“Cousin Carlyle Foster.”

“Who?”

“C-CF-003035.”

“Oh, yes!” Jun cried. “Spectacular acceleration. There was some erratic behavior Monday, but it didn’t get acute until two days ago, full swan dive yesterday.”

Julia’s fingers twitched as she mapped out the calendar in her mind. “Yes, that’s about right.”

Jun looked up. “Is 3035 not there yet?” she leaned back, eyelids sagging as she lost herself in the flicker of her lenses.

Julia perked. “Oh, is Carlyle coming to see me? Good. Perhaps I can ease the swan dive.”

“They want to destroy you.”

“Carlyle?” Julia laughed.

“I know what kind of dive I’m seeing.”

Julia gave… patronizing isn’t the right word, a matronizing smile. “Jun, I know what’s happening to Carlyle, it’s a case quite without precedent in your experience. There’s no shame in an imperfect prediction.”

“I know what I’m looking at. I can pull them up again, they’re…” Jun clutched suddenly at the nearest warm arm, which happened to be Toshi’s. “They’re there now.”

“What?”

“3035, C-CF-003035, Carlyle Foster. They’re there now. Their location signal, there, in your office.”

“Arriving?” Julia turned toward the door.

“No. There. Now. They’ve been there for almost an hour.”

Julia frowned, gazed about her room, her seats, her desk. Her closet. “Carlyle?”

Carlyle: <C-CF-003035 is my tracker tag, isn’t it, Julia? They’ve infiltrated the tracker system on top of all the rest, and you never told me.>

Julia Doria-Pamphili savored a long, smiling breath. “Time to end the call, kids. I’ll handle this myself.”

“They’re there?” Hiroaki voiced it with the most fear. “3035! They heard! We talked about the Cousins!”

“Do not worry,” Julia pronounced with a clear, commanding calm. “I’ll handle it, then call you back. Give my best to your mother.”

“Juli—”

Earth’s Chief Sensayer killed the call, then watched, still smiling, as the screen cycled around to a slide show of her favorite Sniper posters. “They have a thrillingly original reincarnation theory, those kids; I’ll send you the notes.”

“Set-sets.” With those black syllables, Carlyle Foster stepped forth from the closet. “Pythagorean set-sets.”

“Yes, their notion of reincarnation is more Pythagorean than Buddhist, well done. How did you know?”

Carlyle is priest enough to tread with reverence in the Chief Sensayer’s office, even now. “Jehovah Mason. When they first met Eureka Weeksbooth, their first question was ‘Are both your set-sets Pythagorean?’ ”

“Ah,” Julia smiled, “the infallible Jehovah Epicurus Mason.”

Every inch of Carlyle was tense: pale hands clenched in fists, golden brows knit, a parody of threat from a creature too delicate to make it feel real. “Would those kids have been Cartesian set-sets too, like Eureka and Sidney, if their training hadn’t been interrupted?”

“No, no.” Julia flexed her shoulders. “A new kind. I’ve heard them say Oniwaban set-set, but I think they’re just being dramatic. They claim they would have made Cartesians obsolete.”

“Set-sets, Julia, on both sides of this: attacking the Cousins, and in the Saneer-Weeksbooth bash’. They are the poison after all, and you’ve been treating it like a game.”