by Ada Palmer
Weeksbooth: “They said it was unrealistic for a kid to think that way and not be a Utopian, but that was the whole point! Anybody can have a sense of scientific curiosity, not just Utopians. The movie version reinforces the stereotype instead of breaking it.”
Guildbreaker: “You wanted to break it?”
Weeksbooth: “Of course. They said it was innovative making a movie with a Utopian as a central character instead of having them be some kind of mystical teacher or a techie or a supervillain, they said it would humanize the Utopians, like that last Canner movie did, what was it called?”
Guildbreaker: “Apollo’s River.”
Weeksbooth: “Right, but that wasn’t what I meant at all.”
Guildbreaker: “You were going for an ‘If Taylor Harrow can do it why can’t I’ type of thing?”
Weeksbooth: “Exactly. In the movie the message is that the Utopians have dibs on science the way the Humanists do on sports, and the other Hives all say, ‘We don’t need to do any exploring, leave it to the Utopians.’ Everybody talks about the Mars project as if only Utopians are ever going to set foot there, while the majority is content to sit around with their plastic bags and comfy chairs. Is that the future you want?”
Guildbreaker: “So you’re trying to get kids who aren’t Utopians to be interested in science and exploration?”
Weeksbooth: “Exactly. That’s why my persona is mad scientist, it’s a pre-Hive character so anyone can imagine themself as a mad scientist without associating it with Utopians.”
Guildbreaker: “Is it working?”
Weeksbooth: “What?”
Guildbreaker: “Your students, do a lot of them pursue careers in science?”
Weeksbooth: “Lots. Forty-three so far have doctorates in the sciences, thirty are working in experimental science, five in space engineering.”
Guildbreaker: “And how many of them became Utopians? Dr. Weeksbooth?”
Weeksbooth: “I heard you.”
Guildbreaker: “How many?”
Weeksbooth: (recording too faint to be made out)
Guildbreaker: “I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear that.”
Weeksbooth: “All of them, okay? They all are. What does this have to do with Black Sakura, anyway? You can’t think the Utopians are behind it. They wouldn’t do something like that! The Utopians aren’t dirty like the rest of us, they’re not involved, they don’t even use the cars!”
Guildbreaker: “Did you ever consider becoming a Utopian yourself?”
Weeksbooth: “What?”
Guildbreaker: “Did you ever consider becoming a Utopian?”
Weeksbooth: “I heard you the first time.”
Guildbreaker: “Did you?”
Weeksbooth: “No, I … no. The bash’ is Humanist. My bash’, I mean, my bash’, they’re, we’re Humanists. We’ve been Humanists forever, it’s a hereditary bash’, it’s not … it wouldn’t have been practical. I couldn’t … that’s what I do, you know?”
Guildbreaker: “Would they have thrown you out of the bash’ if you became a Utopian?”
Weeksbooth: “I … it’s a Humanist bash’. Besides, Utopians don’t do mixed bash’es. I mean, they can, but they don’t.”
Guildbreaker: “Actually they can’t.”
Weeksbooth: “What?”
Guildbreaker: “Utopians can’t mix bash’es. There’s a rule against it.”
Weeksbooth: “No there isn’t.”
Guildbreaker: “There isn’t? I thought there was.”
Weeksbooth: “There absolutely isn’t, I checked.”
Guildbreaker: “You checked?”
Weeksbooth: “Yes.”
Guildbreaker: “Why did you check?”
Weeksbooth: “I … I don’t know. No reason.”
Guildbreaker: “Why did you become a Humanist? Humanists are all supposed to have a great ambition, what’s your great ambition? Doctor Weeksbooth?”
Weeksbooth: “I have to go, I’m going to be late.”
Guildbreaker: “Just a couple more questions. The museum director said they offered you professional positions here several times. Why did you turn them down?”
Weeksbooth: “I have a job.”
Guildbreaker: “Do you like running the cars? Are you happy doing that?”
Weeksbooth: “Look, I’ve tried to be cooperative, but I’m not stupid, and we’re not going to let you keep taking advantage of this investigation to poke at me and my bash’. Masons already control a third of the world, you want to control us, too?”
Guildbreaker: “I assure you—”
Weeksbooth: “Get out. Get out of my office!”
Guildbreaker: “I didn’t mean—”
Weeksbooth: “Get out! Get out! Get out! Get out! Get out!”
Interview ended 15:03 UT.
* * *
Selection from interview with Dr. Ember Balin, 16:03 UT 03/26/2454:
Guildbreaker: “So, that first suicide attempt was the reason you were put in charge of Cato’s case?”
Balin: “Yes, in March 2440. Cato was fifteen then.”
Guildbreaker: “How many attempts have there been since?”
Balin: “Officially, three.”
Guildbreaker: “Officially?”
Balin: “The rest of the bash’ watches Cato very carefully, so it’s hard to say how many others they’ve prevented. Several.”
Guildbreaker: “The second attempt was the following year, yes?
Balin: “2441.”
Guildbreaker: “It was two days after Cato officially registered as a Humanist and got their first boots, yes?”
Balin: “Yes.”
