CHAPTER 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.”
“But this is perfect!” Chair Kosala’s voice was light with hope. “We couldn’t have anyone better than J.E.D.D. for this.” Kosala does not use J.E.D.D. Mason’s Indian nickname Jagmohan, preferring the contraction ‘Jed,’ like most Cousins. “We can announce that they’re already on the case, with Romanova and all seven Hives behind them. No one could calm the public more.” She smiled. “What do you say, Cornel?”
It is strange how MASON softens when he hears his name. He was a man once, with a given and surname like any other, but he almost never hears them anymore. Bryar Kosala wields the charm best, dropping ‘Cornel’ thoughtlessly, like an ex-wife who can never quite shed the casualness learned in long years sorting one another’s laundry. She is his wife, in a sense, in the World Order, the gentle but all-powerful Mom caring for the one-point-seven billion members of Earth’s second-largest Hive, a share of the household duties surpassed only by the Father’s three-point-one billion Masons. How could they not fall into the habit of debating over the others’ heads? Or meeting after the others quarrel to gripe in private about ‘kids these days.’
“Yes,” MASON pronounced, “I’ll consent to leave it to my son.”
Kosala turned to Ganymede. “Can we announce it from here? You have a press room.”
I heard the Duke pause, frustration, I think, at the haste with which all Powers settled on this invasion of his most sensitive bash’. “Of course.”
The King of Spain stepped forward, facing the august company with an air of graceful and unambitious authority, to which all but Ganymede could comfortably defer. “The announcement will be most powerful if you can say J.E.D.D. Mason’s investigation has been ordered by all Seven Hives, as well as Romanova.” His Majesty’s English is beautiful, decorated with French and Spanish vowels, as when gilding on leather makes a plain book into an objet d’art. “How many Hives can we muster here?”
The Emperor raised his hand, joined by the Cousin Chair, Humanist President, and Mitsubishi Executive Director.
“Four,” the King counted. “And Gordian?”
“I’ll call Felix Faust,” Andō volunteered.
Kosala smiled. “Felix will have Gordian give Jed carte blanche.”
MASON nodded as Director Andō stepped aside to make the call. “We also need Europe. Who’s willing to call the Outsider?”
“The Outsider?” Danaë’s nose wrinkled, as at a piece of rotten fruit. “Surely it’s enough that His Majesty consents.”
“No.” The Emperor is never slow to crush ideas. “The King only speaks for Spain now. Europe’s consent requires the new Prime Minister.”
Grief made Danaë’s eyes sparkle the more. “Bryar, you must agree with me that the King’s word is enough.”
See how the children turn to Mom when Father seems too strict?