Eureka was rereading it even then, the Wish List, that old web ‘joke’ where Humanists could vote for names of people they ‘wished’ would meet with some unhappy end. I think it reassured her, the thought that others might have killed as she did in her place. I think it reassured them all.

“When they learn how O.S. really worked, a lot of Humanists are going to feel it was right, want to support us, but they’ll be scared to say so. The Hive needs someone they respect to speak out and make others feel free to speak out too if they think we were right. They need Ojiro Sniper as the next O.S., and you need Lesley to help you keep the bash’ alive.”

“I agree.” Lesley squeezed both their hands. “You need me to go with you, Ojiro.” Sniper’s first name, not spoken in that house since Ockham’s accession, came stiffly to her lips. “The two of us together, we’ll run. You know I have the best instinct for this. I realized first when we had to kill our ba’pas. I’m also the figurehead of O.S., the one the public is used to listening to when they’re angry about crashes. You need me with you where I can make plans and speeches, and recruit allies.”

It was a sound plan. Murder or no, the world still loved that little Lesley Juniper who had stood before the cameras, all curls and chubby cheeks, and pledged to dedicate her life to improving the transit network which had left her orphaned. Before you ask, yes, they were murdered, Lesley’s parents, their deaths tipping the Cousins away from some pro-Masonic policy or other. She knew. She always knew. The eleventh O.S., Osten Saneer, realized, I think, what Lesley would become the moment young Ockham and Ojiro returned from informing the child of her ba’pas’ deaths. There were no tears back then, just the petition “Can we keep her?” as if she were some rain-soaked kitten, baring ready fangs.

Sniper swallowed. “¿What happens to Ockham?”

“Prospero now,” Ockham corrected, using his own middle name, half forgotten since his accession. “I will stand trial.” He did not look at Sniper but the screen, as if the mob around DeLupa were already camped around his courtroom. “All we have done is follow the orders of our Hive President. The world needs to decide whether that was criminal or not. For that I need to stand trial. You two don’t. Take Cato, take one of the set-sets, take a twin or both if they’ll go, and keep protecting the Humanists. They need us.”

Sniper says it was the figs that made it cry, a bowl sitting on the carpet, remnants of the poor programming of their overfruitful kitchen tree. Their home. “¿You’re sure about this?” it asked.

Lesley sighed. “It’s not as if staying here would let us be together.” She squeezed both their hands again. “We need to do this, Ojiro. They’re going to take the cars away from us. We’ll need your resources, to carry on without. I know you’ve thought about the possibility of something like this, living on the run. You have your fans, your followers, your underground, the makings of a private army. There’s not a town on Earth without a devotee ready to open their door to you. We need that now.”