Too Like the Lightning (23 page)

“You remember Doctor Cato Weeksbooth.” Sniper shoved the doctor forward. “And let me introduce the brave members of the Junior Scientist Club from the Chicago Museum of Science and Industry. Cato runs the kids' events at the museum, an amazing program, right, Cato?”

Cato could not stop trembling as he shook his President's hand. “He-he-hello.”

“It's been too long, Doctor Weeksbooth. We hear excellent things about your work on the system, innovation after innovation. Admirable. We all sleep the safer knowing the Hive has you guarding its interests.”

“Ye-es. Tha-ank you, Member President.” I think that was the title Cato used, but it was so mumbled it might have been anything.

“If you wish to retire briefly to some private space to recover from your performance, ask any staff for the Cabinet de Colombes
.
”

Cato's voice had real force behind it this time. “Thank you!”

“Poor Cato.” Sniper mussed his ba'sib's hair. “You were great! No one could have lived the part better. But the spotlight really isn't your place, is it? Don't worry. I'd never mix you up in any real trouble. Cross my heart.” Sniper spoke the last words, and made the gesture, looking not at Cato, but straight at Ganymede, holding his President's eyes with a rare expression of true gravity. Back in the kitchens, I almost laughed. Ganymede would not need my skills to translate this message. If Sniper had wanted to bring the world's attention down on Cato, Ockham, and the others, he would have done something far more ostentatious than stealing a Seven-Ten list.

“And Your Majesty,” the living doll bobbed a bow toward Spain, “always a pleasure.”

King Isabel Carlos II, already dancing with the twelve-year-old princess of Sweden, paused to nod.

Sniper turned his smile on the couples next. “Honorable Censor, Chair Kosala, Chief Director, Danaë-dono.” He threw in the honorific smoothly, an acknowledgment to the Mitsubishi leader that the Japanese strat enjoys half credit for this glorious creature. “And your honorable security, of course.” Sniper waved across the room toward the rulers' many bodyguards, who had retreated again, like spiders to the edges of their webs. “Thanks as usual for the accommodations!”

“Our pleasure, Sniper!”

“Now, everyone, deep breath! The press is waiting.” The little monster shoved the Powers together. “Group photo with the Junior Science Squad and all the leaders. Everybody say ‘Science'!”

“Science!”

How fine a photo, the next generation's best and brightest brandishing their slingshots, with Earth's Powers in their finery behind.

The Duke breathed easier now that Sniper's surprise was over with. “May I borrow my sister for a dance?”

At Danaë's eager nod, Director Andō passed her off to Ganymede, or tried to.

“Too slow!”

Sniper cut in razor-quick, took the Duke President in his arms, and dove into the sea of dancers like a dolphin with its toy, abandoning Igor and sparkling Danaë. The Princesse and the hunchback shrugged and, smiling, took the floor together.

It was in this phase of the party that the most valuable photograph of the night was taken, a clear shot snapped by a well-positioned hovering camerabot, which shows the Duke and Sniper, two generations' heartthrobs, cheek to cheek, and earned the enterprising photographer eleven thousand euros that first night alone. It is an extraordinary photo, angled from above so it shows everything: their eyes locked, the Duke's white-gloved hand on Sniper's bare back, even Sniper's Humanist boots, rimmed with the bronze and silver stripes of his three Olympic medals, and made of gray leather cut from the same coming-of-age stag which young rivals Ockham Saneer and Ojiro Cardigan Sniper were the only children of this generation of the Saneer-Weeksbooth bash' brave enough to help kill.

Sniper leaned close to his President's ear. “Tell me you didn't think I pulled this stunt with the Seven-Ten list.” His Spanish was so whisper-light that, even with the Duke's tracker inches from his lips, I could barely make it out. “I like to imagine you think better of me. ¿Do you think I could face Ockham and the others after the siege my fans would set up around the house if the investigation tells the public where I live?”

“I believe you're not involved,” the Duke conceded. “¿But then who is?”

“¿How should I know? ¿Aren't we waiting on Martin Guildbreaker to sort that out?”

Ganymede's tone darkened, like a garden when a cloud removes the sun. “That is the other half of the problem.”

“I thought you sent the Mason in. ¿Aren't they your hush-up crew? Your office said we should let them handle things.”

