Sniper pointed as Dominic hauled himself onto the roof, like a monster from the sea’s depths hauling its black bulk on deck.
“See!” Sniper continued. “This is Dominic Seneschal, one of Joyce Faust’s favorite creations. Look at them, look at him, wearing all the class and gender markers of the old days when people made slaves of each other. This Dominic was sent by Joyce Faust to corrupt the Conclave Head, Julia Doria-Pamphili, got them to do all the sick things you heard about in the arrest reports, and twisted them into manipulating their parishioners and the Conclave itself for Joyce Faust too. And now they’ve come to kill me rather than let me finish telling you the truth!”
Dominic did not answer the charge with words, but with his rapier, which has killed four Humanists and two Mitsubishi in legal duels, and I know not how many Blacklaw Hiveless in the war of all on all they so enjoy. There was no joy in Dominic’s thrust today, though, none of the elegance which makes a master duelist an artist rather than a thug, just thirst to see the infidel destroyed. Sniper parried. The sportsman in it would not counter blade with bullets, but brought out its epée, that same hilt which had won it the silver in 2450, though this time with a razor combat blade. Sniper had dressed for the occasion, wearing the jacket portion of its fencing whites from the Olympics, with its riding pants below, and the light runner’s shoes which had carried it the final three thousand meters to Olympic silver. Detractors claim that Sniper chose the Modern Pentathlon as its Olympic event out of weakness, that, lacking the natural talent or physique to excel at any one sport, the celebrity took advantage of its wealth to train in five; other critics, more vicious, say greed was its motive, since having multiple uniforms lets it sell more dolls and posters. Not so. I doubt if anyone since the baron who invented the event has viewed the pentathlon so sincerely as a test of military excellence: fencing, shooting, riding, swimming, running—the skills an old-fashioned soldier trapped behind enemy lines needed to fight for life, escape, and country. Others may whine that Sniper dishonored the sacred spirit of the games by staining its Olympic whites with blood that day, but that core of Humanists who still answer to ‘Olympian’ understood, and cheered.
“Joyce Faust’s conspiracy had only one real goal,” Sniper continued, jabbing with blade and words together, “to make Jehovah Mason ruler of the world by ripping down those Hives that can’t be controlled, and tricking the remaining Hive leaders into choosing Jehovah as their successor before they realized the others intend to do the same!”
Dominic snarled, striking for Sniper’s head, but the athlete had not sparred a decade and learned nothing. It ducked and, with a quick foot, flipped up the bulk of its discarded rifle, so the weapon tumbled against Dominic’s shins. Dominic fell to his knees but kept his blade, a brief defeat, but enough for Sniper to flit out of range and loose another barrage of truth.
“It’s an elegant way to conquer the world, I’ll give Joyce Faust that.” Sniper glared over at its enemy, half smiling. “Tell me, Dominic, I’m sure you of all people know: how did Joyce Faust convince Cornel MASON to adopt their child? Precedent says the Emperor can’t pass power to a Porphyrogene, but one look down there’s enough for anyone to tell whose name is really in the Sanctum Sanctorum in Alexandria.” Sniper pointed with its blade at MASON behind the Rostra, his face slick with tears. “Is Joyce Faust still sleeping with the Emperor? Or did they only do it back around when Jehovah was born? Nothing like sex to make a man consider a child theirs, whatever DNA says.”
“Blasphemy!” Dominic lunged like a mantis. “Thou, worm, hast put Tully Warmonger on the Rostra, risking World War, to lure Ma?tre Jehovah to thy trap! He came today to bring peace to mankind, and thou interruptest that gift and assaultest His flesh, for what? To distract the masses from the exposure of thine own crimes! Villainy! Treason! A thousand times treason!”
Treason was a strange choice. Technically assault on a Romanovan Tribune was High Treason, but I suspect Dominic had in mind the more basic treason of a creation attacking the God Who had adopted it and its world, abandoned, as it seemed, by its own Maker.
“You’re the one trying to distract the masses,” Sniper shot back. “We all just heard Hotaka Andō say they think Jehovah—Tai-kun—is their child.” Sniper retreated around the square track of the porch roof, teasing Dominic’s blade with swift taps too irregular for its opponent to guess which might become a deadly thrust. “Madame even had Dana? make sure Andō wouldn’t sire any other heir. Your Jehovah Mason would have inherited all Andō’s shares and clients, and Andō even let them sit on the Directorate, the unofficial Tenth Director, poised to take control of the Mitsubishi when the other nine are arrested for their involvement in the assassinations.”
Dominic slashed hard, taking advantage of his rapier’s weight, which threatened to knock the light sport epée from Sniper’s hand. “That has always burned thee, hasn’t it, blasphemer? That there was an extra voice in the Directorate which would never accept murder as a means. How many more problems wouldst thou and thy base masters have tried to solve through blood if Ma?tre Jehovah’s Love for humankind had not restrained thee?”
Sniper paid back the taunt by scoring the first touch, its blade sipping blood from Dominic’s elbow. “I cracked Gordian’s files. Felix Faust has already assigned ‘J. E. Donatien Mason and associates’ as Gordian’s new Brain-bash’. That includes you, doesn’t it, Dominic? Is it fun being in Gordian’s controlling think tank?”
The injury did not slow Dominic, or speed him, his rage already the maximum flesh can conjure. “Violating Romanova alone is not enough for thee, is it? Thou’rt set on wounding every Hive before thou goest down, just like thy beloved Mycroft Canner!”
No taunt could divert Sniper’s momentum. “The Humanists and Cousins are too democratic to be controlled, so Madame’s trying to destroy us outright. Utopia’s too small to stand alone when all the other dominoes go down, and, as for Europe, I thought you were planning to tear Europe down too, until I snagged a hair sample.”
Dominic’s lunge grazed Sniper’s arm. “Enough, worm!”
“With Casimir Perry and the whole of Parliament hauled off as criminals, Europe will be left traumatized, leaderless, hungry for a savior. Madame expects they’ll come to heel as soon it comes out…”
“Enough!”