Too Like the Lightning

by Ada Palmer

  Then clearly thou art well named for him, Mycroft, thou who verse on verse recitest this litany of Utopia with thy namesake’s passion.

  Namesake? You flatter, reader, but I am not named for Mycroft MASON. Rather, we both were named for Mycroft Holmes, elder brother of the fictional detective. Mycroft was smarter than Sherlock, almost omniscient, and with his greater wisdom mocked his brother’s attempts to champion justice. Mycroft Holmes spent his days gazing out through the windows of the Diogenes club, watching the infinite tapestry of urban life, and doing nothing, save when government commanded.

  Carlyle breathed deep. “You’re right. You are right. I’m sorry I snapped. I’m not a Nurturist, really, I’m not. I don’t object to set-sets. It makes me uncomfortable, but I recognize why it’s right that it’s allowed. I embrace the principle. And maybe what you’re doing here is actually beneficial, I just…”

  “You’ve had a hard three days.” Bryar Kosala clapped her fellow Cousin on the shoulder like a drinking buddy. “Come on, Carlyle. I’m going to take you to lunch and answer all your questions about Mycroft Canner, and Jed Mason, and all this. Sound good?”

  Carlyle relaxed into a slump at last. “Wonderful. I can’t thank you enough.” He turned eagerly to the door, and hope beyond. But paused. “One more question, Madame?”

  “As many as you like, my dear,” she invited, that portrait face smiling so perfectly.

  Carlyle had to steel himself. “Who named your child? Was it you?”

  “Jehovah Epicurus Donatien D’Arouet Mason?” she recited.

  Carlyle looked to Thisbe. “Donatien is the given name of the Marquis de Sade.”

  Madame nodded confirmation. “All the Prince’s ba’pas picked out pieces of His name. As a sensayer, I don’t think you would want me to reveal to anyone who chose which.”

  Finally Carlyle had a smile for her. “That’s true. Thanks for catching me.”

  She smiled back. “I still know how to think like a sensayer. I also think Jehovah is a good name for a person who saves lives by wielding theology instead of a gun.”

  Carlyle took a slow breath. “Heloïse’s fiancé was the Emperor, wasn’t it? The ‘great and worthy man’ who could approach Jehovah Mason as a father to a son? The Emperor was supposed to marry Heloïse just like the Director married Danaë. That’s a pretty uncomfortable age gap.”

  “That’s two questions,” Chair Kosala chided. “Come on, Carlyle, no more politics for you today, you’re politics-ed out. I prescribe a good French restaurant.” She glanced back over her shoulder. “See you later, Director, President Ganymede.”

  Carlyle lingered, a stubborn foot in the doorway. “Thisbe, will you be all right here?”

  “With my own President?” Thisbe shot back, chuckling. “Mycroft’s making you paranoid, Carlyle. I’m thrilled to be here.”

  “All right. I’ll see you…”

  “Around,” she finished for him.

  I held the door for the two Cousins as they left. Kosala glanced down at me. “I might call you, Mycroft, if Carlyle has questions later.”

  “I’ll be ready, Chair,” I promised as I closed the door behind.

  “Mycroft Canner.” I heard Carlyle whisper my name like an incantation just before the door closed. Perhaps we smelled alike to him, me and Madame, the same kind of monster, as when a remote village starts finding bodies in the woodland edge mauled by claws and jaws too huge to be common woodland fauna, and it does not matter whether the killer be wolf or bear or dinosaur, the threat is still the same: extinct things rising. Torture, humanity was supposed to be past that. Gender, we were supposed to be past that, too.

  With the Cousins gone, Madame stretched back across her sofa, glowing with satisfaction like a cat between two naps. “Well, gentlemen? Did you get a good look?”

  “That’s the child, no doubt,” Andō answered gravely.

  Ganymede nodded agreement. “Thisbe, that young sensayer of yours is a Gag-gene, and must be kept away from here at all costs, for his own sake more than anything. Children can leave this house, and he is proof. Will you watch him for me?”

  Thisbe’s cheeks stayed still, but I saw her eyes sparkle with delight: another secret for the spellbook. “Of course, Member President.”