The Duke let his golden mane shield his expression from the camerabots. “It was a misunderstanding. I do trust Martin Guildbreaker, far better than I trust Romanova, and the Commissioner General knows it, so they usually call Martin's team as a courtesy to me when sensitive cases arise. The Commissioner General didn't know your case was in a different league of sensitivity.”

“I see. ¿So you trust this Mason only within limits?”

“Precisely. And the rest of Martin's team is an even greater problem.”

“Yeah, Lesley's description of Dominic Seneschal was bizarre. We're not inviting that one over again.”

“¡Don't joke! Mycroft started shaking when I told them Dominic came to the house, and they were right to. When Dominic follows Martin, their master isn't far behind.”

“¿Their ‘master'?” Sniper repeated.

«Le Prince,» the golden Duke pronounced in French first. “J.E.D.D. Mason. They will come to the bash'house, it's inevitable now. There's nothing Andō or I can say to put them off which won't raise more suspicion. You must do all in your power to keep them from talking to your bash'mates for any length of time.”

“Tai-kun?” Sniper's mother taught him J.E.D.D. Mason's Japanese name. “I thought Tai-kun worked for you as well as Romanova. ¿Aren't they attached to your Attorney General?”

“They are.”

“¿But you don't trust them?”

“One may trust a thing but still recognize that it is dangerous. If they come to the house, make sure they never so much as set eyes on the more vulnerable bash'mates: Cato, Thisbe, the twins. Yourself and Ockham might endure.”

“¿Endure? ¿Endure what? You make Tai-kun sound like a Masonic torturer.”

“They are no less dangerous in this situation.”

Real fear sparkled in Sniper's eyes. “I can't tell if you're kidding.”

“J.E.D.D. Mason seeks truth in an absolute sense, not a partisan one. All truths in all directions, all ends of a mystery, victim as well as culprit. I have no doubt they'll expose the criminal quickly, but your bash' is full of weaknesses right now, as well as secrets. Cato Weeksbooth is not well. Thisbe Saneer, the Typer twins, the set-sets are manipulable in their way, and you yourself have secrets, personal as well as professional.”

Androgyne Sniper glanced down at his artistically tattered shorts, which hid the sex he worked so hard to keep the public from discovering.

“The Prince does not know how to investigate only some truths and not others,” the Duke President continued. “They are Hive-neutral, that's why the Mitsubishi trust them to handle this fiasco, but it's precisely why you can't trust them with access to someone as fragile as Cato Weeksbooth. Hand Cato over to J.E.D.D. Mason and you might as well hand Cato's psych profile over too. Your bash' and our monopoly on what you do has been the linchpin of the Hive for generations, but the other Hives will swarm on us like jackals if they smell weakness. There are very weak links in your bash' right now.”

Sniper frowned across at Cato, who was shaking only slightly as he introduced his kids to the Chair of the Esperanza City Nautical Engineering Consortium. “True.”

The Duke's blue diamond eyes caught Sniper's and held them. “I need you to err on the side of caution. Think of Dominic Seneschal as a bloodhound who won't give up the chase until it drops, and think of Prince J.E.D.D. Mason as an all-seeing eye which will share all it sees, either with MASON, or with our allies, which may be worse. The Mitsubishi and Europe are already hungry to take over the system the instant they can claim your bash' isn't strong enough to protect it yourselves. It was a hard fight getting them to agree to leave the system in your bash' this generation, when several of you are clearly weak links. J.E.D.D. Mason—‘Tai-kun'—must not see the evidence of that weakness, or Andō will see it too.”

The childishness left Sniper's face for one salient instant. “Understood, Member President. Every measure will be taken.”

“Good.”

The smile returned to golden Ganymede, and the song transitioned to another. Sniper soon let himself be passed from hand to hand among the loyal Lifedoll customers who had paid through the nose for a chance to hold the genuine article in their arms. Ganymede, meanwhile, took turns with Andō enjoying Danaë, at least for some minutes. Then all play stopped short at the intrusion of the breathless Chair Kosala, Censor Ancelet, the King of Spain, and behind them, like a chariot behind its team, the Emperor.

