“We needed help,” the Major continued, “a full-sized adult who could move things, and get us things, so I decided to draft Mycroft.”
“Draft them?” Astonishment swept Carlyle’s face.
The Major laughed. “I don’t mix well with civilians. But I’ll never forget what Mycroft first said when I said I was going to draft him: ‘Have you ever read the Recollections of Alexis de Tocqueville?’ ”
I smiled, remembering the Major’s face back then, my tiny captor, sternness brightening to relief, recognition, eventually to delight as I explained myself, my Tocqueville. He wasn’t happy because of the revelation itself, but because of how I explained it, my literary roundabout, my subtle, weaving words. That was the moment the Major discovered what I am. I could have lied. I could have given my captor an unreserved “yes” and stayed silent about any division of my loyalty. I did not.
“Tocqueville wrote a memoir of living through a French revolution,” the Major explained, just as I had explained it to him eight years ago and fifteen yards away. “Not the main one, the 1848 one. In one section Tocqueville describes his valet. The valet wanted to join the revolution, but was also dutiful, and loyal to his master. Every day the valet would come home from fighting, clean Tocqueville’s shoes, brush his suit, prepare the room, then beg his master’s leave and head back to the barricades for a few hours to risk his life again.” He nodded to me. “For Mycroft, minding Bridger is the barricades. Apparently J.E.D.D. Mason is the master.”
Thisbe loomed over me. “Is that right?”
The truth caught in my throat a moment. “Y-es.”
“Why?”
I glanced at Carlyle, so innocent of who sits before him, so calm and kind without knowing the surname ‘Canner.’ “I can’t explain.”
“Which basically means you’re not objective on any question about J.E.D.D. Mason!” Thisbe accused. “You won’t even answer a basic question like why they act like a crazy cultist.”
I looked down at my hands. “I believe it is possible to be simultaneously biased and right. I work for…” The Major’s eyes demanded truer words. “I serve J.E.D.D. Mason. I do. I always will. I also, separately from that, believe that we can trust J.E.D.D. Mason better than anyone who isn’t standing here right now. They are a good Person, Good, honest, kind, trustworthy, and keep Their promises more absolutely than anyone I’ve ever known. And They’re unambitious. They have all the wealth and power anyone could want, the trust of every leader on Earth. They have nowhere to rise, no side to help. There is no better Being in the world. Believe me. There isn’t. Possibly there never has been. They wouldn’t exploit Bridger. They’d move sky and Earth to find the way to best help Bridger use their powers for the good of all humanity. That’s why I want to keep Bridger away from Them for now, because They’re so good and so kind, They couldn’t keep from pressuring Bridger to move too fast, to take on too much.” I squeezed the child in my arms. “A kid shouldn’t have to face that much pressure. You saw how They tried to help that traitor security captain, They weren’t being manipulative, They were being kind. Kind and too much, trying to help, but They pushed too hard, made things uncomfortable. They’re always like that. It takes a lot to learn to handle being near Them. Once Bridger has their own plan of what they want to do first with their powers, once Carlyle”—I pointed—“helps Bridger get ready to change the world, then we should go straight to J.E.D.D. Mason, and They’ll make sure Bridger gets the best support the world can give. But J.E.D.D. Mason is too powerful and clumsy to be endured by anybody fragile. I don’t mean powerful politically, but personally. You saw what talking to Them was like. They speak only Truth, and do only Good, and They don’t know how to mitigate it the way people do. Someday, Bridger, you’ll be ready for that, more than ready.” I gave the child a squeeze, and felt stronger addressing him, who trusted me, than Thisbe, whose glare stayed black. “And when you are, you and J.E.D.D. Mason will make the whole world so impossibly much better. But only when you decide it’s time.”
I was grateful, during my ramble, that they listened patiently, but even when I finished they still waited, quiet, thinking on this Stranger, His presence, the many facets of Him I can only call ‘too much.’
Thisbe spoke first. “Tell me where J.E.D.D. Mason came from, Mycroft. Why did Cornel MASON adopt this particular kid? I know it was done in infancy. Whose child were they?” She tried to grasp me by the hair, but I pulled away, so she had to lean far down to force my eyes to meet hers. “Are the rumors true? Is J.E.D.D. Mason really Hotaka Andō Mitsubishi’s bastard child?”
“Oh, right!” Carlyle cried. “I’d heard that once. I thought it was just gossip.”
Still Thisbe leaned close. “In person they do look a little Japanese. Is this some weird alliance between the Masons and the Japanese Mitsubishi? They even say MASON helped Andō get the Chief Director’s chair.”
I took a deep breath. I took several. “To say there is an alliance of that kind is not untrue. I can’t really say more. I have to go.”
“Mycroft.” Her eyes turned gentle. “Nothing is more important than—”
Like a squeal of electronic pain, my tracker’s emergency siren rang out, making Thisbe jump back and the Major draw his tiny, flashing blade.
“Is this coming through?” Harsh as bad music, the voice of Censor Ancelet burst out of the speaker of my tracker for all to hear. “Look, I don’t know who’s there, but the Servicer in front of you happens to be the one of the best statistical analysts on the planet, and right now you have them ignoring a priority-one call from the Romanovan Censor’s office for an urgent analysis which has to be done yesterday, so unless whatever you’re doing is more important than the economic future of the human race, would you kindly call a car and make them get their butt to Romanova and leave the odd jobs to people who can’t save the world?”
Thisbe went slack-jawed. You would not think she could know me nearly a decade without learning what work I did, especially since you, who just met me, know already. But to you, demanding reader, I reveal all, while I hide what I can from friends, to keep them safer. As for Carlyle, if your eyes are sharp, reader, you may now catch, in his too-blue eyes, a glint of something darker than surprise.
“Can the Censor hear us?” Bridger mouthed.
“Only me,” I mouthed back, then spoke aloud for the tracker, “I’ll be along ASAP, Censor. I promise … Yes, I really mean it, I promise…” I waited for Vivien to disconnect. “There. They’re gone.”
“Was that really the Romanovan Censor’s office?” Thisbe asked, almost agape.