  “Good, now come with me. We’re getting you back home, and then I’m meeting with your bash’ about this whole affair. If you have problems they’re the whole Hive’s problems. Time we settled them.”

  I have rarely seen so eager a nod from Thisbe. “Thank you, Member President. We’ve been hoping for some more direct intervention.” She turned to the hostess now. “And thank you for your hospitality, Madame. It’s been most enlightening.” She laughed at her own joke. “I’d love to come again, if I may.”

  “Why, I’d be delighted, dear Thisbe. I shall talk to membership about an invitation for you.” Madame kissed her goodbye on both cheeks.

  Duke Ganymede can slide like a dancer, strut like a cock, or march like a soldier. Here he chose the last, dragging Thisbe toward the door by force of command.

  I opened the door for them, and handed him the sack with Thisbe’s boots and weapons. «Thisbe’s arts, your Grace.»

  The Duke does not thank slaves.

  Director Andō rose now. “I’ll go too, if we’re done here.”

  “Yes, we’re done. Thank you, Hotaka. I knew if anyone could recognize the child it would be you and Ganymede. See you tonight?”

  The Chief Director kissed her hand before departing. “Until tonight, Madame.”「I expect your presence tonight too, Mycroft,」he ordered, raising his eyes to me for the first time since I had entered.「We’ll have work for you.」

  「Yes, Chief Director.」

  I closed the door behind him. Then I faced Madame, alone at last in her salon. «Nicely played, Madame. Very nicely played.»

  She appreciates that sort of compliment from me. «Thank thee, Mycroft. Now»—she shooed me like a pigeon—«to thy work.»

  CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SEVENTH

  The Interlude in Which Martin Guildbreaker Pursues the Question of Dr. Cato Weeksbooth

  Call logged 11:11 UT March 26, 2454

  Seneschal: “Not often notre Maître asks a question like that.”

  Guildbreaker: “Dominic! Where are you? Are you hurt?”

  Seneschal: “And He asked it in front of Caesar no less. ‘Do the Utopians ever turn down an application to join the Hive?’ He looked straight at Aldrin when He asked it, too, He actually looked! And did you see how pale Mycroft turned when he heard it? I’m surprised the little stray’s tracker didn’t summon Papadelias.”

  Guildbreaker: “Dominus is really worried about you. The others may not see the difference, but I can tell.”

  Seneschal: “Well? Do they turn applications down?”

  Guildbreaker: “The Utopians? No, never, I had Aldrin check.”

  Seneschal: “You don’t see it, do you?”

  Guildbreaker: “I do see it. There’s someone Dominus thinks would want to be a Utopian but isn’t, so they wondered if their application was rejected. I’ll act on it. But you need to come back and tell us what’s happening. What have you been doing for the last three days?”

  Seneschal: “Seconds before that question, He’d asked Aldrin how long until the next Mars launch. Here’s your hint: I heard notre Maître ask Cato Weeksbooth the same thing earlier that day, how long until the next Mars launch, and He got just as accurate an answer. Then He asked Weeksbooth how long the Saneer-Weeksbooth bash’ had been Humanist and the blessed little coward didn’t know.”

  Guildbreaker: “Cato Weeksbooth?”

  Seneschal: “I’ll leave it to you. I’ve found richer hunting.”

  Guildbreaker: “Dominic, what—”

  Call ended 11:13 UT 03/26/2454

  * * *

  From the notes of Martin Guildbreaker:

  At 14:22 UT on 03/26/2454 I arrived at the Chicago Museum of Science and Industry to interview Dr. Cato Weeksbooth. I did n
ot give prior notice, so that Dr. Weeksbooth would not have time to consult the other members of the Saneer-Weeksbooth bash’ before accepting. I was directed to wait for Dr. Weeksbooth in their office, and found it remarkable that a volunteer should have their own office.

  The office contained tanks with fish, mice, frogs, crickets, and a very large ant colony, and was decorated with pictures of famous scientists and photographs of Dr. Weeksbooth with children at science fairs and locations of scientific interest. Notable were five framed handwritten paper letters from former students thanking Dr. Weeksbooth for inspiring them to pursue careers in science—three of the five mentioned receiving significant prizes. In each case the letter was framed so as to be partly covered by a photograph of the author as a child. I scanned the letters and determined two peculiarities. First, in all five cases the photographs had been carefully positioned to obscure points in the letter where the author mentioned having joined the Utopian Hive. Second, my scanner confirmed that the stains on all five letters were tears.

