
“Did you record the call just now?” she asked. “Should I say, ‘Oops’?”
“I recorded that one, and dozens of others, today and many days.” Carlyle’s steps were slow, the fatigue of a grueling night weakening her limbs like flu.
Still Julia smiled. “You mustn’t read too much into how I talk to them like it’s a game. You and I really have been guarding the world from them, Carlyle, keeping the set-set poison out as best we can. I let them think I think it’s just a game because it makes them give away so much to me, you heard how much.”
“I don’t believe you, Julia. But, right now, I actually don’t care. I’m not here to confront you about our noble battle against the Mitsubishi brood being a sham. I’m here to make you save the Cousins.”
“Make me?” Her smile brightened. “You are feeling stronger after your firs
t session with Dominic. Did you enjoy it? I see you’re not wearing your old scarf anymore.”
Carlyle’s throat was indeed naked for once. “I’m not going to let you bait me, Julia. This is serious. The CFB scandal is going to drag the Cousins down, and all that we’ve created with it, all the hospitals and orphanages, the greatest charitable network in history. You can stop it.”
“I can?”
“Yes, only you.” Carlyle sank into one of the pudgy armchairs. “You don’t see how, do you?”
Julia leaned back. “I hadn’t thought about it.”
“I didn’t think you would have. You have the CFB, Julia. You have Darcy Sok and the others. I encouraged you to make them your parishioners because I thought you were the best one to help them.”
“Mmm. A wise decision.”
There it flashed in Carlyle’s blue eyes, the chill of diamond, almost keen enough for murder. “I know you’ve been exploiting Darcy Sok. Not a lot, not enough to threaten the world order, just having them push the Cousins in directions you suggest from time to time, plus…”
“Plus?”
“Plus the other sorts of things you like to make parishioners do. You’ve broken your vows, Julia, over and over. I’ve recorded that, too.”
“Have you?” She picked at her nails. “How enterprising.”
“Yes. And now that I know Dominic, I see where you learned your style from.”
“Mmm. We cross-pollinated, Dominic and I. Did you like it? Dominic’s technique.”