Guildbreaker: “Do you think there was a connection there?”
Balin: “What, that if you become a Humanist you try to kill yourself?”
Guildbreaker: “No, but do you think Cato might have been pressured into becoming a Humanist? That they really wanted to be something else?”
Balin: “Cato Weeksbooth is a great person, a great scientist, and a great teacher. Doesn’t that sound like the model Humanist to you? Picking your Hive is a very emotional moment, it brought a lot of other feelings to the fore.”
Guildbreaker: “I’m going to be direct, Doctor, do you think Doctor Weeksbooth wanted to be a Utopian? The Saneer-Weeksbooth bash’ has been Humanist for centuries, there must have been great pressure to stay…”
Balin: “I understand the question.”
Guildbreaker: “And?”
Balin: “Fuck off, Mason.”
Guildbreaker: “Excuse me?”
Balin: “The same goes for all these records you’ve asked to requisition. Medication records? Dates of past sessions with their sensayer? I know that for legally ‘indispensable’ Humanists like Cato Weeksbooth Romanova can override doctor-patient confidentiality, and believe me we wouldn’t be sitting here otherwise, but enough’s enough. Cato Weeksbooth has been a bug under a lens since they were fifteen, and I don’t like you taking advantage of their lack of privacy rights, especially when you have no explanation for this inquisition. If you come in here with a judge’s order then I’ll answer, but until that happens I’m not making Cato’s most personal records and feelings public just because the Emperor’s curious. I also frankly resent the assumption that Cato wouldn’t want to be a Humanist if they weren’t forced to.”
Guildbreaker: “I can assure you, this investigation is very important.”
Balin: “Assure all you like, Mason, but until you can tell me the point of all this, or until I see a judge’s signature on my screen, I’m not budging. Ask Cato in person if you want to know how they feel about Utopians: if they won’t say I won’t.”
Guildbreaker: “I see. Then the third suicide attempt was when?”
Balin: “July thirteenth, 2449.”
Guildbreaker: “Five years ago. And do you know the cause of that one?”
Balin: “If you’re going to requisition Cato’s sealed files, Mason, you may as well bother to read them.”
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Guildbreaker: “I’m sorry?”
Balin: “Cato’s parents and the entire rest of the parent generation of their bash’ died in a rafting accident.”
Guildbreaker: “What?”
Balin: “All their ba’pas, the Saneers, the Weeksbooths, the Typers, the Snipers, all of them, drowned on their annual whitewater rafting trip. It was hushed up, coming only nine years after the Canner Murders, everyone would’ve gone crazy about bash’-loss making people into monsters. Let an expert tell you, Canner was a much more complicated case. And this wasn’t as extreme as Canner, since the rafting trip only included the Saneer-Weeksbooth ba’pa generation, none of the kids died, but anything that has to be compared to Mycroft Canner is a bad thing. Cato was institutionalized for two months after that.”
Guildbreaker: “Was Cato the only one who was badly affected?”
Balin: “They were all badly affected, all their ba’pas died.”
Guildbreaker: “I mean—”
Balin: “I know what you meant. Lesley Juniper Sniper Saneer was also institutionalized for … I can’t remember how long, not more than a week. Lesley didn’t actually try anything but it was Lesley’s second bash’loss so we wanted to be extra careful. The ba’kids were all watched closely, they always are, being so indispensable, but Cato and Lesley were the only two with any history of instability. You really had no idea about this, did you? So much for the Empire seeing all and knowing all.”
Guildbreaker: “What about the last attempt? You said Cato had one more official suicide attempt?”
Balin: “December eighth, 2450. That one was … let’s call it a theological crisis.”
Guildbreaker: “Can you be more specific?”
Balin: “I can tell you to fuck off as many times as you like, Mason, it’s kind of fun. Anyway, I wasn’t as deeply involved that time. I always handled Cato jointly with their sensayer, Esmerald Revere, and Esmerald handled that incident.”
Guildbreaker: “For the record, this is the sensayer Esmerald Revere who died by suicide on March sixteenth of this year?”
Balin: “Yes. It’s really only been eight days, hasn’t it? Feels like longer.”
Guildbreaker: “You knew Member Revere a long time?”
Balin: “Since I took on Cato’s case. I’ve never thought it was a good idea for that bash’ all to share one sensayer. Cato for one needs a specialist. Most of that bash’ does, really, Lesley being orphaned twice, the two set-sets, Sniper being Sniper, the Typer twins are an odd case, and Ockham Saneer really should have a sensayer who specializes in officers licensed to kill. But they all insist their bash’ has shared a sensayer for umpteen generations, so who are we to say different. Esmerald was the finest sensayer I ever worked with. I trust Julia Doria-Pamphili, and I’m sure this new sensayer Julia’s chosen must be something special or they wouldn’t send a Cousin in, but there’s not another Esmerald Revere out there, there just isn’t. Anyway, it’s time for my next appointment, if you don’t have any more teeth to pull today, Mason.”
Guildbreaker: “One more question, if I may. I spoke to Dr. Weeksbooth earlier and they said, and this is a quote, ‘The Utopians aren’t dirty like the rest of us.’ Do you know what Cato might have meant by that?”
