Andō rose, giving the arms of the Director’s chair a light parting caress. “Dominic spies through Tai-kun’s tracker almost constantly. They’ve been spectator at every Directorate meeting Tai-kun has ever seen. And they have no qualms about lethal force. With our instruction and support, they can manage our blocs almost as well as Tai-kun.”
“But Dominic is from Madame’s!”
“They’re the worst of Madame’s! A monster!”
Does the fear flush in their faces speak of past encounters?
“True,” Andō confirmed. “Seneschal terrifies and disgusts everyone, especially the public. They could never hold power without us to back them. The Members will hate and fear them, and welcome us back when we’re ready to return.”
“But they work for Xiao Hei Wang. They’ll follow them as slavishly—more slavishly—than anyone.”
“No. You forget, Madame is our enemy, not Xiao Hei Wang. You all know what Madame has done to Dominic. Dominic hates Madame with a bitter, vengeful hatred, and if we give Dominic power they’ll fight to destroy Madame with more savagery, and more intimate knowledge, than any of us will ever have. A gun in Dominic’s hand is a gun aimed at Madame by the true enemy of our true enemy. And thanks to Madame’s training, Dominic believes a man may only love something weaker than themself. Dominic is an obedient servant, but beneath that wants nothing in this world more than to see Tai-kun fail. That contradiction will make them self-destruct in office. They will steer the Hive through the immediate chaos, preserve its independence for their own needs, but when they try to move forward, in a world where Tai-kun rules the other Hives, they will be paralyzed between wanting to help and hinder Tai-kun, and their policies will become a mass of contradictions. The Members will start to hate them, cry for their overthrow, and then they will remember us and ours as the better, stable way, and welcome us again.”
Chen Zhongren studied Andō closely, frowning. “You believe we can reclaim our seats, against Madame? We all got these seats in the first place thanks largely to Madame.”
Andō met his eyes. “I have three billion voting shares, my own connections, family, my ten bash’children and their … abilities, and Ganymede and Dana?, who are mine, firmly, not Madame’s, mine. Whether I reach out my hand from here, or from a prison, makes little difference to me. You may strike out on your own if you wish, but I am confident.”
Chen Zhongren nodded. “Was this Dana?’s idea?”
The others say Andō flinched here, as if the question found his armor’s chink. “This is my solution,” he answered. “The only solution. I will not let Madame unite all the Hives, not even under Tai-kun. Those of you who are too tired to fight may do as you will. The rest I hope will join me and help to build a weak new board with Dominic at its helm. Dominic will destroy those who destroyed us, and then we will destroy Dominic and take all back again. The other six Hives have fallen, but not irrevocably, not while we endure. Who is with me?”
CHAPTER THE TWENTIETH
I Was Wrong.
I was wrong. I had lost conviction’s armor when I first faced Jehovah at my capture, and for thirteen years I embraced doubt, which lacks the oak’s strength but sways reedlike before all storms, and so ensures one will at least never again be wrong. Fool that I am, I cast that doubt aside. I was so sure. When I awoke I would fly with zephyr speed to bring Bridger back to Jehovah, who would marshal His many fathers to commit all Hives to sharing Bridger’s gift with a grateful world. That was the Plan, and I, Its agent, thought I understood. As if the trowel that slops mortar on the stones can understand the exalted aim of the cathedral. Unleash your vengeance on me, reader, Furies, God; I who forgot the lesson bought with Apollo’s blood deserve no less.
?Welcome back, Mycroft. You’re now the new Anonymous.?
I awoke in the hygienic prison of a Utopian hospital bed. My doctors knew I would not consent to convalescence without restraint, and, weakened as I was, they still showed due respect to Apollo’s murderer by fashioning my straps of Cannergel.
?There were four coups while you were under.? Papadelias sat at my bedside, warming me with soft Greek and himself with coffee. ?Ancelet exposed themself as the Anonymous and resigned so the Humanists can rush an election to make them President. The Mitsubishi Directors have all been arrested, the Cousins have scrapped their government and are holding elections under an interim constitution, and the entire European government was assassinated, so Spain’s taken over as interim … they’re saying Prime Minister but Dictator is more accurate. I can activate your tracker if you want to see the news.?
It took some tries to get my voice to work again. ?Je-Jehovah??
Papa smiled to find one part of the world at least unchanged. ?Jehovah’s fine, just having tests run.?
?How long was I out??
?Five hours. I had them replace your pacemaker with one that’s Mycroft-proof.? He had the old one on the table beside him, flat like a cookie, its surface clouded with an organic residue my body had used to integrate this alien into itself. ?How old were you when you designed that thing?? he asked. ?Fifteen? Fourteen??
?Fourteen … ? The syllables were not easy, reader, nor would you speak with ease if you saw the better part of your heart severed on a table before you. It was the better part, not the clumsy meat pump biology had fit me with, but love’s creation, mine and Saladin’s, which Saladin planted to mark his territory, so every clock tick that measured my life’s hours was his as much as mine. I knew every wire of it, could smell in my mind the damp grass of our garden hideout where we planned its insides under the microscope, and practiced our laparoscopy on steaks and eggplants—happy years. ?Did they replace the meat part of my heart too?? I asked.
?Just reinforced it. They said your heart’s not in bad shape considering, and so long as you can’t slip your tracker anymore, I’m content.?
The Cannergel was soft enough to let me test the motion of my shoulder, the muscles slow but responsive beneath the bandages. ?Make sure there are no records of who performed the surgery.?
?Saladin still territorial?? he tested, smug. ?I don’t know whether to be more impressed with you because you managed to keep me in the dark for thirteen years, or less impressed because you had help all this time.?
I avoided his eyes, studying the ceiling’s warren of clear tubes, through which U-beasts of all styles, from Bunnybots to flame-bright Fiberoptifoxes, bustled delivering snacks and pills and therapeutic cuteness. ?I had a ba’sib once named Saladin,? I said.
Papa sipped his coffee. ?No need to pretend. I’ll find them on my own, after we deal with this Bridger kid. No hurry.?
I felt my face harden. ?Should I wish you good luck, then, hunting for a ghost? Or are you after Bridger so you can have them resurrect my dead ba’sib just to accuse them of conspiracy??
He kept his laugh low. ?Thisbe told me about the dog trick you used with Bridger. The rest is obvious. It’s unlike you using the same trick twice. Keep it up and you’ll be unmasked as the Anonymous in no time.?
??ναξ Jehovah is the next Anonymous, not me.?
Papa shook his head. ?Jehovah’s too busy. They say it should be you.?
Objections gathered within me, political and moral, but Papa was not the One to voice them to. ?What happened to your face?? I asked.
Papa touched the bandaged scratches which striped his left cheek from eyebrow to chin. ?Ganymede resisted arrest. I need you to look at something.?