 

C
HAPTER THE
TWELFTH

Neither Earth nor Atom, But …

Cornel MASON seems no less an icon than any statue in Romanova. He is sixty-three years old and solid as Atlas, not an athletic body but the strength of a man long reconciled to never letting go. His face is bare, his skin a clean, Mediterranean bronze, his black hair short in the Roman style, which brings your eye always to the tracker which channels the world into his ear. His square-breasted Mason's suit is cut no differently from Martin's, but the Emperor's is a shade of iron gray no other Mason dares wear, with the left sleeve dyed black from the elbow down, subtler than fasces but reminder still that he is the only person left in this world with the legal right to order an execution.

Ganymede Jean-Louis de la Trémoïlle, Duc de Thouars, Prince de Talmond, is accustomed to such company. “Welcome, Caesar. Fashionably late tonight, I see.”

In public MASON's voice is constant, never stronger nor weaker, never more tired nor less. “News channel 323.”

Spain and Chair Kosala nodded fervently, and Ganymede, Andō and Danaë tuned in at once.

I tuned in too, the newsreader's voice harsh after the soft banter of the notables: “… must ask what part was played in the cover-up by the real author of the list, Masami Mitsubishi, adopted bash'child of Mitsubishi Chief Director Hotaka Andō Mitsubishi. Assistant Editor Nakahara said they decided to come forward when it was discovered that the break-in likely involved the infamous Canner Device, a technology for manipulating tracker signals to falsify location data, whose full capacities are still unknown. Nakahara stated, ‘I couldn't just keep quiet knowing everybody in the world is in danger. People have a right to know if thieves and murderers can hijack their IDs and…'”

That was enough. Watching through Ganymede, I could see Danaë huddle against her husband, while Andō grew pale as if watching a half-built cathedral tumble down. Knowing the Censor so well, I could almost see the numbers cascading in his head. Chill settled on the others, too, Kosala, Spain, while the Emperor's black-sleeved right hand formed its dreaded fist.

MASON led this company of princes to a private room, and their guards made it more private yet, blocking the hall and switching all trackers to secure modes which blocked transmission sharing, except with IDs cleared for top access, like mine.

“How many of you knew?” the Emperor began.

Andō looked to Ganymede. “I knew about the break-in, and the Duke and the Censor knew about the disruption to the lists. We agreed to keep things quiet. Disrupting tonight was obviously the criminal's intent.”

“You wanted to keep it from the press?” The Emperor scowled like a bust of grim Poseidon. “Since when are we powerful enough to battle rumor? Truth is water in a sieve. It's not enough to put your hand across the holes and hope.”

“I don't see that it's your business, Caesar.” Ganymede is too graceful to snap, but his voice did gain a flutelike piercing edge. “Only the Humanist and Mitsubishi Hives are directly involved, unless you think one of your Members is behind it.”

MASON's dark eyes darkened. “How are your Humanists involved?”

The Duke President did not flinch. “We were targeted by the same criminals. If the details are unknown to you too, Caesar, then I must commend your Martin Guildbreaker for their discretion.”

The Emperor's bronze face softened a hair. “You brought Martin into the investigation?”

“Martin is leading the investigation.” Andō took over, frankness in his voice. “
Black Sakura
asked Romanova for a polylaw. Papadelias called Martin. I trusted it to them.”

Caesar's gaze held Andō's. “To Martin? Or to my son?”

The Chief Director let his hands sink comfortably into the pond-dark pockets of his suit. “To Martin. It didn't seem important enough to require J.E.D.D. Mason.” Like Sniper, Andō used the Japanese nickname ‘Tai-kun,' an old one, remnant from when the Child first appeared in the media's eye, riding wide-eyed on Hotaka Andō Mitsubishi's shoulders through the eternal overload of Tokyo. But since each Power here has a different name for J.E.D.D. Mason, I will make them all the same for now, to reduce confusion.

“The Canner Device threatens more than just two Hives.”

“Much more,” Chair Kosala added, moving to Caesar's side.

“That part is news to us.” Ganymede ran his fingers through his golden mane, distracting everyone from the guilty glance Andō traded with Danaë. “Your Martin is methodical. If they've not yet reported to Papadelias and myself about this Canner Device, I presume it is because, unlike this rash informant, Martin wanted to verify before they cried wolf to the wide world.”