  Many people value gut instinct, but in my experience gut reactions make it more difficult to objectively pursue an investigation. I could not shake the sense of murder which I had picked up from hearing Tsuneo Sugiyama describe the suicide by car crash of their grandchild’s fiancé, and I could feel myself looking for murder as I worked, and reading it into evidence whether it was there or not. To counteract this tendency, I decided to begin with the question least directly related to murder, that is, the question of Dr. Cato Weeksbooth. This may seem a strange starting place, but much of life consists in repeating actions which are consistently effective, even if the mechanism is not clear. The Porphyrogene rarely judges it necessary to help me with my work, and, when they do, the aid is often in the form of such a seemingly tangential question, which inevitably leads me to the end I seek.

  Cato Weeksbooth is thirty-five years old, one hundred and seventy-three centimeters tall, of recognizable Chinese descent, with dark brown eyes and wild, wiry hair clearly styled after Einstein. Dr. Weeksbooth wore a mad scientist costume, with an archaic white laboratory coat over blue hospital scrubs, and Humanist boots of Griffincloth which showed the internal anatomy of the feet. Only three strat insignia were visible: two pins on the lapel of the lab coat indicating membership in the Friends of the Chicago Museum of Science and Industry and the Ten Plus Moon Club, and a pair of rubber lab gloves tied into a knot at the belt, which is the insignia of the Chicago Museum of Science and Industry Junior Scientist Squad. Dr. Weeksbooth seemed agitated, and spent much of the interview performing maintenance on the tanks of animals around the room, in a clear effort to avoid eye contact. I commenced formal interview at 14:47 UT:

  Guildbreaker: “Thank you for seeing me today, Dr. Weeksbooth.”

  Weeksbooth: “Can this be fast? I have a thing to do. A meeting. I have a meeting to do, to go to, to run. I have to run a meeting, so I can’t stay long for whatever this is. Why do you want to talk to me anyway? I never saw the stupid Seven-Ten list, it’s nothing to do with me. I’m very busy. Can’t you leave me alone?”

  Guildbreaker: “This will be quick, Dr. Weeksbooth, I just need to get some information about the habits of the house, so I can tell when the thief is most likely to have entered. How much of your time would you say you spend at home?”

  Weeksbooth: “Most of it. I do work there, you know.”

  Guildbreaker: “How many hours a week are you at home?”

  Weeksbooth: “I don’t know. Lots. I’m always there, usually, always usually, unless I’m here.”

  Guildbreaker: “Do you spend a lot of time here at the museum?”

  Weeksbooth: “I guess.”

  Guildbreaker: “How many hours a week?”

  Weeksbooth: “It depends. Maybe twenty. No, more than that, thirty. Forty, maybe forty.”

  Guildbreaker: “How long have you been volunteering here?”

  Weeksbooth: “Since I was fifteen.”

  Guildbreaker: “That’s a long time. You must enjoy it.”

  Weeksbooth: “Yes.”

  Guildbreaker: “What made you start?”

  Weeksbooth: “Kids aren’t learning science right these days! The teachers teach it like it’s just supposed to be useful, like, here, learn this geometry so you can design a building, here, learn this chemistry so you can make a plastic bag. Of course kids don’t like it! No kid comes home from school and says, ‘I want to make plastic bags when I grow up!’ We already have plastic bags, and comfy chairs, and flying cars, we’ve had them for centuries, and they aren’t getting better because they work already so no one’s interested in replacing them, just making them cheaper, or with more games. That isn’t science! Science is figuring out where the universe is going! Science is noticing that the ants crawling up the picnic table like your sandwich better than your ba’sib’s and asking, ‘Why?’ Not ‘How is this useful?’ not ‘Can I make this into a plastic bag?’ but ‘Why?’”

  Guildbreaker: “I meant, why did you start volunteering at that age specifically?”

