“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.