He pulled back the curtains, baring the remainder of the room. The right wall was a great window overlooking Romanova’s streets, eerie since an emergency curfew kept the shops and alleys dead. Martin and his Emperor sat in silence against the room’s far wall, performing a thousand tasks over their trackers as they awaited the return of the Patient Whose gurney should have nested in the space between their chairs. Two other beds stood parallel to mine against the near wall. The farther held a patient barely recognizable as human, mummified in bandages and gel slabs, as one might imagine Frankenstein’s creation in its unnatural gestation; the near bed held a body bag.
?Who’s that in the far bed?? I asked, craning my neck as I tried to make out a sense of height or build through the bandage cocoon.
Papa sniffed. ?If they recover, the Chief Director of the Mitsubishi.?
?Director Andō! What happened to them? The mob??
?No, not Andō.? He half laughed. ?That’s Andō’s successor-designate, Dominic Seneschal.?
?Dominic? Director Andō didn’t choose Jehovah?? I did not see at first the significance of servant inheriting instead of Master; it seemed trivial, such was the power of confidence’s golden illusion.
Papa nodded. ?I didn’t see that one coming. No telling yet if Dominic will live to take the post, though.?
I peered at the bandages, mounded thick like snow. ?What did Sniper do to them??
Papa almost smiled. ?They did it to themself. Dominic grabbed on to the outside of the car when Sniper took off out of the river, and managed to stay on all the way to Antwerp. They should be dead.?
?They rode on the outside of the car??
?Full speed, wedged themself on somehow. The engineers always said it was impossible, but now they have a dozen explanations, something about a wind pocket in the inner angle, or back drafts, or something.?
Oh, miraculous chameleon, Science, who can reverse your doctrine hourly and never shake our faith! What cult ever battered by this world of doubt can help but envy you? ?Will they be okay?? I asked.
Papa frowned. ?The doctors say there’s all kinds of damage: skin stripped off, windburns, freezing, oxygen deprivation, and they’re still assessing the internal consequences. Actually, I think they’re just curious to find out how Dominic did it without blacking out.?
My eyes widened. ?They stayed conscious??
?They were conscious at the end, at least, yes. Sniper stopped the car above a jail outside Antwerp, where Julia Doria-Pamphili was being held, and shot them through the window.?
?Julia?? I cried, straps straining as my startled shoulders twitched.
?Easy, there. Julia’s fine, the bullet went through their heart but there was a hospital right by the jail.? He frowned. ?If you can shed any light on Sniper’s motives I’d be obliged, Mycroft. Had those two ever even met??
I searched sincerely for an answer, but knew nothing then of the kidnapping and day of passion that had been in payment for giving Carlyle Foster–Kraye de la Trémo?lle to Dominic. ?If Sniper wanted Julia dead they’d aim for the head,? I answered, ?not the heart. That’s all I know.?
Papa shrugged. ?Before Sniper could take off again, Dominic jumped them from the car roof and held on hard enough to strangle.?
?Sniper’s dead??
With decades, even the unzipping of a body bag grows routine. ?This is what Dominic caught.? Papa eased the bag open, baring the familiar face with open eyes still lifelike. ?Sniper’s cameras never left it for a second, it can’t be a substitution. This is what shot J.E.D.D. Mason.? He aimed a light, highlighting the crinkling of synthetic skin, and shards of plastic vertebrae which poked out through the crushed gel of the poseable neck. ?There’s no robotics or modifications inside. Serial number checks out and everything. For all science can tell me it’s a normal Sniper Doll.? He held my eyes. ?Thisbe introduced me to Private Croucher.?
A sob gave my chest and shoulder their first taste of the incision’s pain breaking through the anesthesia. ?Then it was Bridger’s fault. Bridger said it was, I thought they just felt guilty that they couldn’t stop it.?
?Bridger brought this to life??
I almost laughed. ?It’s your fault too, Papa. You fried Bridger’s electronics when you tried to corner them at the Sniper Doll museum. They lost contact with their little soldiers, and must have animated a Sniper Doll to help protect them. Bridger always said Sniper looked fun and friendly.?
Papa’s voice darkened. ?Then you agree the real Sniper was never at Romanova??
I nodded. ?They’re out there somewhere, watching, and, knowing Sniper, they won’t rest until they’ve killed Jehovah again. They’ll try again, soon.?
Papa almost smiled. ?Sniper’s ahead of you.? He reached to my tracker and set it to mimic his as he flicked through pictures of Sniper standing beside images of burning Brussels and other fresh events to prove that it still lived. Papa’s sigh was not an easy one. ?They’re transmitting manifestos in all directions, swearing they won’t stop until they’ve liberated the world from Madame and Epicurus Mason, and calling on all free people who still love their Hives to join them.?
I expected to see Sniper smug in the photos, the showman’s glint in its eye as it paraded costumes tailored for its new Rogue Assassin persona, but there was no play now. It wore its Humanist boots, a practical shirt, almost Hiveless gray, and its dark eyes were alight with a grave, steady fire, almost a grown-up’s. Such a face even those who no longer play with dolls might follow.
?Go back,? I snapped, ?two images ago, was that Tully Mardi with Sniper??
?Yes.? Papa scrolled back to a still shot of Sniper and the Enemy, shaking hands before a wall-sized world map like two freshly allied heads of state. ?We’d detained Tully for inciting riot, but Sniper’s people busted them out, and Tully went, the fool. I would have dropped the charges if they’d cooperated, but now they’ve got resisting arrest and conspiracy and all sorts of crimes on their record. Sniper’s no fool, though. Tully’s stuck with Sniper now, on the run together, and Tully’s making speeches at Sniper’s side about how the war they’ve been predicting all this time is this one, Sniper against Epicurus Mason, independent Hives against unifying the Hives. By implication it’s also Tully against you, with those who like you on Jehovah’s side and those who don’t on Sniper’s. How many Humanists was it who put you on the Wish List again? Nine hundred million??
I let my head fall back against the pillow, feeling the strange ease of one about to die, who sees the headsman’s axe halted midair by royal pardon. ?It doesn’t matter anymore. We have Bridger.?
?So??
I smiled. ?So no one will care about Sniper’s rebellion when Jehovah starts handing out immortality. That’s why They’ve come to power now, don’t you see? It’s Providence. For the first time in history all the governments of the Earth will be united, not one common ruler right away but one Heir binding all rulers together. ?ναξ Jehovah will make sure Bridger’s gifts are distributed evenly to all, with no Hive privileged and none left out. They’ll save everyone.?
The old man could not help but cock an eyebrow. ?Bridger can really do that??
?Bridger can do literally anything, they just need protection and support to do it. With Jehovah to oversee the transition they’ll save everyone, even the dead. You think Tully Mardi will keep preaching when Bridger resurrects their parents? And Apollo??
“Where is he? Where is my Son!” It was Madame’s voice, shrill with love, which trumpeted down the hall outside in flagrant violation of a patient’s right to hush.
Utopia: “We’re running tests. They’ll be back shortly. Please wait in here.”
Madame: “What tests? Is there a problem?”
Utopia: “We’re just gathering data. Please wait inside.”
Madame: “No! Enough waiting! I must see my Son!”
Felix Faust: “Let it be, Joyce, you’re scaring them enough already.”
Caesar and Martin rose as the lady entered, Papa too. She wore a sleeved traveling cloak, black velvet and long enough to cover the full circumference of her skirts, like the outer leaf of a head of lettuce. She had shed nothing of her home costume, not the mask of makeup, not the quaint block-heeled shoes that made speed impossible; even the wig stayed, silvery beneath her hood, though far less monumental than her usual.