  Weeksbooth: “Oh. My doctor made me.”

  Guildbreaker: “Your doctor?”

  Weeksbooth: “Doctor Balin. Ember Balin. My psychiatrist.”

  Guildbreaker: “Why did Doctor Balin want you to start volunteering?”

  Weeksbooth: “Because I tried to kill myself. Look, this has nothing to do with the Seven-Ten list. If you want a list of what hours I’ve been at the museum you can ask the staff assistant. Can I go now?”

  Guildbreaker: “What’s your meeting?”

  Weeksbooth: “What?”

  Guildbreaker: “The meeting you have to go run, what is it?”

  Weeksbooth: “It’s a Junior Scientist Squad meeting.”

  Guildbreaker: “What’s that?”

  Weeksbooth: “A science club for kids.”

  Guildbreaker: “What sorts of things does the club do?”

  Weeksbooth: “We have club meetings twice a week, and I give special tours and demonstrations in the museum, and we have a reading group, and a lab where the kids do lab experiments, I supervise but they pick the projects and do everything themselves, and they also do solo research projects and present them at our annual science fair—it’s getting famous now, the Director of Worldlab came last year—and field trips, we do field trips, to labs, and research bases, and geological sites, and nature preserves, whatever the kids request, and up the elevators, and Luna City, that’s their favorite, every year, Luna City.”

  Guildbreaker: “How many times have you been to the Moon?”

  Weeksbooth: “Nineteen times now. This year will be my twentieth.”

  Guildbreaker: “That must be expensive. Don’t the Utopians make you pay the full cost of the trip after the second time?”

  Weeksbooth: “They subsidize me because I take the kids. We have a special package where we get to stop at the ISSC, too. Do you realize seventy percent of kids today haven’t been to the Moon by the time they head off to a Campus? Thirteen percent of people never go at all, even with the subsidies! You know if you still haven’t gone by the time you turn sixty they invite you go for free, and thirteen percent still never do!”

  Guildbreaker: “It sounds like a great club.”

  Weeksbooth: “It is. It’s popular, too, we have sixty-one members this year, that’s a record. Of course, usually only about thirty come to each meeting, but twenty is still a lot! And I get more at the lectures, and they record the lectures now too and distribute them free. The Museum Director told me they’re being used in more than a hundred classrooms.”

  Guildbreaker: “I watched one as a sample before coming.”

  Weeksbooth: “Which one?”

  Guildbreaker: “The history of vaccination. You’re a very passionate lecturer. You made me tear up at one point.”

  Weeksbooth: “It’s the material, not me. An achievement like that would move you to tears if it were written in bad verse on the back of a napkin. That is, if you’ve any scientific passion lef
t in you. Some people don’t.”

  Guildbreaker: “I don’t think it was just the material, you’re a very good speaker. You’ve also written some books?”

  Weeksbooth: “No one took it seriously. They say I’m trying to teach science like it’s poetry, well, science is poetry, and anyone who doesn’t see that is dead inside!”

  Guildbreaker: “You’re referring to your guidebook for science teachers, Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow?”

  Weeksbooth: “Yes. You were thinking of something else?”

  Guildbreaker: “The Horizoners.”

  Weeksbooth: “Oh, that. Everyone made a big deal about that because Thiz got Orland Vives to make it into a movie. It was just a fun little story I wrote for the kids to circulate among their friends. Did you read it?”

  Guildbreaker: “No, but I…”

  Weeksbooth: “You watched the movie?”

  Guildbreaker: “Yes.”

  Weeksbooth: “Everybody watched the movie.”

  Guildbreaker: “Did you like the movie?”

  Weeksbooth: “It was okay.”

  Guildbreaker: “Only okay?”

  Weeksbooth: “They changed too much.”

  Guildbreaker: “I heard they cut one of the story lines, is that right? Originally there were four groups of kids trying to build ships to go around the world including a Nineteenth-Century group as well as the ancient ones, the ones in 1495, and the contemporary ones?”

  Weeksbooth: “Cutting a group was okay, they only had two hours, they couldn’t fit all four. The problem was they made Taylor Harrow into a Utopian.”

  Guildbreaker: “That’s the leader of the contemporary set?”