Balin: “How about I make it into a song? (singing) Fuck ooooff! Fuuuuck off! Fuck off, fuck off, fu-u-uck off!”
Guildbreaker: “Dr. Balin, please!”
Balin: “You talked to Cato?”
Guildbreaker: “Yes.”
Balin: “Sid, get Sora Mitsubishi on the phone, would you? I smell juicy harassment charges!”
Guildbreaker: “Excuse me, who?”
Balin: “Sora Mitsubishi, personal secretary to the Humanist Praetor in Romanova. Any more questions, Mason?”
Guildbreaker: “Sora Mitsubishi?”
Balin: “Are you deaf as well as nosy?”
Guildbreaker: “Is that … one of Director Andō Mitsubishi’s adopted ba’kids?”
Balin: “Didn’t expect to piss off two Hives at once, did you?”
Guildbreaker: “I … My office will contact you to collect the rest of Cato Weeksbooth’s records as soon as I have the judge’s signature. Thank you for your time.”
Balin: “Don’t expect me to thank you for yours.”
Interview with Dr. Ember Balin ended 16:20 UT 03/26/2454.
* * *
Mycroft insists that I add a final comment to express my feelings after these interviews, though I would rather leave the data plain. I spent those hours fighting my feelings, trying to free myself from assumptions and face bare facts—why then should I pass these hard-fought feelings on to others? Did I find it strange that so many of Director Andō Mitsubishi’s adopted children were cropping up in the course of this case, if only peripherally? Yes, but I made myself ignore that. Did I find it strange that Cato Weeksbooth had been assigned to a doctor with extremist anti-Masonic sentiments? Yes, but I made myself ignore that. I stuck to my method, and spent the rest of the day reading Cato Weeksbooth’s records, which I did receive from Dr. Balin after placating the Praetor. Thus it was due to my rejection of sentiment, and my refusal to be distracted by hunches and tangents, that I kept my focus on the Porphyrogene’s question and discovered when I did that Cato Weeksbooth had had an emergency session with their sensayer, Esmerald Revere, on March fourteenth, 2454, the day before the suicide of Aki Sugiyama’s fiancé Mertice O’Beirne, and two days before the same Esmerald Revere committed suicide as well.
CHAPTER THE TWENTY-EIGHTH
The Enemy
When Paris was finished with me I stopped in Barcelona, where I hoped to forget myself for an hour and toil with my fellows undisturbed. We had hauled some boxes from an old movie theater to its new location three blocks down, a job which yielded not only fresh hot bocadillos but ticket vouchers, which burned in our pockets more valuable than gold. I had begun to forget the crisis amid the spice of beans and the burn of my tired arms. I needed that, as Apollo needed his pub in Liverpool, as we all need those indispensable minutes after the alarm wakes you from sleep but before you rise to face the day. I almost had it.
<¡come play! ¡come play! ¡ockham banned you from the house but i want you to come play!>
<¿Eureka?> I replied in text over my tracker, so the other Servicers could not hear.
<¿Where?>
I tried to hide my sigh, but the others spotted it, seeing my step grow distracted as we strolled through the shopping streets alive with urban buzz. They’ve learned to watch me now, to spot the moments when the calls come in and tear me from them. They threaten sometimes to defend me, to make a tally of how many hours I work and shove it in Kosala’s face and call it cruel. I do not let them.
“You okay, Mycroft?” one asked. (Protective Kosala will not let me print their names.)
“It’s not a job,” I reassured. “Just questions.”
<¿well?>
I replied,
<¡i know! ¡never! ¡not once in their whole life! ¡and there are others! this chevalier, more. ¿how many, mycroft? you’ve been there. ¿how many secret people are they hiding? i have to know.>
I followed my Servicer fellows still, through backstreets of the city, shops and crowds who took no more notice of us as we passed than of the resting gulls.
<¿you know how many you have now? 989,408,013 and counting. that leaves only 110,634,255 humanists who haven’t wished you dead yet.>
We had a storyteller with us, my little band with our hard-earned lunches, and, even in my distraction, I enjoyed seeing the light she brought to their faces. I cannot name her, but I can paint her for you at least, a rambunctious young ex-Humanist, built for play-acting, with huge, expressive hands, eyes that changed color more with her stories than the light, and a versatile androgyny, for she was (as Sniper might be) an Amazon, who, aiming early at the Olympic open divisions, chose to grow no breasts. If Servicer life is a banishment from the surrounding world, one might compare it to the natural prison of a snowed-in winter in the olden days, when the villagers forgot their buried farms to gather around the fire where the storyteller is, for six months, king.
<¿Sounds like the Wish List is circulating more widely than ever?> I asked.
<¿want to know how many times you’re on the curse list?>
<¿What’s the Curse List?>
<¿you don’t know?>
<¡it’s so clever! it’s the opposite of the wish list. you put somebody’s name on the curse list if you like them and want to protect them, as if a curse on there is supposed to cancel out a wish on the other. someone must have started it because they saw someone they liked on the wish list and wanted to protect them. that means some people think the wish list is real.>